you love your grandmother, but she can really be a pain at times. must be the old age, you think. or maybe it's the past anger now focused on you because she never really liked your mother.
you can remember the multiple family dinners spent tucked away in the corner as your mother defended herself from your grandma's harsh words. meanwhile, your dad sat drunk and not saying a single thing. but being the last surviving family member of hers meant being the only one around to take care of her in her old age.
after a long day of practically being her maid, you wait until she's completely passed out to sneak out of the trailer and get a smoke. quietly, you let the door shut behind as you tiptoe down the small brick steps. the night air is humid, leaving you to feel sticky and wet. you hate it.
you fish out your last joint from your shorts before looking for a lighter. just your luck. you forgot the damn thing back in your room. it's a high-risk going back in for a second, only to just come back out. with a sigh, you start to put it away until a gruff voice calls your name.
"need a light, sweetheart?"
you look in front of you from where the voice came. it's him. the guy from the gas station a few days ago. "uh, yeah. that would be great, thanks," you thank softly. he moves closer, cupping the lighter to make sure the gentle breeze doesn't blow it out. once it's lit, you take the joint to your mouth, hold in some of the smoke, before slowly blowing it out. almost instantly, you feel calmer than before.
"mind if i have a hit?" he questions. you nod in response and hand it over. there's some smudged gloss on the tip of it, which you feel a bit embarrassed about. but either he doesn't notice or just doesn't care. jesus, even the way he smokes is hot. he hands it back over to you, rough fingers brushing against yours. "strawberry?" huh? what does he mean by that? you didn't have strawberry flavored weed. "your gloss, sweetheart. is it strawberry?" he asks.
"oh, yeah. i mean, yes sir. it is," you say, correcting yourself in your manners.
"you don't gotta be so formal, you know. nobody's gonna judge you here," he says with a chuckle.
"sorry, just habit i guess. she's always so strict on my grammar and things like that." you gesture towards the trailer behind you, the 'she' in mention being fast asleep right now.
"she can be a lot, can't she?"
"i think that's the understatement of the century. everything i do for isn't good enough. the way i clean, the way i talk and act, the way i dress..." your voice trails off, indicating that the list is long and never-ending.
"don't worry too much about what she says. i think you're perfectly fine," he assures you with a wink. "so what's your name, sweetheart?" you give him yours, and in return, he gives you his. you test the name on your tongue, liking the way it sounds.
"oh, you were right, by the way. about the beer my friend and i bought? it was complete trash." you recall the nasty taste with a disgusted look.
he chuckles at your expression. "i told you it would be. next time you want a beer, come over to my place to get the good stuff."
"well, i'll have to tell her-" he cuts you off with a soft click of his tongue. "not your friend, sweetheart. just you. consider yourself welcome anytime you'd like."
there's a part of you that is ashamed at how happy you are to hear that he wants only you. you love your friend, truly you do, she's the best and only friend that you have. but she's always been the one who got the attention of boys. you never got that. you were just known as her awkward friend that always followed her around. and although she never fed into those hurtful things, they still hurt you nonetheless. so it feels good to be sought out for the first time, rather than the one doing the seeking.
"i'll, uh, i'll definitely keep that in mind," you murmur.
your grandmother's voice roughly calls out your name. shit, what could've possibly woken her up?
"i have to go, 'm sorry."
he waves off your apology. "don't even worry about it, sweetheart. you get yourself some good sleep, alright? hopefully see you around."
you mutter a small, "see ya," before hurrying off inside. this time, he's the one left standing around and thinking about you.
you, the pretty girl who he hopes he can get to know more about.
masterlist ⠀! ⠀ do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites. ✶
His love language is acts of service.
He read that somewhere—some stupid quiz you made him take一and he latched onto it like a lifeline because it made him sound normal.
See?
See??
He's not a freak, he just likes doing things for you. It's a legitimate psychological concept. It's on the internet, go look it up. It's real.
He loves it when you want something from him. He lives for it. Thrives on it. Gets dizzy with it the second you so much as look at an empty glass.
You barely have to open your mouth. You just shift on the couch and sigh and he's already upright, already halfway to the kitchen, already aching.
"Water? Snacks? A blanket? Your heating pad? Do you want the kitten mug or the big one? Do you—"
"Just water, baby."
Baby.
His knees almost buckle.
Focus.
Water. You need water. He can do that. He's getting you water. Look at him go一such a good boyfriend, so attentive, so caring, he's fucking nailing this.
He pours the water so carefully. No ice. You don't like it too cold, it hurts your teeth, and he remembered that because he remembers everything about you, every tiny preference, every little sound you make when you're happy.
Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.
He hands you the glass with both hands like an offering at an altar. Bouncing a little on his heels. Doesn't even realize he's holding his breath until you take a sip and your throat moves and he's watching the little bob of it and his mouth is dry but that doesn't matter because—
He have to be patient.
Waiting.
Just waiting for it.
Come on. Come on. Say it. Say the words. Give him the thing. He needs it.
"Thank you, love."
Oh.
The words hit his brain like a shot of something warm and syrupy. Thank you. You thanked him. He did good. He did good and you noticed and you said thank you and now he's standing there with his heart doing backflips in his chest.
He wants more. He wants you to say it again. He wants you to pat his head and tell him he did such a good job, that he's so helpful, that you don't know what you'd do without him. He's practically vibrating with it, this desperate, aching need for your approval, and it's pathetic, he knows it's pathetic, he's a grown man getting high off a thank you like it's a line of coke—
Cute isn't he?
No.
No, he's not cute.
He's a dog. A mangy. panting. desperate dog who just got a pat on the head for fetching.
And he gets hard like a dog in heat too.
Always hard.
Always.
You could ask him to pass the salt and he'd have to adjust himself under the table.
You could ask him to zip up your dress and his hands would shake and he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek until it bled just to keep from moaning at the brush of his knuckles against your spine.
What a loser, right?
His dick twitches.
Jesus Christ.
He's hard again.
Weirdo.
Disgusting.
Pervert.
He hates himself. He hates himself so fucking much.
Why can't he be normal? Why can't his dick just stay soft like a regular boyfriend instead of twitching every time you say his name? You're gonna hate him, aren't you?
Oh god oh god oh god.
You're gonna find out. You're going to hate him. You're going to leave him. You think he's disgusting. You think he's a creep. You're gonna leave him. You're gonna walkout that door and he'll never feel your eyes on him again and he'll die, he'll actually just curl up on the floor and stop breathing because what's the point—
"Such a good boy."
Huh?
Good boy??
Him???
He freezes.
Did you just一did those words actually come out of your mouth? Good boy.
Good. Boy.
And you're smiling.
You look so beautiful when you smile. Your soft eyes and your softer lips and the way your cheek creases just a little and he wants to lick it, he wants to suck that smile right off your face and swallow it whole so it lives inside him forever—
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
He's so hard he could die on spot.
"Um... excuse me."
The words come out strangled. He's already backing away, hands positioned awkwardly in front of his crotch like a teenager caught watching porn.
Smooth.
Real smooth.
You probably think he's having digestive issues. That's fine. That's better than the truth.
He immediately bolts to the bathroom, lock clicking behind him.
You don't know. You didn't see. You're not going to leave him. He won't let you leave him anyway. He'll lock the doors and he'll nail the windows shut and he'll chain you to bed and he'll chop your pretty legs off if he has to—
no no no no no NO!!!
Don't think that. Don't you ever fucking think that about her. You sick fuck. How can you even imagine hurting her? Chopping off her perfect pretty legs? How dare you?? How fucking dare you???
If you do that you could never feel her thighs wrapped around your head while you suck on her clit. You'd never feel them tremble and clampagainst your ears while she moans your name. You'd never get to press your tongue inside her while her legs are draped over your shoulders, soft and warm and alive.
OH!!!
Okay that's better. He gets it now.
Yeah yeah yeah. See? He's not violent. He just panicked for a second. His brain does that sometimes一throws up these horrible, intrusive images that make him want to vomit but he'd never ever act on them!! He's not a monster!!! He's just... confused. Overwhelmed. He just loves you so much alright??? So much he'd unspool his own intestines into a leash if you asked him to walk himself—
Alright. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.
Deep breath.
Okay. Okay, he's fine. He's fine. Just rub one out quick and go back out there. You're waiting. He doesn't want to keep you waiting. That would make him a bad boyfriend, and he's not—he's a good boyfriend, he's so good, you just said so, and if you said so then it must be true—
Shut. Up.
Focus.
His hand is shaking as he pulls down his jeans. He's leaking already, a slick little pearl at the tip, and it smears across his palm when he grips himself. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.
First—first, he needs something. Something to make it faster, make it pleasing, make it so he can walk out there and not immediately pop a boner again the second you breathe in his direction.
He opens the cabinet under the sink, behind the toilet paper, behind the bleach, where he hid it.
Your panties.
The ones you thought you lost in the laundry.
The lacy ones, light blue, a little damp in the center from a long day. He found them. He found them, okay? He didn't steal them. Fuck off. He found them. That's different. Stealing is a crime. Stealing is bad. He's not a bad person. He just... found them. On the laundry room floor. He was doing laundry like a good boyfriend, separating your underwears from the regulars because he read somewhere that youre supposed to do that, and they were just... there. In his hands. And then in his pocket. And now they're pressed against his face.
Fuuuck.
The smell hits him like a drug. Musky and sweet and so distinctly you that his knees give up. He inhales deep, pressing the soiled fabric to his nose and mouth, and his dick twitches so hard a bead of pre cum drips onto the bathroom tile.
He's disgusting. He's a creep. He's a freak and a weirdo and a pathetic little lapdog who gets hard from a thank you.
You'd hate him if you knew.
He hopes you never know.
He hopes you find out.
He hopes you walk in right now and see him—cock in hand, your panties stuffed in his mouth, tears streaming down his face—and he hopes you step closer. He hopes you laugh. He hopes you call him a disgusting little mutt and pat his head and tell him he's still your good boy.
Your good boy.
Yours.
He cums so hard he sees stars. Ropes of it, hot and thick, splattering his hand, the floor, the little bathroom rug. He bites down on the panties to muffle the sob that tears out of him, and for a long moment he just kneels there, trembling, fucked, still crying, still hard.
But it's fine.
Everything's fine.
He cleans up. Flushes everything. Hides the panties again and washes his hands twice. Splashes water on his face. Looks in the mirror. Practices his smile.
He looks normal.
He is normal.
He's a good boy.
Then he opens the bathroom door and smiles.
"You okay?" you ask, tilting your head.
And he could say it. He could confess. He could drop to his knees right now and tell you everything and beg for forgiveness or punishment or whatever you wanted to give him.
Instead he just nods. Crawls onto the couch beside you. Rests his head in your lap like the loyal dog he is.
"Just missed you," he mumbles into your thigh.
You stroke his hair.
He almost gets hard again.
He's so fucked up.
But you're still here. Still petting him. Still calling him yours.
𑣲 Desc: After getting your hands on a small fortune worth of goods, Bruce follows you to see what you might be up to.
𑣲 Tags: Established Relationship!!, GN!Reader, Rogue!Reader, He calls you pretty, Bruce Wayne has stubble because I Like It That Way, Pathetic Bruce Wayne, Needy Bruce Wayne, Mentions of size difference, He's literally a brick house of a man, Bruce Wayne loves to spoil you, Bruce Wayne follows you home, Banter, Casual, Petnames; sweetheart, honey, This is probably OOC, Suggestive implications towards the end, Bruce Wayne likes having his hair pulled, idk how else to tag this
𑣲 Notes: Heyy I'm posting my first work everrr! If this post does even just vaguely okay I might make a nsfw 2nd part so yaaay!!! Emphasis on might bc i feel shy about these things (ヽ´ω`)
Creeping in the dark alleys of the less populated sides of town is hardly a fun way to spend your Saturday night.
You should be in a casino, betting your hard-earned cash. Maybe at the opera house, you heard they were selling tickets for cheap on opening night. Or perhaps, if all else failed, you should be indulging in the warm, buzzing company of a drink at the bar.
Instead you find yourself busy. Slipping from one shadow to the next, hugging each tight corner as you make an attempt to lose any potential enforcers on your trail. You've made a maze out of the city you love, it's become second nature by now. You're more familiar with complicated maps of back alleys than most law enforcers could fathom.
You know the city like the back of your hand. And although most getaways go without a hitch, the weather isn't always on your side.
It's raining.
Hard.
The smell of wet concrete muddles your sense of scent, and the constant shushing of falling rain on asphalt muffles your hearing. The combined problem forces you to rely more heavily on your sight, the only sense that remains sharp and unaffected by the harsh weather.
Unfortunately, depending on sight alone can only get you so far.
You're in the comfort of your own apartment now, having shed yourself of your gear— your mask discarded on the couch, your sleek knee pads forgotten nearby. You've done a good job at getting away without rising suspicion, and at staying mostly dry. In the rain it'd be hard to keep proper track of you anyway.
Under this belief, you stand calmly at the small island in the center of your kitchen, emptying your goodie bag atop the granite so you can start making note of your earnings. You haven't even started counting, but the layout on your counter looks promising enough, a satisfied little grin spreading easily across your face.
"What are you doing?" The rumble of a deep, gravely voice cuts through the delicate silence of your apartment. Familiar. But most importantly, coming from behind you.
However, you don't startle. You expected him.
You carefully place the pair of gemstone earrings you'd been assessing back on the counter— emerald, you're willing to guess. You're shameless, flaunting your findings as he interrogates you.
You shoot him a contented little smile over your shoulder as you turn on your heel, facing him properly. Your eyes land on his familiar silhouette— that dark, towering shadow that consumes all light. A black hole adorned with little ears.
"It wouldn't kill you to be a little more noisy, you know," you reply, hand lingering on the counter behind you. "You could've given me a heart attack. I don't think you would like to see me like that," you then claim in a show of dramaticism. But you soon turn your back towards him once again, with little care for his presence.
You left the lock to the balcony unlatched on your way in, a quick glance let you know that much. But you couldn't bring yourself to care when the surprise it brought in was this pleasant.
"That doesn't answer my question—" Bruce grumbles, taking a quiet step closer— "What are you doing?" He repeats himself, the furrow in his brow almost audible in his voice.
You lift your hands in false surrender. "I didn't steal, if that's what you're implying," you reply, shooting him another look over your shoulder. This time one of irritation.
"How did you get your hands on this, then?" He asks you, crossing his arms.
"Hmm..." you consider telling him, your irritated frown turning into an amused little smile just as easy as it had appeared. "Only if you promise to keep it a secret, okay?" You ask him in return for his cooperation, a barely disguised teasing lilt in your voice.
"Hm," Bruce gives a soft, short grunt in response, a near silent agreement of compliance.
You're going to be honest with him, just as you always are. But not without something in return, just as these exchanges always transpire. It's not like Bruce is awfully hard to bribe, he always seems to give in to you so easily.
Your lips press into a pouty frown as you turn towards him once more, this time leaning back against the counter.
"I didn't do anything," you defend yourself. "I've been keeping myself out of trouble, if you even care." You tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, leaving yourself open. Making yourself look vulnerable to silently draw him in.
And it works, as he takes another step forward. "I trust you are," he replies, voice laced with a nearly inaudible amount of softness.
"Mhm." you give a small nod of your head, pout replaced by a smile. A sweet, pretty little smile that falsely tells him you've done nothing wrong. "It's the rich folk— they don't know how to behave," you continue, voice taking on an oh-so-innocent tone. "You saw the news, right? How a fight broke out just outside the theater earlier?" You curiously ask, to which Bruce nods his head.
"Of course I heard of it," he replies, voice level. "I heard about it over the comms." He pulls his mask over his head, letting the hood fall back. "You know I have to stay informed on these kinds of things..." Bruce adds, running his fingers through his black hair. It's a futile attempt to make himself look less bedheaded, but the sight of his pretty face is enough to make your gaze soften anyway.
"Right, well..." you pause, drawing out the suspense. Bruce silently urges you to continue with a curious tilt of his own head. "I was there," you finally say, a Cheshire grin taking over your previous smile. "I stood silent in the shadows where no one would see me."
"What..." he trails off with a furrow of his brow. He hesitates to continue, already piecing together the story in his head. "What do you mean by that?" He asks. He's a star detective, but he hopes for your honesty regardless, blue gaze lowered to meet yours in something of a puppy-like fashion
"I waited for the scene to clear out, and it's like the heavens rewarded me for being so patient," you say, your hand blindly reaching and searching behind you.
"Pearls everywhere," you claim, fingers finally hooking onto one of the strings to dangle the evidence in front of him, creating an imaginary barrier in the space left between you.
"Jewlery, purses, wallets..." you list, though Bruce gives you a suspicious look on the last item. "I didn't take the wallets," you quickly correct his line of thought, brushing away his suspicion as quickly as it came.
"Mm, that's good at least," he hums his praise, though the admiration is only short-lived.
"I only took the cash in them, of course," you laugh, carelessly tossing the string of pearls somewhere onto the pile of goods behind you. They land with a troubling scattering sound, but you're not too concerned by it. "I'm not stupid enough to run away with someone's credit card, it's not worth the trouble." Even if the temptation is strong.
Retracting his precious praise, the muscle in his brow twitches once again. "You're a thief," Bruce accuses you, hands coming down to firmly rest on the edge of the counter at your sides, effectively caging you between his arms. You only shrug in return.
"Did anyone see you?" He asks. He's not trying to be imposing, never with you, but he can't keep to himself when you're so close.
"Would it be so bad?" You muse in return, a teasing whisper. His stubbled jaw tightens, and you decide it'd be for the best to change your answer. "No, Bruce. Nobody saw me," you deadpan, if only for the sake of his nerves.
He sighs in return, dipping his head to be more level with you, searching your expression.
"I don't like you putting yourself in harm's way over petty change," he rumbles, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "I've told you already, sweetheart, if it's money you need, I—" hes cut short.
You press the palm of your hand over his mouth, brows pinched together and lips drawn into a tight line as you take offense to his offer. "Shower me in all the expensive gifts you want, but you'll see me dead before you ever see me asking for money," you stubbornly refute, upset at his suggestion.
After a brief silence, Bruce gives a small laugh, the forceful exhale of air brushing against the back of the hand still firmly clasped over his mouth. No matter how much he argues with you on this subject, you're never willing to accept his financial aid. His gifts, yes, but never the idea of asking him for money.
He pulls away from your hand, eyes crinkling as he makes an attempt to reassess the situation. "I don't do it to diminish your efforts, honey," he assures you in that gentle, bassy tone, warming you up from the inside out like a warm cup of coffee.
"I just hate having you on the streets scrambling for loose pearls when I can provide for you so easily..." he murmurs, inching closer, his steady breath mingling with yours. His desperation to be near you is palpable.
"It's not that easy," you give a small shake of your head, but you don't push him away, avoiding his direct gaze. "No money is easy money, Bruce. You should know that better than anyone else..." you explain, a theory you've reviewed a thousand times over with him.
"If I use this dirty money for good, it's like getting payback," you add. And although he doesn't entirely understand it, he respects it. He tries to keep an open mind for you.
"I know..." he nods his head in acknowledgement, seemingly agreeing with you. He takes your hand, still hovering near his face, and guides your palm towards his mouth once more. He presses soft kisses to the inside of your hand, eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in your warmth.
"God," he murmurs. His free hand shifts from the counter and lands on the small of your back, splayed wide. He pulls your hips flush against his, hoping to feel more of you— to feel just how real you are. "I'd keep you to all myself if I could," he says. "Safe and sound..." but it's merely wishful thinking, and he'd be a fool to think otherwise.
"You know I wouldn't let you..." you refute, body easily molding against his. Like a puzzle piece finding its missing neighbor.
Blue eyes open, gazing up at you from beneath dark lashes. It's soft the way he sees you, displaying only his unconditional affection. "I know..." he answers once again, a distant melancholy in his voice. But its quickly overshadowed.
"You have auch a bright mind," Bruce murmurs, settling your hand on his shoulder and leaning close to press a reverent kiss to your temple. "And you're so pretty..." he kisses the tip of your nose. "And your heart—" his hand travels up your arm, towards your chest— "It's in the right place, I know it is," he says, feeling each steady beat beneath his palm. "I won't bother you about this anymore, I promise..."
But you know that's not true. Because Bruce a man who believes blindly in the concept of recovery, and you can't help but be endeared by it even if it's not always right. "Okay," you agree nonetheless with a nod of your head. "Thank you..." Because you know he means well.
He doesn't ask any further about the valuables you stole, turning a blind eye to your misdeeds just as he always seems to do. Instead he simply changes the topic, having always been so skilled at leading conversation.
"You should be out enjoying your weekend, Honey," he suggests, fingertips finding the soft curve of your chin, holding your face steady for him. "There's no reason for you to cause trouble in the city when the weather's so... gloomy." He tilts your head upwards, angling his own to steal a kiss from you. It's a brief press of his lips, but it sends sharp currents of electricity down your spine.
"How else am I supposed to get my boyfriend's attention if not by inciting pity, hm?" You ask him, but you don't really mean it.
"Mm, but you know I don't pity you," he hums thoughtfully, thumb tracing soothing circles into your back. "Far from it," he adds. Though it's mostly because he knows he'd wake up to a slit throat if you ever sensed him looking down on you.
"Yeah?" You ask, voice low and breathy. Luring him in once more, getting him to lower his guard just a little more.
"Yeah..." he confirms, a small smile stretching across his lips. As charismatic as ever. "I couldn't come see you sooner, but I missed you so much," he rumbles, thumb tracing the soft curve of your bottom lip, hoping to feel them against his again. "I thought about you everyday, and I wanted to call you but it never seemed like a good time," he adds, hoping to explain his absence. Though, really, you've only spent a few days apart.
"I was starting to think you'd found someone else to pass the time with..." you say, lips pressing into the sad little frown you use to get your way.
"I wouldn't never do that," he promises, leaning further into you. Your back presses against the edge of the counter, with his hand acting as a barrier so it wont cause you discomfort. "Let me make it up to you— tell me how I can make it better," Bruce gently encourages.
The smile from before threatens to return to your lips, corners of your mouth subtly twitching upward. He's so willing to give in to your whims that you dont even have to try.
"I can think of one way you could make it up to me," you whisper. Your hands find his forearms, fingertips carefully tracing every seam and line of his suit. "Or maybe a couple..." They follow the curve of his biceps, fingers greedily spreading as they reach his sturdy shoulders. No matter who he's standing next to, he always looks so much bigger by comparison. It's truly wonderful to have such an imposing man wrapped around your finger.
"Mhm?" He breathes, joined by a near inaudible tremble of anticipation. "Like what? I'll make it happen for you," he offers more calmly, correcting his nervous slip of energy.
Wrapping your arms securely around his neck, you press your lips to his jaw. Every kiss is soft, feather-light as you trace a path towards his eager lips. However, you stop just short of his mouth.
You pull away, teasing him in denying him the pleasure of having you. Bruce merely groans in disappointment, and silently decides to take matters into his own hands.
"Expensive dinner, maybe a gift or two..." you begin, watching as he leans in to bridge the gap between you both. In response you simply turn your head away from him, forcing his kiss to land on your cheek rather than your lips. "Then we can drive around town in that fancy car of yours," you continue as though nothing had happened, looking up at him through lowered lashes.
"That doesn't sound too complicated," he muses in agreement, settling for nuzzling against your temple, happy to simply breathe in your scent— Warm skin and faint, lingering perfume. "Whatever you want..."
He's being so generous with his promises tonight.
You aren't a secret, your relationship is known to the public eye. Most media outlets have reported on it at least once, claiming you as a mystery partner with a face but no name. You don't mind it, especially when every outlet is singing your praises for keeping the famous Bruce Wayne so well behaved. If anything, it just means he's allowed to spoil you more openly. And you make sure to take advantage of it.
"Then..." you begin, drawing out each soft word just to keep him on edge. "If you're good— Only if you're really good..." your hand trails a little further upward, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "After the date, we can book one of those gorgeous penthouse hotel suites and spend the night," you suggest. With his money of course.
"And then?" He asks, further lowering his head, nosing at the crook of your neck. You merely shake your head, fingers curling in his hair to give a gentle tug and pull him back in line. The pressure makes him groan.
"You only get to find out when we get there," you say, your voice an intimate little murmur. It sends pleasant shivers through his body.
"I'll be on my best behavior then..." he breathes.
pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
18+ Big scary men who let you slap them during sex.
He’s massive beneath you — broad chest, thick arms, powerful thighs that could easily pin you down if he wanted. But right now he’s on his back, letting you ride him however you want. His hands rest on your hips, not guiding, just holding you steady as you sink down on him.
You lean forward, bracing one hand on his chest, and bring the other down hard across his cheek. The sound is sharp. His head snaps to the side with the force of it. A low, guttural groan rumbles out of his chest as he twitches hard inside you. “Fuck… do it again,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
You slap him again, harder this time, watching the way his eyes flutter and his jaw clenches. His hips buck up sharply, driving deeper into you. The sting on his cheek blooms red against his flushed skin, but he doesn’t stop you. If anything, he looks drunk on it. “Harder, baby,” he begs, voice hoarse. “I can take it.”
You ride him faster, grinding down on him while you slap him again and again. Each hit makes him groan louder, his grip on your hips tightening as he lets you use him. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, dark and hazy with lust.
When you finally come, clenching hard around him, you slap him one last time, right as your orgasm hits. That’s what breaks him. He groans deep and filthy, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, thick and hot, pulsing with every slap you land.
Afterward, he’s breathing hard, cheek bright red, but he pulls you down against his chest and kisses you soft and attentively. His hand strokes your back gently, almost apologetically, like he’s the one who should be sorry.
“Again next time?” he murmurs against your lips, voice still rough.
You smile and kiss the reddened mark on his cheek.
you look like a fucking angel. at least from his perspective which was from his phone as he lounged back on his bed half naked in his sweats.
dex couldn't help it, palming his length over the fabric while you tried to get off. it was rare you ever did, always reading a book or doing your fucking homework. he watched the little screen give a perfect angle of your bed with you, naive to all his work, spread over the sheets in the humid summer night. he can see the sheen of sweat over the smooth of your skin, glistening between the dip of your tits, as your fingers dipped further into your little panties.
you lay back making a little ‘o’ with the plush of your lips, his cock twitches in his hand.
“fuck—”
he really wishes he could've got a camera with a speaker instead now.
a breathy sigh huffs from his mouth as you make little, fast circles over your clit, brows furrowed as he tugs his cock out over the band of his sweats that now sit comfortably under his heavy balls as he squeezed the base.
dex's obsessed, his focus rapt with you. you fill his head and cloud all logic as he began to pump his fist over his hard length imagining your own little hands, mimicking how he'd imagine you'd do it. he ogles over your face and the little expressions that adorn it, the slight bounce of you tits as you heaved with pleasure.
he groans out your name as he speeds up his pace, fist gliding over the thick shaft, his stomach tensing. his heart thrummed in his chest as your legs shook slightly. you were close.
his breathing grew heavier, a low hum from his throat, lips parted just like yours as you slid your fingers through your folds. dex let out a guttural moan. his pace becoming harder, more intense as he rubbed over his thick cock head, smearing pre cum down the rest of him as you bucked your hips, he huffed envisioning you doing the same around his cock.
his head lols back, heavy with the thought of you, eyes blown wide as sweat beaded down the side of his forehead with each desperate thrust in the hot empty room.
“bet you'd feel so fuckin’ good—”
harder, faster and suddenly his hips jerked off of the mattress as his blown out pupils tried to find you, wanted to watch your face scrunch up in pleasure as you came on his screen.
another violent jerk of his hips and his cock let's out a spurt of thick white cum.
“ahh— shit—”
your name ripped from his throat, gasping and hoarse as he milked himself dry, pumping out more ropes of white from the head of his cock. he shuddered letting it limp against his abdomen, sweat slick and tense as he threw his head back against the pillow.
after a moment he managed to glance down at his phone, you were panting, laid back and spread the same as him with your hand still between you thighs.
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a little something for sub Vi x hyperfemme (dom) bimbo Reader. I swear i might’ve saw a plot similar before— but basically Vi takes reader shopping (for clothing, makeup, and all that jazz) and when they get to the clothing, reader try’s on lingerie of all sorts while Vi watches all desperate. Vi had to wait until they got home, and when they did, she absolutely went feral.
˚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*: . Good Girls Wait
sub!vi x bimbo!reader // smut, men dni ;; semi public teasing ;; praise ;; degration ;; dom!reader ;; crying ;; vi whimpering ˶ˊᜊˋ˶ ;; overstim ;; strap ;; slowburn ;; 2000s au
The day started the same way every shopping trip did: you bouncing out of your bedroom, and Vi already regretting the words “yeah, I’ll come with you.”
Your tiny rhinestone studded purse clacked against your hip as you spun on one glossy heel. “Okay, baby! Malls first, then coffee, then Sephora, and then...” you tapped your freshly manicured nail against your lip, squinting in exaggerated thought. “...maybe forever 21 ?? unless I see something like totally life changing on the way there.”
Vi sighed, but she was already reaching for the keys. “Right. Malls first.”
She was big, broad, and intimidating enough that people usually got out of her way on the street. But next to you— pink mini skirt, rhinestone hair clips, lip gloss sparkling under the sun— she looked more like the bodyguard trailing behind a pop princess. And judging from the grin on your face, you liked that.
Within fifteen minutes, Vi had two shopping bags dangling from her arm and you were squealing in front of a makeup display.
“Babe, look! They finally have the glitter eyeliner back in stock!” you practically sang, swiping three colours into your basket.
Vi raised a brow, but her lips twitched. “Didn’t you just buy eyeliner last week?”
You blinked innocently, gloss catching the light. “And I’ll buy more next week. Duh.” Then you leaned closer, batting your lashes. “besides, don’t you like when I sparkle?”
Vi coughed, ears pink, and adjusted the bags on her arm. “...yeah. I love it.”
You rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, sticky with gloss, before dragging her to the next aisle.
This time, it was crop tops. Baby pink, bubblegum blue, lavender with little bows stitched on. You held each one up against your chest, swaying side to side in the mirror.
“What about this one, puppy?” you asked sweetly, calling her your favorite pet name in public just to watch her squirm.
Vi, arms full of bags, muttered something under her breath. “...Looks good.”
You pouted. “Just good? You don’t think I’d look, like, totally slutty cute in it?”
Her face turned scarlet. She cleared her throat. “I— yeah, you would. Definitely uh slutty cute.”
Grinning, you tossed the top in your basket and kissed her jaw, leaving another faint smear of gloss.
By this point, Vi had so many bags dangling off her arms she looked like a pack mule. You strutted ahead in sparkly sandals, twirling a lollipop you’d just bought at the candy kiosk.
“Baby, slow down—” Vi groaned as she nearly tripped over a stray bag string.
You spun on your heel, giggling. “What? You’re doing soooo good! Look at my big strong puppy carrying all my treasures.” You reached up to pinch her cheek. “Such a good girl.”
Vi’s jaw clenched, and you didn’t miss the way her thighs pressed together at the words. Oh, she was so easy.
After a few more stores, you looped your arm through hers and tugged her close, resting your head on her shoulder while you walked.
“Mm…you’re being so patient with me today, baby,” you cooed, loud enough to make her blush in front of passing shoppers. “I should give you a reward later.”
Vi swallowed hard, trying to keep her cool. “A reward, hm?”
“Mhm.” You licked your lollipop, deliberately slow. “But only if you’re a good girl for me alllll day.”
Her steps faltered. Her grip on the shopping bags tightened. And you just smiled, swinging your purse as you led her toward the next store.
The lingerie store.
“Okay, baby,” you said suddenly, stopping so abruptly she almost bumped into you, “we’ve done makeup, we’ve done clothes, we’ve done shoes…” Then you gasped. “omgg.. we didn’t do lingerie yet!”
Vi’s ears went pink immediately. “...do we need to?”
You blinked at her like she’d just asked if the sky was blue. “duh! What if Paris Hilton randomly invites me to her house? I can’t be caught dead in boring underwear, babe. You want me to look cute right?”
“Y-yeah, of course,” Vi muttered, tugging at the collar of her hoodie, already sweating.
You grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her inside. The store was drenched in soft lighting and smelled like vanilla body mist, racks lined with lace, silk, and satin in every pastel shade you loved. A giant poster of a model in a rhinestoned push up bra loomed over the entrance, and you grinned as you stepped inside like you were entering a candy shop.
Vi froze, hovering awkwardly by the entrance. She looked so out of place in her sneakers and cargo pants, holding seven shopping bags while girls in low-rise jeans browsed through panties with sequins and bows. You turned and waved her forward.
“C’mon, puppy, don’t just stand there. Sit over here.”
You pointed to a little velvet bench near the fitting rooms. Vi shuffled over like she was walking into a trap, shoulders hunched, her whole face red.
“Wait here,” you chirped, grabbing armfuls of lacy things from the racks. You piled silky slips, baby-pink corsets, ruffled panties, and strappy bras into your arms, humming to yourself as you disappeared into the fitting room.
Vi sat there, gripping the handles of your shopping bags, staring at the floor like she was trying not to combust. Every sound from behind the curtain made her throat dry— silk rustling, hangers clinking, your little hum as you wriggled into something new.
Then the curtain swished, and you stepped out.
The first set was a pale pink bra with a satin bow right in the middle and matching panties with lace trim. You twirled in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps, before turning to Vi with a mischievous grin.
“Well? How do I look?”
Vi’s eyes went wide. She stared for a long second, opened her mouth, closed it again. Her ears burned bright red. “…Cute. Really…cute.”
You giggled, leaning down to her level, glossy lips inches from her ear. “Mmm, I bet you wish you could touch, huh?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “...Yeah.”
“Too bad,” you whispered, kissing her cheek before swishing back into the fitting room.
You kept this up for what felt like forever. Every time you came out, it was something new. A powder blue babydoll with ribbon ties. A white lace corset that cinched your waist and pushed your tits up just right. A black satin thong with rhinestones spelling out Angel across the back. Each reveal made Vi sink deeper into her seat, thighs pressed together, hands clutching the bags like her life depended on it.
By the time you stepped out in the fourth outfit — a sheer lavender slip with ruffles along the hem — Vi looked wrecked already. She had her hood up, hiding the flush in her face, but the way her jaw was tight and her chest rose and fell gave her away.
You posed in front of the mirror, tugging the hem up just a little higher than necessary, pretending to fix a strap. “You’re staring soooo hard, Vi. People are gonna notice.”
“I-I’m not,” she stammered, clearly lying.
You giggled and walked closer, standing right between her knees. She went stiff as a board. You leaned down, brushing a lock of pink-streaked hair behind your ear, your gloss shining under the store’s soft lights.
“Hands to yourself, puppy,” you cooed. “Good girls wait.”
Her breath hitched so hard you thought she might choke. You winked and twirled away, leaving her to stew while you tried on the next set.
By the time you were done, you had a pile of lingerie in your arms and a smug smile plastered on your lips. Vi looked like she’d just run a marathon— sweaty, flushed, restless.
You plopped the pile into her lap. “Carry these for me, sugar plum. We’re buying them all.”
She blinked down at the mountain of lace and satin, then back up at you, flustered. “…all of them?”
“Mhm,” you said sweetly, looping your arm through hers as you strutted to the register. “You didn’t think I was just gonna tease you, did you?”
But the grin on your face said exactly that: you absolutely had.
Vi followed, weighed down with yet another bag, lips pressed tight, her whole body vibrating with pent up tension. You kissed her jaw before you left the store, gloss sticking to her skin.
“Good girls wait,” you whispered again, just for her.
And Vi thought she might actually lose her mind before you two got home.
By the time you pushed open the apartment door, Vi looked like she’d been through war. Her arms shook under the weight of the shopping bags, hoodie clinging to her back with sweat, jaw tight like she’d been clenching it the entire walk. You, on the other hand, looked like you’d just stepped out of a music video — lip gloss still perfect, little rhinestones catching the hallway light, skirt swishing happily as you kicked off your shoes and dropped your purse on the couch.
“Whew,” you sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head, the hem of your tank riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. “That was sooo much fun. We should do that every weekend.”
Vi just stood there, loaded down with bags, staring at you like you were oxygen and she was drowning.
You turned, blinked at her innocently, and tilted your head. “What? Don’t just stand there, puppy. Go put my things on the bed.”
Her lips parted like she was about to argue, but then she just nodded, carrying everything down the hall with stiff, jerky movements. You trailed after her, swaying your hips, enjoying the way her ears burned red at the sound of your heels clicking against the floorboards.
When she dropped the last bag on your bed, you bounced onto the mattress, crossing your legs and smiling up at her.
“You were sooo patient today,” you purred, patting the space beside you. “Such a good girl, carrying all my stuff, sitting so still while I tried on all those pretty things.”
Vi’s breath came ragged, her eyes fixed on your glossy lips, your bare thighs. “...You were torturing me.”
You giggled, leaning back on your hands. “Maaaaybe. But you liked it, didn’t you?”
She froze, throat working, then nodded once, shaky and desperate.
“Aw, poor baby,” you cooed, sliding forward until your knees brushed her legs. You tugged her hoodie zipper down slowly, deliberately, watching her chest heave. “You look like you’re gonna explode. Is my puppy that pent up?”
Vi groaned low in her chest, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t — fuck, I can’t take it anymore.”
And that was all the warning you got before she lunged.
Her mouth crashed onto yours, rough and needy, hands grabbing your hips like she thought you might disappear if she didn’t hold tight enough. She kissed like she was starving, tongue desperate, messy, gloss smearing across both your mouths.
You let her, moaning softly into it, until you tugged her hair hard enough to make her whine. Pulling back, you smirked, wiping your gloss across her cheek with your thumb.
“Who said you could touch me like that, hmm?”
Vi panted, eyes wide, already looking ruined. “Please. I’ve been waiting all day, I can’t, I need you.”
“Mhm. You need me,” you echoed, savouring it. “Good girls ask first.”
Her face crumpled, her forehead dropping to your shoulder as she whispered, “Please. Please let me, I’ll do anything, just—”
“Anything?” you interrupted, sharp now, all the bimbo airhead sweetness gone in a snap. You tilted her chin up between two fingers, forcing her to look at you. “Then beg properly. On your knees.”
She dropped so fast it made you laugh.
Vi knelt at the edge of the bed, big hands clutching your thighs, eyes blown wide and desperate. She looked nothing like the tough street fighter she pretended to be in public. Here, in your bedroom, she was your pretty puppy girl, trembling and needy.
You reached down, stroking her flushed cheek with your manicured nails. “Aww, look at you. My big, scary Vi reduced to this? All because I twirled around in a few scraps of lace?”
She whimpered, burying her face against your leg, muffling a desperate, “Yesyesyesss. Please please let me fuck you.”
You tugged her hair again, pulling her back so she had to look at you. “Not so fast, puppy. You’ll get the strap on, but you’re gonna wear it because I say so, not because you can’t control yourself. Got it?”
Vi nodded frantically. “Got it. Please.”
You smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead like she was the sweetest thing in the world. “Good girl. Go get it.”
She scrambled to her feet, practically tripping over herself to grab the box from the drawer where you kept it. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the harness, and you lay back on the bed, legs spread just enough to watch her with a lazy, smug grin.
When she finally buckled it into place, she turned back to you, flushed and panting, strap jutting out in front of her like a promise.
You twirled a lock of hair around your finger, pouting playfully. “God, you look so cute like that. All strapped up, all ready…but still my desperate little puppy.”
Vi groaned, tugging at the harness, her whole body taut with restraint. “Please. Let me fuck you, please!”
You licked your gloss-slicked lips, sharp now, eyes glittering. “Come here then, puppy girl. Show me how good you can be for me.”
And Vi finally, finally broke. she practically pounced when you told her to come closer, straddling the edge of the bed with her strap already pressing against your thighs. Her hands gripped your hips like she was afraid you’d vanish, but before she could move any further, you slapped her cheek lightly, making her jolt.
“Slow down, puppy,” you purred, dragging your thumb over the red bloom across her face. “Did I say you could fuck me yet?”
She froze, chest heaving, the harness jutting obscenely against you as she whispered, “N-no. but..please? please let me.”
God, she was so easy.
You leaned back on your elbows, spreading your legs wider so the hem of your little skirt rode up, exposing the glint of your panties. Vi’s eyes dropped instantly, pupils blown wide, mouth falling open like she couldn’t breathe.
“You’ve been staring at me in public all day,” you teased, kicking off your skirt with one dainty flick. “And now you finally get to see up close. Isn’t that what you wanted, baby?”
Vi groaned, running a hand down your thigh reverently before catching herself and freezing, looking up at you for permission like the perfect girl she was.
“Good puppy,” you cooed, ruffling her hair before yanking it tight into your fist. “Now eat.”
She dove between your thighs like a starving thing, dragging your panties aside with shaky fingers before burying her mouth against you. The first hot swipe of her tongue made you gasp, your mouth dropping open, head tipping back.
“Mhm, just like that,” you moaned, tugging her hair to guide her.
Her muffled whine vibrated against your pussy, and your thighs clamped around her head. You rocked against her face, not giving her a chance to come up for air, smearing her cheeks with slick and gloss as you dragged her tongue exactly where you wanted.
When you finally let her breathe, she looked wrecked already — chin wet, eyes hazy, lipstick stained kiss marks all over her jaw where you’d yanked her up for sloppy kisses in between.
You cupped her face, forcing her to look at you while she panted. “Such a good girl. You ready to fuck me with that pretty strap now?”
“Yes!! yes, please,” she babbled, forehead pressing to yours. “n-need it so bad, please let me—”
“Then get on the bed,” you ordered, crawling back and laying down with your legs open. “But listen close, puppy. You go slow. I’m in charge. You don’t come until I say. Got it?”
“Got it,” Vi choked out, practically crawling over you, her whole body shaking.
The first press of the strap against your entrance made you shiver, nails digging into her shoulders. She pushed in slowly, exactly how you told her, whining every inch of the way like she could feel it.
“Fuuuuck,” she groaned, dropping her head into your neck, breath hot and ragged. “You’re so ah shit, you’re so tight!”
You arched under her, nails clawing down her back, lips brushing her ear. “That’s right, baby girl. Stretching me out so good. But don’t you dare lose control.”
Vi whimpered but obeyed, hips stuttering as she pushed all the way in, filling you perfectly.
“Good girl,” you praised, tugging her hair to make her look at you. “Now fuck me. Slow. Show me how desperate you are.”
She moved like she was unraveling — each thrust deep, needy, punctuated by gasps and whines. She couldn’t stop kissing you, messy and wet, smearing your lip gloss across both your faces. Every time you moaned her name, her pace faltered, like she was on the edge of falling apart just from the sound of your voice.
You wrapped your legs around her waist, dragging her deeper, smirking against her lips. “That’s it, puppy. My good girl, fucking me so well. You look so pathetic like this, all red and teary.”
And she was — eyes glazed, mouth hanging open, sweat dripping down her temples. She babbled your name like a prayer, tears gathering in her lashes as she buried herself inside you over and over.
When you tightened around her, she let out a broken moan, forehead pressing to your chest. “I-I can’t please let me, please let me cum—”
You slapped her cheek again, making her whine. “Not yet. Keep going. Good girls wait.”
She cried out, hips shaking, strap sliding in deep enough to make your back arch. You tugged her hair back and shoved her face against your tits, smearing gloss and sweat against your skin.
“Go on, baby. Cry all you want. You look sooo cute like this. But you don’t get to cum until I say.”
Her body trembled, every thrust more frantic, until you finally felt your own climax building sharp and hot in your belly. You yanked her hair hard, pulling her face up to yours, and kissed her deep and messy as you moaned, “Now, puppy. Cum now.”
Vi shattered instantly, collapsing against you with a guttural groan, strap jerking inside you as her whole body shook. You came with her, nails raking down her back, your glittery gloss smeared across both your mouths.
She collapsed, panting, trembling, face buried in your neck like she might cry for real this time.
You stroked her damp hair, peppering soft kisses along her temple, humming softly. “There’s my good girl. Such a perfect puppy for me. You did so good.”
She whimpered, clinging tighter, and you giggled, wiping the gloss smears from her cheeks with your thumb. “Aw, baby, look at you. Totally wrecked. Let’s get you some water, and then I’ll reapply my lip gloss for you, yeah?”
Vi nodded weakly, still pressed against your chest, and you grinned, kissing the top of her head.
