𝓸r ── .✦ you love your boyfriend, flaws and all. you've always been his rock, a figure skater yourself who hasn't yet made her mark, but is known amongst the community to be a sweet girl. you like to sit beside him while he plays games late at night, sometimes with others, sometimes on live for his little community to see. but what no one expects is for the same girl to be on her knees in front of ilia, right under the very desk that this all takes place on.
⟢ 𝓻achel: i'm not gonna lie and say that i hadn't already thought of this before it was requested to me, because i did. like, shockingly soon after i posted the first ilia smut. so...that's something. anyway, hope you all enjoy!! happy reading :)
── tags below the cut .ᐟ
𝓬ontent: smut mdni, oral (m receiving), bj on stream (and then just through the mic) (and then privately), ilia whimpers, very subtle like hesitant "face fucking" for lack of a better term, cumming on tongue, yeah idk i wish that was me man
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁☦︎⋆. ݁˖𐙚 ˚𝜗𝜚˚⟡ ݁₊ .
figure skaters are supposed to be elegant. limbs extended just right, movements not too sharp, but not too soft, hair blowing in the artificial breeze with their beautifully-designed costumes. they're meant to carry themselves with poise, even in their worst moments, when the camera is fixed on them, and they cannot escape the watchful eye of the world.
you're the perfect example of that — sweet, soft-spoken, perfectly articulate when you speak to the camera. you've never displayed an ounce of negativity to the public, carrying yourself with the same elegance that other skaters have envied for years, with your kind smiles and friendly handshakes and gentleness on the ice that many hope will one day be olympic.
but really, what's more elegant than wrapping your pretty little mouth around your boyfriend's cock from beneath his desk?
nothing you've already done, that's for sure.
ilia swallows above you, his fingers pressing down a little too hard on the mouse and setting off his in-game firearm. "shit," he mumbles under his breath as he fends off a bot that he'd inadvertently set off with the shot.
his hand raises to cover the mic, muffling the half-noise he makes.
"what's the matter?" you ask innocently, kissing the tip and running your tongue along the underside until he shivers.
he laughs unamusedly, keeping his eyes on the screen and lifting a hand to adjust the headset until it only covers one ear. "don't get cocky," he warns with a lopsided grin and shifts in his chair, scooting forward to give you better access.
"but, am i?" you ask. your fingers wrap tighter around him, a trail of saliva dripping down the side of his cock as you slide your hand up and down at a tantalizingly slow pace. "what happened to streaming? i thought you were stronger than that."
he'd been on twitch for barely twenty minutes before you walked in. on a normal day, you'd visit after a shift at work and plop yourself onto his bed, scrolling through your phone while he played whatever on his computer. sometimes, he'd hop on a stream for the few fans he'd accumulated, and tonight was one of those nights.
but when you initially looked up from the phone, all you could focus on was how sexy ilia looked with his glasses on, hair brushed lazily behind his ears as he rambled on about how much he hated flips to one of the viewers. you gnawed at your bottom lip in contemplation, knowing full well that it was rather classless to drop to your knees and go to town while he innocently played video games and talked to fans.
you normally had self-control, but today, it must have taken a day off.
what are you doing? he mouthed when your fingers pulled his chair out, enough for you to sink between his desk and the wheels. his brows furrowed, and he huffed out a breath when your fingers grazed his sweatpants, slowly curling into the waistband to tug them down.
one thing led to another, and now, he's still in his fortnite party — just without the fans listening in.
and with his dick in your mouth.
"i'm not letting a bunch of young girls listen to that," ilia finally retorts as he leans into the chair, thighs tensing up when your lips kiss the head again, so featherlight that it barely feels real.
"pfft," you scoff, "as if you'd give up enough pride to make noise."
your hand works him with lazy strokes, tightening its grip with practiced precision, just the way you know he likes it. just to watch his jaw tense as he tries not to react.
ilia swallows thickly; you watch his adam's apple bob through thick lashes while your tongue slips out to wet your lips, glossing them over with the same slick dripping down his length.
you take the tip between your lips first, gently, just to let him feel the warmth your mouth provides. it's already swollen, sensitive under your touch as his fingers flex around the computer mouse.
"shots from up there," he mumbles to whoever he's duoed with — you hadn't bothered to ask earlier — and marks the location.
you, meanwhile, apply the smallest bit of suction, letting the tip of your tongue graze the head as it collects his taste on the buds. you hum, and the noise buzzes around him; a quiet, unsteady noise rises from the back of his throat that he masks with a cough.
satisfied, you sink further, taking another inch. grinning with malice when you feel him twitch between your lips. your free hand rests on his thigh — essentially bare from the way his shorts have ridden up — steadily rubbing back and forth over the thick expanse.
"god," he hums lowly, only loudly enough for your ears to catch.
you giggle innocently, parting from him with a slick noise as a thin string of saliva connects him to the corner of your lip. your legs spread further on the cold hardwood, allowing you to maneuver yourself closer. ilia chooses not to acknowledge it, though he feels the press of your fingers into his thigh when your body scoots.
you confirm his suspicions by craning your neck and kissing him again, gingerly peppering a trail of pecks down to the base, where your nose bumps the tip of your finger, still wrapped snugly around his dick.
"mmm…" you moan sweetly, licking a lewd stripe along the side before aligning him with your lips again.
it isn't quiet anymore; wet noises slip into the air, no effort made to muffle them. an occasional slurp surfaces a little too loudly, ilia's muscles tense beneath you, he mumbles something under his breath in russian that neither you nor his duo understands.
his breath forces itself past parted lips, soon becoming frequent and heavy, loud enough that the person on the other end asks if something is wrong.
"no," he manages weakly, but his tone is anything but convincing. "i'm fine."
you sigh theatrically. lips tightened around his cock, cheeks hollowed out, hand tactfully stroking the small bit that is left exposed. drool coats your lips, glossing them over until it begins to slide down your chin and drip onto ilia's bare thigh, where your palm still resides firmly.
his muscles strain underneath the heat of your touch. you feel the tension everywhere — in the way his thigh constricts, his cock pulses between your lips as if it was never meant to be anywhere else but there.
and that's when you finally hear it.
ilia whimpers; full-on whines into the microphone for whoever is there to hear. he whispers a silent fuck before rotating the arm on his headset until it clicks and signals the mute.
"i thought you were too good for that?" as you lift with a quiet, wet popping noise. "seems not," you tut, sporting a pitiful frown that ilia finally acknowledges.
"jesus, okay," he grits, ripping the headset off his head and tossing it onto the desk, alongside the abandoned game he inevitably lost for the party — though it's the last thing on his mind, right now.
a satisfied grin tugs at your lips, and ilia shuffles closer, the weight of him heavy in your palm. you take him into your mouth again, leaving behind the taunting nature, as you've finally gotten what you wanted, and you honestly don't want to give that up. the way his eyes are suddenly so laser-focused on you, gaze dripping with intensity, watching his cock disappear into that perfect mouth of yours…yeah, you'd be a fool to keep pushing, to make him say forget it and return to the computer screen.
"mmph," your voice a weak, muffled whine when he brushes the back of your throat. at the noise, ilia's hand cards through your hair, brushing it away until he grips it at the back of your head.
he doesn't push; just adds enough pressure for you to know he's there. tugs a little because he's enjoying it.
a bead of precum slips into your throat, and you swallow it down. ilia smiles — faintly, but enough to notice. the hand on his thigh keeps you stable, delivering a harsh squeeze to the bare skin when his hips shift just slightly to meet your mouth. just enough to fit it all in, for your nose to nudge the area above. your throat to constrict around him as if to try to adjust.
"is this what you wanted?" ilia asks breathily, chest rising and falling as the features tighten on his face, nose scrunched with parted lips. the sight — albeit hindered as you look up through your lashes — is exactly what you've been wishing for. and god, if the fogged-up glasses and sweat-slick forehead and the moaning are anything to go by, you'd say you're doing a damn good job.
"mmmhm," you hum proudly in response, attempting a nod that gets quickly stifled by the cock stuffing your mouth. twitching when the edges of your teeth graze the sensitive skin.
which — as a matter of fact — means he's close; painfully close. fingers tangling your hair into a knot, hips fighting the urge to take matters into their own hands.
his head falls back when you let enough of him slip out to swirl your tongue around the expanse of the head, a coat of slick saliva glistening under the computer's dim light.
muffled noises spew from the discarded headphones on the desk, barely audible, yet you manage to make out a confused are you there? coming from the other end. ilia, who clearly isn't amused, reaches over and turns the tower off, watching the screen go black. the blue lights strung along the ceiling settle between you to illuminate your face instead, the new hue somehow making the sight before him even hotter.
"Блядь," a throaty rasp that makes heat bloom between your thighs, core pulsing at the sharp edge in his tone. "sit back."
you follow his order, sitting on your heels as his hand carefully tugs your head back, while the other rises to pull himself free. his palm wraps around his cock, a few slow and uncalculated strokes as he looks down at you, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head as if to mimic a doctor telling you to stick your tongue out.
slowly, yet impatiently, your tongue slips between your parted lips, holding still as you wait for him to move. the head falls flat on the tip of your tongue, sweet and swollen and throbbing with the need for the release he's been teetering on the edge of since he'd abruptly ended his livestream. and when you curl your tongue upward to brush just the right spot, you feel it.
careful spurts of warm, creamy-white liquid falling onto your taste buds. angled perfectly to land in the center, while his fingers flex at the back of your head. a low whimper falls from his lips that he makes no effort to suppress, weak and needy and perfect. his hair falls so perfectly in his face, all contorted with tension, and you moan under his touch, into the thick air between you.
relief bleeds into his features as he comes down from the high, cock softening in his palm, the salty-sweet warmth gathered onto your tongue like a reward. he watches your lips press together, your throat bob when you swallow him down without hesitation, leaving behind only a small, satisfied hum that resonates in his stomach.
your palm maintains its comfortable position on ilia's thigh, offering comfort as you run it back and forth sweetly along the smooth expanse, manicured fingers gently scratching his skin.
"taste perfect, illie," you whisper, smiling as ilia leans forward and slides his hand beneath your jaw. presses a kiss to your lips that lets him taste himself on your tongue, pulling away slowly enough to watch your bottom lip snap back into place.
"play nice next time," he teases, and you giggle, nudging the side of his knee with your elbow. "or i might just ignore you."
"mm, but a dork like you could never resist this," you retort with narrowed eyes, lifting your fingers to toy with the edge of his glasses.
"yeah…maybe."
but you both know that you're right.
because ilia is obsessed with the way you blow him; he just refuses to admit it.
Bruce is in...an unfortunate circumstance.
So is everyone else.
He can honestly say he has no idea what is going on, and judging from the barely suppressed rage, confusion, and hostility, neither does anyone else at the table.
He's sitting at the head of a table in Wayne Manor, which definitely does not exist anymore and is glowing a strange green. At the table are Damian, Jason, Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and a random teenager he does not know.
Alfred, who has been dead for years, is serving them food that is...glowing slightly green. Just like the house.
Everyone is being courteous, and it...it seems like someone is controlling their words? Their actions as well. They can only speak in rhyme, and they are being forced to play as one big happy family.
He can see, in everyone's eyes, that no one remembers how they got here.
Even Alfred, glowing blue skin and luminescent green eyes, seems to not be in control of his actions.
The strange teen at the other end of the table is getting more and more panicked with every glowing green delicacy placed before them, muscles tensing and straining as he visibly tries to break free with brute force alone.
Bruce knows, as does everyone else at the table, that to eat those foods is...bad. He doesn't know how, exactly, but it appears that no one should eat them.
A flicker of someone, no, three someones dart past the door. One of those people wears an armored outfit, and pauses long enough to appear to do a quick assessment of the unknown teenager at the table; so another hero, or at least someone invested in keeping the boy alive. If they have enough time, they might be able to undo this.
He needs to delay.
He cannot let any one at this table, including that random boy, eat any of this food.
Whoever is doing this wants them to play as a typical family unit. He is only allowed to say or do things that would typically fall into that category.
Alfred sets down the last plate, movement stiff and jerky as he tries to do it as slowly as possible, and Bruce feels his hands stray towards the utensils on the table.
He redirects them to brace against it and stand himself up.
"A toast is required, to welcome new kin, for we never grow tired of taking them in," Bruce says, lifting a glass of...something. Green and glowing, as is everything else.
Toxic.
Thankfully, the makeshift toast seems to work; no one moves to eat the contaminated feast.
But he feels himself start to sit down again.
Jason's hands are shaking, tiny wheezes slipping past his lips as he fights against them moving back towards the fork and knife. Tim, concerningly in contrast, appears fully prepared to eat whatever this is. Even...eager?
Bruce really hopes he's reading that one wrong.
When they escape, and they will because he will not accept anything less, he really needs to have a conversation with him.
"In truth there are no secrets here, and I must divulge some I fear," Bruce almost shouts, knees popping back into a standing position so fast it triggers a spasm of pain in his back. That wasn't what he meant to say.
He can feel himself being compelled to speak the worst truth he could possible give, and instinctively fights against it.
In response to the struggling, Damian's hand reaches out, tendons flexing in full view as he fights against it, and a finger dips into what is supposed to be some sort of gravy.
He cannot be doing this.
Dick's hand gracefully snags a glowing green dinner roll, his eyes steely as it's brought towards his mouth.
He cannot.
Duke sounds like he's about to hyperventilate, fingers trembling and dropping the glowing pig-in-a-blanket, forced to pick it up every time it drops.
At the opposite end of the table, the unknown boy actually manages to let out a soft, muffled shout, jerking forward before the magic that bewitches them all forces him back into compliance.
...He must. He must, lest he not only watch his children die in front of him, again, but watch them all do it at the same time.
Bruce closes his eyes.
A hand rests on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze.
The only comfort this strange residue of Alfred can give him.
"We are no mere family; we are the knights that hide in the dark, verily I do speak more gravely while chasing crime like a shark."
There are sounds of combat, things breaking and people shouting, laser pistols, or a variant thereof, firing.
The compulsion is stronger, and he knows that if he tries to resist it even a little bit, Duke, Damian, and Dick are all dead.
Damn it.
"For I am Batman, of Gotham proud, alone I began, but now have a crowd."
He is forced to sit down again, and the sounds of fighting ease off.
Damn it. Damn it! They failed!
But the boy at the head of the table stands, sweaty and desperate.
"For telling me this, I feel I must up the ante; I cannot dismiss that I'm also a vigilante. My name is Phantom, and I really love oranges....."
The boy stops talking, mouth open as whoever controls them tries to find a followup.
But.
Nothing, traditionally, rhymes with orange in such a way that it shares the last part of that word.
The air seems to stretch.
The table holds their breath.
...The air snaps.
"Not again!" Someone shouts from where the fighting was, "Stop doing that!"
Or; Ghostwriter wanted to fuck with Danny, by forcing him to play house with one of the wealthy elite and torment him with stupid rich people bullshit.
He even used the lair of the ghost of their old Butler, Alfred, since it was an exact replica of Wayne Manor.
Sure, if humans eat food that's made of pure ectoplasm straight from the Zone they can't ever leave it, but like, they can just stay with their butler.
Ghostwriter just needs to make sure that Danny can't talk, because if the little shit talks, he'll use the orange trick again.
He did not anticipate that; Bruce Wayne is Batman, Red Huntress would try to beat the snot out of him with the help of a goth and a technonerd, or that Bruce Wayne would manage to give Danny the perfect opportunity to open his big fat mouth and ruin Ghostwriter's fun.
