I LOVE HOT MOMS

⤷ ᥫ᭡ sisi — she — sapphic — infj — slytherin

sevika’s wife! ―୨୧⋆ ˚ 16+ blog

𝗐𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀! ♡ not my main blog!!

my fandoms: HP | schoolbusgraveyard | class of 09 | Iwtv | twd | strangerthings | tgswiiwagaa | heartbreakhigh | alienstage | aot | hxh | hungergames | mazerunner | theblackphone | It | tlou | arcane | nana | skz | jjk | heartstrings | tua

basic dni criteria

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌

the nights in gotham were never quiet. sirens blended with thunder, and the air always smelled faintly of rain and smoke. yet somehow, he your boyfriend, your hero made you feel safe in a city that never slept. bruce wayne. batman. the man who could take on the world, but who sometimes forgot he wasn’t supposed to bear it all alone.

you loved him, even when it hurt. you loved the way he held you after long patrols, hands still trembling from adrenaline, the faint metallic scent of blood clinging to his suit. you loved how his voice softened when he spoke your name, even though you knew the city always came first. you never said it aloud, but a quiet ache had settled in your chest because every time he left, you wondered if he’d come back for you, or for gotham.

he meant well. he always meant well. but love has a strange way of withering in the shadow of duty.

you had told him you could handle yourself. you’d grown used to walking home under flickering streetlights, clutching your jacket close. gotham was dangerous, but you’d learned its rhythm, where to walk, what to avoid, how to keep your head down.

you didn’t know someone had been watching.

he had seen you long before that night in the reflection of alley windows, in the crowd outside wayne tower, standing near bruce’s side with that soft smile that shouldn’t have existed in a place like gotham. you were light in a city that had none, and he hated it. or maybe he loved it. with him, there was never much difference.

the joker didn’t believe in love at least, not until you.

he watched the way batman looked at you, how you were his tether to something human. It fascinated him. the idea that the great dark knight could care about something, someone. so he waited. patiently. until the night bruce was too late, when he’d been busy saving a building, or fighting some faceless goon, thinking you were safely home.

you didn’t even notice the van pull up behind you. the smell of chloroform hit before you could scream.

by the time bruce realized you were missing, the sun was already breaking over the skyline.

and by the time he found where you’d been taken, the joker had already set his stage.

when you woke up, your head throbbed. cold wind slapped your face. you were bound to a chair on a rooftop overlooking the city. It was just past dawn, but the clouds were heavy and purple, promising another storm.

joker was humming softly nearby, flipping a knife between his fingers. “you know,” he said conversationally, “I never really got what he saw in you. you’re not the cape-and-cowl type. but then again…” his eyes dragged over you with lazy interest. “maybe that’s the point.”

you pulled against the ropes, voice hoarse. “what do you want from me?”

“oh, sweetheart,” he crooned, crouching in front of you, “I already have what I want. him.” he gestured toward the edge of the roof. “this city’s little savior, oh, he’s going to come flying in any minute now. and when he does, well…” his grin widened. “you’ll see.”

far below, chaos brewed. smoke was curling from the streets, bombs wired through the subway tunnels, explosives timed to detonate during morning rush hour. joker’s masterpiece, a symphony of panic.

all that was left was the final act.

the batmobile’s engine roared somewhere in the distance before it cut suddenly. silence fell, thick and heavy. then a shadow moved across the rooftop.

batman emerged through the mist, cape whipping behind him, eyes locked on you. for a second, his expression cracked, the mask didn’t matter anymore. “y/n,” he breathed. “are you hurt?”

you shook your head weakly. relief flickered across his face. but then joker clapped his hands together.

“oh, bravo!” he cheered. “our dark knight arrives, just in time. though you might want to hurry, clock’s ticking!” he pointed down toward the city, where faint orange glows were already beginning to pulse beneath the streets.

batman’s voice was low, steady. “what have you done?”

“oh, nothing too fancy. just a few little party favors scattered through the subway system. enough to turn half of gotham into a crater.” he tilted his head. “but don’t worry, I made it interesting. you’ve got a choice to make.”

he sauntered behind your chair, hands gripping your shoulders. his voice dropped to a mocking whisper beside your ear. “save your precious girl…” he held up a small detonator, the timer counting down. “…or save your precious city.”

the words hung in the air, thick and cruel.

batman’s fists clenched. He looked at you, then at the skyline glowing faintly with danger. His mind was racing, calculating, weighing every possible outcome. you knew that look. you’d seen it before, when he was in mission mode, when he stopped being bruce and became batman.

you whispered, “bruce… please.”

his jaw tightened. his eyes softened, but only for a moment. “I can’t let the city fall,” he said, almost to himself.

joker laughed, high and shrill. “ohhh, I love it when he does this part. all that guilt, that noble little frown, priceless!”

the timer ticked louder. you saw bruce take one slow breath before turning his back.

“don’t do this,” you begged. “please.”

he hesitated. just a second. then he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

and he was gone, cape vanishing into the smoke, racing toward the city below.

for a long moment, there was only the sound of your breathing and the faint beeping of the detonator still in joker’s hand.

you sat there, numb, the weight of realization crashing down. he had left. the man who swore to protect you had chosen gotham instead.

a tear slid down your cheek, then another.

joker watched you in silence. the manic grin faded into something quieter, sharper. he stepped closer, crouched in front of you again. his thumb brushed your tear away, smearing the wetness across your skin.

“I told you,” he whispered, almost tenderly. “he’s not the hero you think he is.” his gaze locked on yours, dark and burning. “because I would burn the world for you.”

he pressed a kiss to your temple — light, mocking and smiled.

behind him, the first explosion echoed in the distance.

Tutoring Session

𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 adjusts his glasses for the third time, pen tapping nervously against the margin of his notebook. he’s used to silence in the library and no one paying attention to him, not the way you sprawl across the chair beside him, skirt hiked just a little too high like you’re testing how long he can keep his composure.

“you’re supposed to be teaching me,” you murmur, leaning forward until your perfume fogs his brain. “but you keep staring.”

“I—” he swallows, throat tight. “you’re… distracting.”

“good.” your smile is wicked, the kind that makes boys trip over themselves. you’ve heard the rumors about him—top of the class, serious, a little uptight. exactly the kind of boy who wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you.

but you like watching him squirm.

you slide the worksheet back toward him, brushing his knuckles with your nails. “so… quadratic equations. show me how to solve this one.”

kento clears his throat and starts explaining, voice low and precise. But your hand sneaks under the table, grazing his thigh. his explanation stutters.

“you should focus,” he hisses, but it’s weak, shaky.

“I am focused,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear as you lean across to look at the page. “just not on the math.”

he grips his pen so tightly it nearly snaps. “this isn’t appropriate—”

“neither’s the bulge in your pants,” you cut him off, smirking as his ears turn red.

your fingers trail higher, slow, testing, and his whole body tenses like he’s holding back a storm. the smartest boy in school, reduced to silence by a girl who knows exactly what she’s doing.

“tell me the answer, kento,” you purr, shifting closer, your thigh pressing against his under the table. “or maybe I’ll just keep distracting you until you can’t think straight.”

kento’s pen hovers over the page, but his hands are shaking. every brush of your fingers along his thigh, every slight press of your knee against his, makes him shiver. he’s trying to explain the quadratic equation, but the words come out in broken stutters.

“kento,” you whisper, leaning close so your lips almost brush his ear, “focus… on the math. don’t look away.”

he groans softly, pressing himself down in the chair, but it’s useless. your hand slides higher, teasing the inner curve of his thigh under the table, just brushing the edge of his pants. his back arches involuntarily, and his grip on the pen tightens until the knuckles whiten.

kento’s handwriting is barely legible now, the pen scratching crookedly across the paper. his chest heaves, sweat gathering at his temples, but he doesn’t stop. you’ve got him exactly where you want him—half studying, half falling apart under your touch.

your hand slips higher up his thigh, bolder this time. you palm him, thick and rock hard through his slacks, slow and deliberate, and the sound that leaves his throat is choked, desperate. his pen nearly falls from his fingers.

“keep writing,” you purr, pressing your lips to his ear. “you don’t stop until the problem is finished.”

“p-please…” he stammers, glasses fogged, hair sticking to his forehead.

“please what?” your voice sharpens, teasing as your fingers tug at his zipper. the quiet rasp of it opening makes him shudder violently. “please let you finish studying? or please ruin you right here?”

he can’t answer. his jaw works soundlessly as you slip your hand inside, wrapping around his already aching cock. he jolts, the pen scratching a line across the paper as his hips twitch. you stroke him slowly, cruelly, all while his hand trembles, forcing himself to keep working through the haze of pleasure.

“good boy,” you whisper. “write the answer. every number. every step. you can fall apart when I tell you to.”

kento’s breaths come ragged now, groans and whimpers spilling past clenched teeth as you pump him slowly under the table. his equations grow sloppier, numbers smearing together, but he refuses to stop, because you told him not to.

you quicken your pace, stroking him harder, thumb brushing his tip rubbing the pre cum already leaking from it. his whole body jerks, thighs tensing under the table. “y-you’re… cruel,” he gasps, voice cracking.

“and you love it,” you counter, smirking. “look at you, kento. the smartest boy in school, reduced to this. shaking, begging, while still trying to solve math problems for me like a good boy.”

the pen drops with a sharp clatter. his head falls forward, breath shuddering. he’s right at the edge, and you squeeze tighter, merciless feeling him twitch in your hand.

“say it,” you command, your lips brushing his ear. “say you’ll finish the work, even when I break you.”

“I’ll—” his voice catches, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his body quakes from how much he’s holding back. “I’ll finish… I’ll—god, please—”

that’s all you need. with one last sharp stroke, he comes undone in your hand, shooting hot spurts of sticky cum, muffling a strangled whine into his sleeve. his whole body trembles, glasses slipping crookedly down his nose, the picture of a boy completely shattered.

you let go, pulling your hand free and wiping it delicately with his abandoned worksheet. he’s still shaking, breathing hard, ruined.

"now," you murmur sweetly, nudging the pen back toward his limp hand, "finish the rest of the assignment. no excuses."

the courtroom is empty after hours, shadows stretching long across the polished wood. higuruma stayed behind to review case files—ever the principled man, too serious for his own good. you slipped in under the pretense of needing “help understanding legal terms” for a project, but really, you wanted to see how easily the infamous lawyer could fall apart.

“still working?” you tease, sliding onto the bench beside him. he doesn’t look up, only hums, glasses catching the dim light.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he says, voice firm but already thinning when your knee brushes his.

“why not?” you smile sweetly, leaning close enough that your lips ghost against his jaw. “you’re always so stiff, hiromi. don’t you ever relax?”

his hand stills on the paper. you take advantage, slipping your fingers over his tie, tugging until his sharp composure wavers.

“this is inappropriate—”

“then stop me,” you challenge, already climbing onto his lap, skirt riding high. his breath catches, and you feel him rock hard beneath you despite his desperate attempt at restraint.

“you’re… dangerous,” he murmurs, but his hands betray him, gripping your hips tight as you grind down.

you giggle, savoring the way his control unravels with every roll of your hips. “all that discipline, all those rules… but look at you now.”

the gavel might as well strike—your verdict is already clear. his tie is loosened, shirt rumpled, pants unbuttoned, glasses fogging as you work him into a mess. you whisper filth against his ear, each word making him shudder harder until his careful silence breaks into ragged groans and whimpers.

when it’s over, he’s slumped back in the chair, hair mussed, chest heaving, utterly ruined. His papers are scattered, his dignity nowhere in sight.

you slip off his lap with a satisfied smirk, straightening your skirt like nothing happened yet his warm cum runs down your thigh.

“thanks for the lesson, counselor,” you purr, brushing a kiss over his damp temple. “I learned a lot.”

and just like that, you saunter out of the courtroom, leaving hiromi higuruma undone, disheveled, and painfully aware he’ll never look at you the same again.

———————————————————————

dakota johnson who tucks your hair behind your ear when you get shy.

dakota johnson who pushed you gently against the counter after a glass of wine, lips dragging down your throat until you were breathless.

dakota johnson who called you her "good girl" when you whined for her attention, pulling your knees apart like she had every right.

dakota johnson who had you sitting in her lap, thighs spread across hers, your little sundress bunched at your hips. "s’pretty. you don't even know what you do to me, do you?"

dakota johnson who laughed when you tried to answer, but it only came out as a needy whimper, your cheeks hot as her hand slid higher, palm firm against your inner thigh, fingers brushing where you’re already warm and slick.

dakota johnson who tilted her head and laughed softly, that husky sound sending shivers down your spine as her thumb slowly teased your already aching cunt.

dakota johnson who kept you squirming while she hummed, "patience, baby. let me enjoy you."

dakota johnson who kissed the corner of your mouth before finally sliding two fingers in, firm and unhurried, whispering, "mommy's got you."

dakota johnson who made you cry out her name like a prayer and a curse when you came on her fingers.

dakota johnson who ruined you so sweetly you couldn't even imagine wanting anyone else.

dakota johnson, who made you realize how much you wanted to be taken care of.

dakota johnson, who kissed the crown of your head after every filthy word she breathed into your ear.