Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I. FIRST ACT : LIFE OF THE PARTY, in which your father’s best friend, billionaire BRUCE WAYNE, picks you up from the iceberg lounge and drives you back home in his lamborghini, as a promise to his old buddy that he will keep your reckless behavior in control while he is out of gotham city.
WARNINGS ─── female reader, mature themes, sexual content, implied age gap (reader is in her twenties, bruce is in his late forties) usage of drugs, mentions of character death (martha and thomas) self-destructive/impulsive behavior, slut shaming, daddy issues, jealousy, obsessive bruce, mutual pinning, lots of sexual tension, finger sucking, masturbation, pussy fingering. see end notes. word count: 7700.
I. PLAYLIST, II. MASTERLIST, III. PART TWO : LONELY STAR.
there is one pervasive thought possessing bruce wayne’s mind entirely when he sets foot inside the iceberg lounge, at around three in the morning, on a saturday night — he must find you.
the club is suffocating. it drowns in heat and the humid air is thick with cigarette smoke, almost asphyxiating. bodies grind sweaty against each other through thin layers of clothing and sweat, on the dance floor, hands groping hungrily, starved lips kissing with each other with depravity.
the iceberg lounge is the place where the elites of gotham reveal their deepest secrets, leaving all inhibitions behind, as they all turn into their true selves — it’s a space of pure moral decay, where some decide to parade themselves with virtuous superiority and enjoy the spectacle, whilst others lose themselves in the momentary and illusory freedom of alcohol, drugs or taboo sex practices.
thick lines of coke rest on glass tables and buckets with melting ice sit overflowing with expensive champagne. half-naked women pump their high heels in sync with the loud music. some sit at their round tables and judge, while others prefer to lean over the metal balustrade of the second floor and watch the on-going clothed orgy.
in fact, it would not be much of a shock if multiple orgies were taking place right under their noses, inside the dozen of reserved vip rooms, which also set as ideal spots for the filithiest and finest mobsters of gotham city to meet and negotiate in the small confines of riches and exclusivity.
bruce wayne isn’t here to solve any case tonight, though.
he cuts through the large crowd, poised with each step he takes, one hand dug in the pocket of his trousers, chin up and proud in his tall posture — his strong muscles remain tensed and his broad shoulders stay pulled back. his suit is casual, black, as dark as strands of his hair, arranged neatly in a clean slick back.
naturally, bruce wayne carries himself with the allure of the most handsome and eligible bachelor in gotham city.
bruce’s permanent smirk greets every person in sight, but he isn’t entirely present. his sharp gaze strikes through every corner of this club, looking for clues, searching for you.
tonight, all eyes are on him, because right now, he isn’t batman. it’s impossible to pass undetected.
tonight, he’s playboy billionaire bruce wayne and his presence alone brings him unwanted attention. businessmen and women altogether drag bruce in endless streams conversation, inviting him to their tables and begging for a crumb of the bachelor’s attention.
women bat they eyelashes at him, flaunting their expensive outfits and jewelry, subtly pushed up cleavages with diamond necklaces and satin dresses. some of whom bruce has met on previous occasions, some he’s not acquainted with.
regardless, bruce excuses himself, exclaiming that “oh, please! — tonight’s a big night. everything’s on me!”
he’s no stranger to nights like these — nights in which he puts on a facade for the sake of concealing the identity of batman. the facade of a playboy, a careless billionaire who spends an absurd amount of money his fortune on parties.
this time, bruce moves away from the tumult of the crowd, as he goes straight to the bar, where he orders a glass of rare whiskey, which he will not drink from — the bartender recognizes the billionaire and he offers him the drink for free. bruce winks and he raises the glass. he leaves the bartender a generous tip, which he quickly hides in the pocket of his stained pants.
“for gotham city!”
bruce’s pick up on a little chit chat two mobsters are having and the moment he realizes their conversation is about you, he starts listening closely — a part of him wishes he didn’t have to witness their discussion. and another part wants to make it stop.
he continues to eavesdrop. one of the two men spills out information frantically and it forces him to look away, visibly irritated.
the other mocks him and their conversation gives off your location: one of the vip rooms located on the second floor of the iceberg lounge.
“fuck, dude, shoulda seen her earlier,” the man takes a sip from his glass, “ all over roman sionis’ lap— crazy fuckin’ slut i’m tellin’ ya. her daddy’s one of bruce wayne’s executives or some shit. wonder what he thinks.”
“then-“ the other looks away, seemingly zoning out and his friend punches him in the chest, “hey! you better listen to me when i’m talkin’, man. i swear this girl gave boners to me and half of the dudes in this club. see that pole over there?”
“that one in the center?”
“yes, yes- saw her doin’ two lines and hoppin’ on that stage, dancin’ like a pro and everything. maan, why’d you make me leave? fuck you. you left that little bitch mike with her in the vip room.”
bruce’s grip on the whiskey glass tightens and it would be so easy to break it, but he remains calm.
“could’ve been goin’ home with her right now. could’ve been driving with her in the passenger seat, cock in-”
bruce decides to completely mute this part in his head.
“that’s too bad, should’ve stayed with mike then. get some action together.”
“are you kiddin’ me? i don’t wanna see that guy’s penis, even if you fuckin’ paid me for it.”
the other mobster mocks, “huh, imagine… michael’s probably balls deep inside her now.”
“you know what, adam? go fuck yourself. this is why you get no pussy, dude. that guy’s thing isn’t even 3 inches long. fuck you, really.”
bruce has heard enough of their discussion, so he heads straight to the second floor of the iceberg lounge.
tonight, the man has made it his mission to find you — his best friend’s one and only daughter.
this is for his best friend and executive and not for himself, bruce thinks.
“for christ’s sake’s, bruce, i feel like i’m losing my mind these days!”
the man of medium stature, executive of wayne tech, drops a pile of documents in front of his best friend and bruce sits straight in his leather chair, fingers interlaced and arms propped on his lacquered mahogany desk.
the afternoon sun spills through the open terrace doors, drowning bruce’s office in warm, golden light and the wind blows gently through the long curtains. if anything, in gotham city, this is purely a warning for a later thunderstorm.
one gothamite should never be too content about the sunny weather, for clouds and rain will always follow indubitably.
“she’s a smart girl, bruce — she used to be good. educated. responsible!” he shouts, pacing like a mad man around bruce’s office, “i know she’s old enough to take care of herself. but think about the way her mother felt when she found drugs in her daughter’s purse!”
silence.
“not to mention tabloids are already picking up on it and it’s completely ruining the family image! think about what this is doing to me!”
more silence.
‘SPOILED DAUGHTER OF WAYNE TECH EXECUTIVE FOUND HIDING COCAINE IN HER LOUBOUTINS AT PRIVATE PARTY. BAG OF COKE FALLS OUT HER SHOES AND IT EXPLODES ON THE GROUND.’
“i gave her the world on a silver platter, bruce. i sent her to the university of monaco! i gave her money, a yacht, cars. a future, bruce, a future! is this my reward? ‘cause i don’t want it!”
‘WAYNE TECH EXECUTIVE NEPOBABY FOUND SNEAKING OUT THE ICEBERG LOUNGE WITH TWO UNKNOWN MEN BY HER SIDE?! SOURCES CLAIM SHE HAS BEEN DEALING WITH DRUG ISSUES?!’
bruce arches an eyebrow in disbelief, still at his desk, leaning in the plush chocolate leather chair, arms crossed against his chest.
“have you considered,” he interrupts, eyes judging the amount of whiskey your father pours himself from the bar, “that your daughter simply might need more attention from you and your wife? during the development of a child-”
“bruce. i love you, buddy. i really do. but you have to be more realistic- you, from all people, should understand.”
him, from all people should understand — bruce, who spent his entire youth and adulthood without his parents. he thinks about the hatred fueled nightmare of a youth he was forced to lived because of their death. the enduring pain in his heart. not a day passes without him wondering if his life would’ve been different.
he thinks about the many times he’d cry over their graves with flowers in his hands, blaming himself for something he wasn’t guilty of. his powerlessness and paralyzing fear.
“i’m not sure i understand you.” he replies dryly.
“bruce. that’s not what i meant. forgive my negligence.” as your father fixes himself a drink, he continues, “ but listen- my daughter’s nanny was her best friend growing up. she loved it! and i’ve tried- i really did try my best to be there for her, bruce. her mom too.”
he’s more than aware of your father’s alcoholic tendencies. a normal person wouldn’t average a glass of fine whiskey at two in the afternoon, three times a week. his lack of discipline is astounding sometimes, but his work is mostly exceptional in bruce’s eyes.
so, he lets it slide this time.
“a nanny will never suffice as a child will always crave the presence of their parent.”
“as much as i wish to spend more time with my daughter, i don’t have time for it. in our field of work, time is money and i cannot afford to lose any.”
there are moments when bruce seriously considers firing your father.
“not everything is about money, especially when the wellbeing of your daughter is at stake.”
such as this one. treating you less as a daughter and more as a liability is something bruce does not appreciate in the slightest.
they had been best friends since childhood and bruce can still recall the day the two of them met. your father was there for him during his darkest, loneliest time: the death of his parents.
he witnessed your father’s growth, his marriage, his inevitable change — him turning into a money hungry businessman, despite carrying himself with the same lighthearted humor and intellect. objectively speaking, you father is an outstanding executive and his performance is excellent. for wayne tech, he’s indispensable.
your father cares about you in his own i have to earn money for this family and complete disregard your emotional needs way.
he could protect you, bruce thinks about himself. he could stop this.
“plus, she’s a big girl. she doesn’t need me anymore. i’m sure she can handle it, bruce. but i need her to stop making a fool out of me and embarrassing our family. i spoil her too much.”
no, she can’t handle it, he comments in his head.
bruce could take care this downward spiral; your drug and reckless partying problem — he could fix all of it in the blink of an eye.
he’s been watching from afar, studying your behavior, monitoring you through scandal magazines and gossip.
he understands. he sees a void so dark— and so immense that it seems like nothing will ever fill it. which is not the case, but it explains the reason for your three year move to europe, away from your old life. you home. your family.
“the point is-“ your father interrupts bruce’s thoughts, “my wife and i will be out of gotham for a few weeks. do you mind keep an eye on her for me, please? for the sake of your good old friend?”
“of course.”
said and done. bruce sighs once the man leaves his office, for this will feed into this obsession.
it took him less than five minutes to find out you will be at the iceberg lounge tonight.
if he was to be completely honest with himself, which he is, bruce wayne’s unhealthy and addictive obsession with you reaches almost impossible heights.
you are the only daughter of his childhood friend, his long time business partner and confidante. so, naturally, this is entirely and downright illogical and irresponsible from his side. he’s older. wiser. he should know better.
but ever since your return from europe, all grown up, changed, he finds it impossible to not think about you.
he’s more than capable of analyzing your body language. you turn shy in his presence and your eyes spark bright as your pupils always dilate when he’s around you. not to mention you always try your hardest to impress him, to look perfect. mature. you try to force yourself into a role not fit for you. you’re not like that. you want him.
but again, him, the older and wiser adult, will allow any of this to go further.
and here sits bruce, tensed, ready to search for you and barge inside every vip room in the iceberg lounge, hoping to find you safe and not passed out or worse, overdosing.
he gets to the stairs quickly and so begins his search for his best friend’s daughter. the first vip room, he eavesdrops— no. a couple and a stripper arching her back next to the pole. wrong room. the couple invites him in and he politely declines their offer.
the second vip room — not there either; mobsters, negotiations, laughters and three money cases wide open on the table.
and then, the third room.
two guys leave and another stays, but he doesn’t say a word and you find his lack of personality thoroughly boring. he’s probably daydreaming about fucking you, hands dancing around your waist and lower, nose and lips buried in your hair, tripping out of his mind.
you’re on top of the world. your entire body feels lightweight, as if you’re floating on a huge, fluffy cloud. this is all feels dreamlike. the sort of dream that numbs your pain away.
you came along with three other girl friends, who are nowhere to be seen, as you had split up from them earlier this night, making your way alone through the agitation of the iceberg lounge.
this vip room, dimlit, fits two circular leather couches and a stripper pole in the middle, with a small stage. you lean over the glass table, with a dollar bill stuck up your nostril, snorting the powder crushed in two thin lines on top of your phone screen- and you scrunch your nose as yet again, the powder burns and small tears start pricking in the corners of your eyes.
suddenly, the door opens with no hesitation and without a single knock. neon purple lights invade the dark room and a tall shadow forms in the corner of your left eye.
you don’t care enough to look up and bothered, but you snap, “get the fuck o-“
no.
“mind sharing her with me?” the deep familiar resounds through the deepest corners of your body. your eyes widen when you turn around and you don’t finish youe sentence.
bruce wayne.
your father’s best friend.
and probably the most ravishingly handsome man you’ve ever seen and your entire life; in his late forties, his looks prevail over the passing of time. he carries himself with the elegance of a man who was surely born into a fortune of billions of dollars.
he’s the man who was never supposed to see you like this: at your lowest, filthy, with dirty powder on your nose and mascara dripping down your flushed cheeks, smuged lipstick, so ugly and inelegant.
you’ve grown used to seeing him with countless women. socialites. celebrities. on the news. in countless tabloids.
logically, the sole reason for his sudden appearance must be a search for an empty vip room. it wouldn’t be surprising if a woman (or more) stood right behind bruce.
your father always speaks so highly of bruce wayne: he is the most brilliant man he’s ever met in his entire life and being his best friend is the highest honor. which coming from your father, is for sure a lot.
the mobster’s eyes widen and he moves away from you. he puffs one more time from his cigar, right before leaning down to grind it out in the dirty glass ashtray, “wow, what a pleasure, mr. wayne!”
the youngish man pats bruce’s shoulder, “she’s all yours. but careful, she’s a wild one.”
disgusting.
“thanks, kid. i’ll handle it just fine.” he smiles, pretending to sip out of his whiskey.
“see ya later, beautiful.” he kisses your cheek and his hands brush against your waist all over again and he closes the door behind him.
“does your dad know you’re here?”
“dad’s out of gotham, mr. wayne.”
he knows.
you scratch your nose, brushing away the remaining powder, in a poor attempt to hide away that you’ve been snorting at least four lines of meth in the past twenty minutes.
your jaw moves by itself uncontrollably and your teeth hurt from the constant chattering, mouth dry as sandpaper. your heart races inside your chest and your dilated pupils melt away the colors in your irises.
you must look like a clown in his eyes. pathetic. his best friend’s daughter, allowing herself to get stepped on like a filthy rug, doing drugs with a bunch of men she has never seen in her entire life.
you can’t even remember how you got in this room. you remember the mess of a show you put up in roman sionis’ lap — which will drive everyone nuts and soon as it gets out.
mr. wayne has never seen you like this before.
you take a sear on the leather couch and the weight of your body makes it squeak when you cross your legs, slim black high heels adorning your feet, “can this be our little secret, please?”
“does he know you like partying with mobsters?”
“they’re nice. gave me a bunch of drugs and er’thing.” you blurt out the words, fast, messy and thoughtlessly so and you lift your arm up, handing bruce the dirty rolled up bill, “want some?”
god knows why you said that — it must be the sudden amount of dopamine unleashing through your entire body.
“no.” the sudden shift in his demeanor makes you adjust and straighten up, “men like them are never just nice.”
his blue eyes are cold.
“ah, interesting. good to know. just like every other guy in this club.” you sniff, stupid drugs, “why are you here?” you try to dig more into his business.
you’ve always been jealous of every woman that has ever touched him.
“who’s the lucky woman tonight, mr. wayne? wait- don’t tell me. is it infamous journalist vicky vale? ha, bet she’ll give you a worthwhile interview on her kn-”
bruce doesn’t find it amusing, but his smirk, purely a play of facade, comes out mockingly.
admittedly, bruce wayne, ceo and owner of wayne enterprises has made a name out of himself not only for being the sole survivor of the crime alley tragedy or for his amazing philanthropic contributions, but for being the most sought after playboy in gotham city. each week, a new woman. each week, a brand new crazy story.
“no one in particular.” he interrupts and his eyes meet yours.
it must be the drugs flowing through your veins, for every inch of you lights up when his stare locks you within its depths, blue and furious when he finally takes a seat next to you.
time stops and all music dissipates in the heavy air stinking of cigarette smoke. the room begins to shrink the more your eyes roam around, it’s crammed, small, its four walls too close for two people like you. it makes you feel claustrophobic.
“i must admit i’m fairly disappointed that you think of me so low. we’ve known each for some time.”
“oh.” you stop, “don’t tell me dad sent you here. i’m sorry. bet you’re already pissed that you found me like this… doing drugs with a bunch of losers.”
“your dad didn’t send me here. it’s saturday night after all. am i not allowed to have fun? i’m bruce wayne. i must entertain, right?”
he came here for you.
“right… yes, fun.”
“but no,” he continue, “i’m not angry. if anything, i’m deeply concerned for your safety.”
he is angry. angry on your parents. angry on the plethora of men taking advantage of you. on himself, because he did not intervene earlier and let this chaos unleash. he feels responsible for you to some extent— you’re his best friend’s daughter, but his protective nature runs deeper than his only connection with you.
your eyes widen, “forgive me. i didn’t mean to be so… annoying. please, don’t worry about me. go have fun. i bet there’s a line of ladies waiting you.”
in this entire club— no, in this entire city, there is one woman he would rather look at. and that woman is you.
the simple assumption that he would abandon and leave you alone and high in this room, only to have his way with other women does something inexplicable to him. it hurts.
“do you really think i would abandon you like this?” he softens.
he’s aware of the things you’ve seen or heard about his affairs.
a short silence settles inside the room and you feel your chest tightening. you pick on the hems of your short dress, fidgeting, nervous, bitting on your lower lip. you avoid his eyes, but you can feel them staring at you and looking at him feels unavoidable.
it’s pathetic how disgusting you can feel when you’re left alone with the reality of your life. and the simple fact that bruce wayne himself found you so lost and sad, it’s humiliation at its finest.
“listen i- i don’t need your pity!” you snap, “don’t give me that look, mr. wayne. there’s nothing wrong with me. i’m having so much fun!”
“what kind of fun is this?”
“so, let me get this— if do a couple of lines with a bunch of losers and i decide to go home with one of them it’s a problem. but when you fuck every single socialite in gotham city, you’re a sexy playboy? spare me!”
“i’m not here to pity you. this is the truth, either you like it or not. they won’t care if you wake up tomorrow. it’s borderline suicidal.”
“how… did you even know i was here?”
“a little bird told me i might find you in one of the vip rooms.”
“a little bird?” you curse under your breathe and you wonder who must’ve talked about you.
“everyone talks about the little… show you put on for roman sionis.” he adds, “and apparently your friends couldn’t keep their mouths shut at the bar.”
embarrassing.
he pauses.
“it’s time for me to take you home.” bruce rises from the couch and he extends his arm, waiting for you to take his hand.
“i don’t wanna go home!” you protest.
“yes, you do. that wasn’t a question. i’m not leaving you here by yourself.”
bruce walks around the room, as if he’s trying to search for something, but after a few moments of scanning through every corner, he stops and he turns towards you.
“where is your jacket?”
“i don’t have a… jacket.”
he sighs. “it’s freezing outside. you’ll catch a cold at this rate.”
without hesitation, bruce takes off his suit jacket and he drapes it over your shoulders like a massive cape, “lift your arms up for me.”
you listen and he quickly slides each sleeve up your arms. it’s impossible not to stare at him when he’s so ridiculously concerned about your health, meticulously arranging the lapels of his perfectly tailored suit jacket. it’s big, warm, it smells just like him.
you’ve never been this close to mr. wayne. it makes you feel all fuzzy. maybe the so-called butterflies forming inside your tummy weren’t a myth, for you feel each inch of yourself exploding with joy. doing so many lines definitely has a lot to do with this, but your attraction towards bruce wayne is something you always felt deep inside your heart.
this all feels like one big beautiful dream that makes you giggle.
“what is it?” he questions and if it wasn’t for the smile peeking in the corner of his mouth, you’d think he finds your attitude irritating.
“it’s huge!” another soft giggle betrays your lips, “ i bet i look like a clown!”
if anything, he finds it endearing. he finds you adorable. sweet. not now, but always. your laugh is something bruce allows himself to cherish in his memory, even if he rare are the occasion when he gets to hear it.
he wonders if you’d ever let him do this to you if you weren’t so high, flooded by dopamine and dizzy on serotonin.
“come on. let’s get you home.”
you walk in front of him and there’s no need to cut through the crowd, as every person inside the iceberg lounge stops in their tracks to stare at you while you make your way to the exit. some people pull out their phones to take pictures or livestream the moment, while some gossip, hands covering their mouths, whispering nasty assumptions about you to each other.
slut. druggie. whore. gold digger.
bruce opens the massive door of the iceberg lounge and when you leave the massive building, the cold air smacks you right in the face.
you walk side by side, with a small distance barely stopping your hands from touching, but you dream about holding his hand with your eyes wide open. you feel like floating, light as a feather. you think about being bold, but that would only make the situation more embarrassing than it already is.
you assume that mr. wayne cares for you just as he would care for a little, lost kitten he’s found on the street. a dirty kitten that’s about to be returned to her angry, worried owner. he feels sad for it. nothing more.
worse. he sees you as whiny little girl and he’s your babysitter for the day, the seventh in a row, who is about to come to the imminent realization that he needs to quit his job because he’s unable to handle you.
it reminds you for your childhood.
gotham city at four in the morning is just as usual — dirty and rainy. dark. the moodiest cities of them all. few cars pass down the street in a rush. you step in a small puddle and the water splashes right on your high heels and you whine about it, but you don’t want to make a scene out of it.
mr. wayne has already seen you at your worst.
the valet leaves rushing on his way to pick up bruce’s car and you wait, hands crossed against your chest, right leg bouncing tirelessly. the drugs flowing through your blood keep your body warm, but goosebumps still form on your arms and you shiver so suddenly.
“told you it’s freezing,” bruce turns around, closing the distance between you and closing each button of his jacket “you should take better care of yourself.”
he’s scolding you and it makes you wander if mr. wayne cares for you.
the rumble of a lamborghini revuelto makes your head turn. it’s dark, just as the night starless sky and the same valet exists the car, walking towards you and bruce.
“mr. wayne, i hope you enjoyed your night at the iceberg lounge.” the valet hands bruce his car keys.
“of course, thank you.” he gives the valet a firm handshake. then, he reaches for his wallet, from which he pulls out a few hundred dollar bills, “have a great night.”
bruce opens the passenger door for you and you slide it, holding down the end of your minuscule dress. he leans in, grabbing the seatbelt and suddenly, you become hyper aware of his imposing presence and about the kind of situation you have put yourself into. you gulp.
this must be all a dream; to have bruce wayne drive you back home in his lamborghini. the interior is just as black, with seats and details of dark leather, so comfortable and lavish.
bruce’s subtle scent still lingers on the collars of his shirt and it feels like heaven on earth. you become aware of every inch of his body. the light stubble itches down his neck and he thinks he should’ve shaved it. his lips, so kissable.
the two undone buttons of his black shirt and his strong chest peeking right under. his height, the broadness of his shoulders, it’d be so easy for him to overpower you. you can only wonder what hides underneath the fabric of his trousers.
he smells just like you imagined. perfect, of strong leather and rich spices, he wears it all, with the subtlety of a wealthy man who doesn’t need to prove himself to the world.
“mr. wayne, you have you ever smelled this good?” you question him with a serious face, biting down your lower lip.
“you’re on drugs. metamphetamines increase the dopamine production in your brain and-“
“i don’t need a chemistry lesson, mr. wayne. i know what meth does to the human body,” you scoff “you just smell so nice, so…manly. i like it.”
you lean your head on the seat rest and you lids close while he finishes adjusting the seatbelt, inhaling his cologne and allowing it to intoxicate your senses fully.
he pulls up the switch and, with the press of button, bruce starts up his car — the loud, sudden purr coming out of the engine startles you, but you still melt in the passenger seat.
“y’know, mr. wayne… i noticed it makes me more honest and talkative. more than… usual.”
“indeed.”
he doesn’t look away while driving through the dark, almost empty roads of gotham, both hands on the steering wheel, while he speeds up, with a soft smile in the corner of his mouth — subtle, but it’s right there and it makes your heart flutter and tummy tingle with warmth.
he’s an incredible driver.
and he’s incredibly attractive when he steers the wheel too, scratching his stubble lightly with his fingers every now; you notice, ogling his way like a needy animal.
‘oh my god, i’m bruce wayne’s car!’
‘how do you keep yourself in shape? not that i think you’re old. gosh, no, no, i like this look… so vintage.”
a myriad of words keep spilling out in questions and remarks with no filter, at the speed of light and he answers all your curiosities.
where is mr. wayne’s shirt from? tailored for him by brioni, you find out.
how about his suit? custom made by tom ford as a gift.
naturally.
“have you always been this huge?”
you lean closer, elbows on the armrest and you use your hand to squeeze the thick muscles of his arm, flexed under the black button up. you can feel each vein and blood pumping in his body, each muscle tensing under the touch of your manicured fingers, “…you’re so huge, mr. wayne.”
every emotion you feel is amplified to such a high intensity. and so feels the world, bright, colorful, no longer bleak. despite the darkness of the night that swallows the streets gotham city whole.
“when i saw you, i couldn’t believe my eyes!” you continue.
he lets you talk.
“oh my god, i was totally embarrassed!” you confess with a bittersweet smile, “ but honestly i would’ve been so jealous and sad if you left me alone in that vip room.”
“jealous?” he steers the wheel, turning left, near the bridge and he picks up a bottle of water from the console. “here, drink this.”
you take it as an order, without saying a word, you listen, your mouth dry as sandpaper and you chug down almost half the bottle. then, you continue to ramble, frustrated, one hand gesturing and golden stacks of shiny bracelets dangle with clinking noises up in the air.
“all these women, lining up to have their moment with billionaire bruce wayne! and you left with… me. i know it’s not what you were hoping for.”
silence, because the man is aware you are nowhere near finished.
“but why do you have to date so many women?” you whine, “vicky vale? VICKY VALE? and what was her name?amy? AMELIA?”
her name is something you cannot remember, but you recall the sophistication in her voice and the laugh, mature, elegant— the exquisite notes of her perfume and the beautiful jade silk dress she wore, with onyx fur draped on her thin shoulders, walking arm in arm with bruce at the biyearly fundraising dinner hosted by your uncle.
she is the type of woman bruce wayne should be seen with— the perfect socialite. flawless. untouchable. a woman his age who is experienced. a real socialite who knows how to carry herself in this high society with class.
you find it impossible to erase the memory from your head. you were present too, as the guest of your family, sitting next to your mother, biting your lower lip until droplets of blood spilled fresh out the split your teeth had caused.
you remember trying so hard to ignore the painful, torturous spectacle playing right in front of your very own eyes.
that was just as few months ago.
the image plagues your mind and it sickens your heart to its very core. it hurts you.
why would he ever want you? you’re his best friend’s daughter; a mess, a reckless girl, on a path to self destruction. you’re a spoiled brat with every single privilege this world has to offer and yet, you pump your body with drugs and spend your nights having sex random men who do not have a single thing to offer except for for mediocre time and a few hours of distraction.
bruce wayne is nothing more than a bodyguard, if you think of it. and he’s probably beyond annoyed that he has to babysit you tonight.
“whatever. i don’t know why i’m telling you all this. stupid drugs- i just… feel like a burden to you right now. it sucks.”
you sigh, playing with golden bracelets adorning your wrists and your hands start to shake. your skin tingles and everything around you feels hot, like a deadly hot fire burns your body and soul simultaneously.
“i feel like a silly little girl who can’t help herself but fall head over heels in love for her father’s best friend.”
love?
you bite the inside of your cheeks and you lips tremble, glossy and wet from the water.
bruce slows down when the traffic light turn and his blue eyes find yours again. if anything, he looks pained, his eyebrow slightly furrowed and lips set in a straight line.
he doesn’t answer immediately.
“i- no, sorry, i didn’t mean it like that, mr. wayne. i didn’t mean it at all! i don’t know why i said that.”
“don’t be so stubborn and finish the bottle. your body needs it.”
he lifts the half empty bottle and two fingers rest of your jaw, lifting your face up, “open your mouth.”
you’d do anything he tells you in a heartbeat. you’d kill yourself if he asked you to.
as your lips part open for bruce, he pours the water in your mouth and you swallow each he bruce spills for you, thirsty. it feels like nectar when it washes down the dryness of your throat. you keep your eyes locked into his and a few droplets of water spill down your chin, but he uses his thumb to gently wipe the water away.
love.
he inhales deeply. you’re young. you’re his best friend’s daughter. he shouldn’t. but he thinks about it, all the time.
your words hurt bruce like the stab of a knife right in his beating heart.
“don’t ever assume you’re a burden to me.”
he says it, oh, so softly. his words could almost make you pass out right there, in the passenger seat of his lamborghini.
he tucks a wild strand of hair behind your ear and his fingers begin tracing down your skin and so, bruce catches you face in the palm of his warm, calloused hand, cupping it delicately, his thumb caress so tender— like you’re a little delicate flower he wouldn’t dare touching too much.
to him, your recklessness means nothing. to him. from outside you’re strong, smart, yet, to him, your fragility is most noticeable and so is your sweetness. you awaken the urge to protect you every time he sees you, without fail.
you tilt your head, burying your nose in the warmth of his skin, soft lips pressed in a wet kiss and your pulse races as it warns to explode in your chest.
you look into his eyes, searching for any sign to stop. that everything happening right now is completely inappropriate.
bruce doesn’t want you to stop. he watches without saying a word, the look in his cold eyes, so intense and intimidating.
then, you slip his thumb past your lips, and you suck on it, still searching for a reason to stop in the blues of his hypnotizing eyes.
bruce pulls it out, but he inserts two more, the index and his middle finger— you let them explore the walls of your needy mouth, wide open for him. they rest on your bottom lip, pushing down on it just slightly and back into your mouth they return.
he seeks the humid warmth, feeling the insides of your cheeks and the surface of your tongue wrapped around his fingers, sucking and licking them with obsessive hunger.
bruce wayne has learned the art of self restraint and control a long time ago, but this— it makes his cock twitch inside his pants. his eyes close shut for a few seconds and he grunts, sensitive, feeling the your tongue trace down the tip of his fingers.
he nudges them a little deeper down your throat, exploring, as if he studies you and it’s enough to make you roll your eyes, not enough to make you gag.
your gaze never leaves his. eyes heavy with need blink slowly, hazy with so much need. you feel the wetness aching down your legs, so you shut your thighs together. with each passing moment, you feel it deeper, as the sensation goes up your stomach.
“i-i always wondered what it’s like to be kissed by you.” you swallow, nervous, “you seem like such a good kisser, mr. wayne.”
love.
he shouldn’t allow this to happen. but tonight, bruce wayne finds himself staring at your plump lips and the sharpness of your teeth biting down on them, shy, curious, and then back into the stare of your eyes— you look at him with so much need.
that’s it.
you don’t know if it’s love. maybe it’s just a silly crush. maybe it’s pure obsession.
right now, it doesn’t truly matter.
the only thing that matters is that bruce wayne’s kiss is truly devastating.
it’s more beautiful and intoxicating than any fantasy you’ve ever had of him. his lips crash into yours with no hesitation, hungry, possessed, one strong hand squeezing your cheeks. your entire body vibrates under the heat of his touch.
bruce devours you with his mouth and you can feel his grunts resounding deep inside his chest and up his throat. bruce’s hand wanders with a mind of its own, wrapped around the back of your head, closing the almost inexistent space between you.
your hands wander around his on his sturdy, big chest and you moan in his mouth thinking how big and utterly perfect this man is.
his other hand shifts from the steering wheel, finding its way to your face, cupping your flushed cheeks and you break the kiss, murmuring sweet words and smiling against his lips.
“is this what happiness feels like?”
your skin tingles when bruce drags his lips wet down your jaw, nestling gently inside the crook of your neck, heavy breaths making you moan so lovely in your seat. his lips and mouth are tender, kissing and sucking on your soft skin hypnotized entirely, by your scent— overly sweet, immaturely so, just like candy.
his eyes soften and body relaxes, “i shouldn’t allow this to happen.”
you lean in for a kiss again, but he pulls away.
“mmm… but you’re so good to me, mr. wayne. you- rescued me.”
you make him feel needed, in a sick and twisted way. but you got it wrong. he’s not a savior. it’s his duty.
with bruce’s hand still hanging around the back of your neck, you lean in and his lips find yours in a harsh kiss again. the more you touch, the harder he kisses— the feeling grows intense and overwhelming when he pushes his tongue past your lips, sucking on yours, starving to taste you.
you’re so wet. the yearning pulses painful between your shut legs.
“please,” you beg, breaking the kiss “touch me. i- i need you so much. look what you’ve done to me, mr. wayne…” you beg, resting your forehead on his strong shoulder.
you catch his right hand in yours and you guide it slowly towards the ends of your dress— your heart pumps rapidly and your vision blurs slightly. your mind is overtaken by so much desire, washing away all feelings of anxiety. you pull up your golden dress and you drag your thongs to the side, pressing his fingers at the soaking entrance of your sweet pussy, radiating of raw wet heat.
you let go of him, because part of you thinks mr. wayne will stop and be angry with you. bruce pulls his hand away and you stare at him with your mouth agape.
he slips two fingers inside your mouth to coat them in wet strings of saliva, “lick them, sweetheart,” he orders.
it’s so easy to listen to him.
the traffic light turns green— bruce notices the bright color spilling on your pretty face, but he doesn’t hurry. you spread your legs for him wider and bruce slides his fingers up and down between your folds teasingly, drenching his fingers in the sweet juices you give him.
he shouldn’t be doing this.
he’ll get rid of the ache between your legs and give you one orgasm right now. then, he’ll make sure you’re safe in bed by five.
“mr. wayne, i… touch myself thinking ‘bout you!” you confess between pretty moans. you lean your head on the comfy head rest, eyes closed, enjoying every drop of pleasure that pulses deep through your whole body.
bruce accelerates and you get pushed back in the leather seat, but you adjust to the speed almost immediately.
he doesn’t look at you anymore and despite his eyes being fixed on the dark road, his focus stays on the the clench of your needy cunt around his fingers— you swallow bruce whole when he pushes two thick fingers inside your pussy, one by one, helping you adjust and stretch around him nicely.
still, he takes it slow, curling his fingers up, making contact with that sweet little spot of yours and with each motion, your back arches instinctively and your body jolts with illicit, mind numbing pleasure.
“how often, sweetheart?”
“e-every night.” he pushes deeper, harder as a reward for your confession.
“show me how you moan when you think about me.”
it’s so incredibly easy to do what he tells you to.
you slip two shaky fingers down your swollen clit, so oversensitive to the smallest touch, while he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping wet entrance. unconsciously, your body moves closer to him by itself, knee pressed into the armrest, sequined dress pulled up high to your waist.
“please… need more, ‘m gonna cum…”
his thick fingers work faster inside your gummy walls, filling the silence with squelching wet noises and loud, unrestrained moans. your eyes roll and you can almost feel it in your entire body, like a numbing spark. you’re so close. you keep rubbing your puffy clit with shaky fingers and finally, the pleasure spreads through your whole body like rapid fire, from your pussy and up your spine, radiating through your arms and legs, forcing your vision blurry and numbing you mind completely.
you stare at the wet mess between your legs and then at bruce, at his nostrils flared and eyes overflowing with raw need his self-restraint is remarkable. he pulls out his fingers out of your pussy and you already miss the stretch of him. then, bruce uses his tongue to lick his fingers clean, tasting your sweet orgasm dripping down slow and sticky.
he’s so incredibly handsome.
“ kiss me again, please… need you so much. need more.” you beg, breathless and your thighs shake together in pleasure.
it takes you a while to realize it, but you look out the window, and you notice at the entrance of the underground parking lot of your apartment building.
“not tonight.” he says and a short pause follows while he drives inside the parking lot.
“what you need is a good night’s sleep and hydration. let’s get you in bed.”
“ why do you bother so much, mr.wayne? i’m safe and sound, at home. i’m all dandy! you can leave. goodn-”
“and have the possibility of you running away the second i leave you alone?”
“i won’t run away! oh my god, and i got it! i’m reckless. i should stop doing drugs and go home. lesson learned!”
the thought of having bruce wayne inside your penthouse is more than enough to make you weak in the knees and you wouldn’t be able to face him after what just happened and moreover have him inside your home.
“i’m not here to teach you any lessons,” the grip of his fingers tightens around the steering wheel, “is it not obvious? i want to take care of you. and after all this… after tonight, i cannot allow myself to leave you alone.”
you stare into his eyes and he looks hurt again, but you don’t say a word.
“now, let’s get you home safe, shall we?”
TO BE CONTINUED IN . . . ACT TWO: LONELY STAR.
🧛🏻♀️ ivy’s note: haiii hawwo, thanks for reading <3 this piece is a lowkey (highkey) personal to me, as i’ve used some parts of myself and my life when writing it. interactions and reblogs are always super super appreciated <3
i also wanna clarify some things about the dbf! bruce series. the party & the after party will have two parts and it basically serves as the background and introduction to my other dbf!bruce fics.
the second part will absolutely have more smut and i will also dive a bit into their past and write about how their obsession for each other started (after reader’s return from europe) there’s A LOT coming in the next part.
so yes, i will be posting more bdf! fics, drabbles etc etc. reqs are so so welcomed and i’m already working on some of the ones i got <3 none of them have to be related to this fic !
thinking about how Sylus loves to take you wherever he wants and lives for the power of being able to just fuck you anywhere in the N109 Zone possible because he basically owns the city. When you mentioned wanting to visit the vast library of his city and learn more about the history—specifically his own history—he wasted no time taking you there, and rewarded your commendable desire to learn by working you over in the stacks, books flying off the shelves under the weight as he rocked into you. When you told him that you wanted to try out his favorite restaurant, he gladly reserved his usual table but was ballsdeep inside your quivering cunt before the appetizers even arrived. If you ask him to take you nearly anywhere in the N109 Zone, he’s definitely made you cum your brains out there.
But moreover, when the allure of fucking you on tabletops in upscale restaurants has worn off, he loves getting to have you on every stick of furniture you own. It’s already thrilling being the most wanted criminal in the world and venturing into the “normal” world that you come from, casually strolling past his own wanted posters with their trillion dollar bounties displayed boldly, but inviting himself over to your pretty little apartment and waltzing right inside to push you up against the living room wall and fuck into you hard enough that your neighbors hear the rhythmic thumping loud and clear sends white hot shock waves down every vein in his body until they’re bulging underneath his heated skin.
He doesn’t give you many breaks either because once he’s done beating holes into your wall, he’s carrying you with one arm over to your kitchen island; unconcerned with knocking over a mug of coffee or a vase full of fresh flowers. Don’t worry, he’ll send you plenty of flowers to make up for it but, for now, his main concern is in the way you wrap your legs around his waist as he pounds into your rapidly seizing cunt and drag your manicured nails along the skin of his back, raking fresh blood up underneath your fingertips.
Your mouth is a mess of curses and a few beads of drool as he fucks you dumb on the marble counter top and finishes deep within the depths of your pussy for the second time. Sylus reminds you that he goes rounds but knows that he doesn’t have to. He’s fucked that knowledge into you too many times to count. He really only reminds you as a… courtesy. Certainly not a warning.
He can be quite a gentleman, prides himself on it really, but not when he’s peeling your sweaty skin off the glossy counter and carrying you like a bride over to the fluffy white ottoman on your living room floor, that overlooks downtown Linkon, and bending you over to present your cute ass to him. You’re a whimpering overstimulated mess, bent over and spread open for him and, just when he’s thinking that you can’t handle much more and he’s about to pull away and clean you up, he feels the warm curve of your ass pressing up against his still rock hard dick—somehow able to take more of his ruthless pounding and actively begging for it. He can’t help but think that you’re so cute when you’re trying so hard to be a good girl for him. You don’t even have to part your lips to get exactly what you want because he’s fully sheathing himself inside of you, continuing the marathon that he started.
And the last word Sylus ever wants to use to describe himself is needy. Feels so unlike him, but how else can the man describe what exactly it is that you do to him? So fine. Sure. Whatever. You make Sylus… needy. So needy that he’s dropped everything while on working, the very minute he felt his cock stirring while accidentally thinking of you, ventured into a city armed with hundreds of hunters that are just itching to collect his bounty, didn’t bother knocking on your door before fucking you against it, then in your spotless kitchen, and directly in front of a wall length window, and has now thrown you over his shoulder to claim you in the comfort of the bed that you sleep in every night.
That’s the ache that you give him. One single thought of you, a singular image of your face, of your body, infiltrates his head, and he’s turned into this—this beast with a wealth of stamina, enough to have you crying and cumming at the same time—and an admittedly needy man. But he’s more gentle when he places your head on the pillow and spreads your legs out in front of him, looking at your puckered core like a holiday feast. That’s exactly what he treats it as as well. Sylus licks his lips and spares a half-second to kiss you on the forehead before he’s planting his solid features directly between your soaking folds and letting his tongue delve deep into your sex. He eats you out with abandon, until your back is in the sharpest arch off the mattress that he’s ever seen and your fingers are slicing through his scalp and yanking on his alabaster strands to beckon him in further.
He moans into your cunt as he eats his own load out of you, all three of them. He groans against you in pleasure as he sucks the mixture of juices out of you with hollowed cheeks. Sylus swallows the entirety of the wet mess and looks down at you as you pant and catch your breath, your skin glowing from the sweat the two of you have worked up together. When your eyes focus and lock onto his, Sylus doesn’t have to open his mouth at all. The look he’s wearing says everything and perfectly foreshadows that he’s about to fuck you full of his load once again. Before you can say anything at all, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and headed in the direction of your bathroom.
. ݁˖ ‧ ୨୧ if you enjoyed my content, pls consider reblogging ୨୧ . ݁˖ ‧₊
꩜ content ━━ 1.2k words, fluff, clingy jinu, suggestive, mentions of sex but not explicit, reader is referred to as ‘pretty’ but nothing specific about the physical appearance!
꩜ a/n ━━ he is a needy baby and i will die on this hill. not to toot my own horn but i am obsessed with this oneshot and i think i did a really good job :) as always reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated ♡
masterlist | navi | buy me kofi <3
The annoying ringing of your alarm, paired with the vibration of your side table startled you awake. Grumbling, your hand reaches out to grab your phone as your sleepy eyes blinked open. As you get more conscious, you get more aware of the heavy arm draped around your waist, making you remember the warm figure laying beside you.
Your eyes squint at the phone’s harsh brightness.
9:54 am.
Practice starts at 10 am.
You abruptly sat up, “Shit! shit, shit, shit—“ legs swinging off the bed, cold air nipping at your naked form, not realising you accidentally shook the body next to you awake.
Clothes were scattered all over the floor due to last night’s… adventures. Your room was a mess as you hopped around, picking a random shirt on the way to the bathroom to cover you in the meantime.
With a toothbrush in hand, hair up out of your face, you have time to fully take in your appearance. Your body felt sore (in a good way!) your neck was littered in marks and there was a certain calmness that surrounds you.
Suddenly a groggy voice sounded from outside the bathroom, “What’s got your panties in a twist, pretty?”
Your stomach flips, with mouth full of toothpaste foam, you try to mumble out, “I-uhm late fuh practiceh!”
Sounds of feet padding across the floor, the bathroom door opened, revealing a very top naked Jinu. He was only shorts to cover his bottom half. His skin practically glowing from the afterglow of last night’s event. The status of his body is identical to yours, covered with marks— your marks and kiss bites.
Heat raises up to your cheeks at his apperance, “Gouh weahr somefhing.” turning your head to spit in the sink, as Jinu slowly move to stand behind you.
“I would,” he starts, slow, lousy, gruff, “but I think someone already took it.” the tips of his fingers trails to the hem of your—his shirt. His skin grazes the top of your thighs where the shirt ends, sending your nerves into haywire.
You paused, hand still wiping the remaining foam around your mouth, as you stare at yourself through the mirror in front of you and confirm that yes, you are wearing his shirt. Eyes meeting his ones, taking note of the smug look on his face.
You squint your eyes.
You want to punch him.
“Stop looking like that.” you grumble, hand reaching out to wipe your hands on the towel hanging on the side.
A chuckle escapes his lips, “You look cute.” he teases, leaning against your bathroom wall, dark eyes trained on your face in the mirror.
You scoff, turning around and crossing your arms, “I just woke up.” eyebrows raising in challenge.
“Yeah, but,” he shrugs, coming closer into your space, “Your eyes are droopy, you’re pouting and you’re wearing my shirt, so…” his soft eyes trailing over your face and figure.
Heat creeps up the back of your neck, shivers appearing all over your body, “Idiot.” you chuckle, shoving him softly and leave the bathroom.
The man unconsciously started follows you like a puppy, with yearning eyes, head in cloud 9 and heart lighter than air. He wasn’t sure if it’s a dream or does the air seem sweeter?
With a quick shower, a quick dress up accompanied by a very heavy stare by Jinu, you are all ready in record time. You glance to where he sat on the edge of your bed and wonder why he’s not bored, “Why are you still here, Jinu?”
Your question left him confused, his gaze following your movements to your dresser as you put on some sun screen. Jinu furrowed his eyebrows, “Why? You want me to leave?” he muttered, you didn’t miss the vulnerability in his voice that surprised you.
Your heart stutters. Walking to stand at the edge of the bed. Jinu sprung up in excitement that you could almost see his imaginary tail wagging, finally having your attention on him.
You cradle his face in your hands, staring down where the man sat, “No, I just thought…” you trail off, not knowing fully how to finish the sentence.
Jinu’s eyes soften at your words, head nodding in understanding, “Well, I really enjoyed last night.” his hands grasping your hips loosely, “and, I really like you.” he mumbles shyly.
Your lips curl up into a giddy smile, bending down to kiss the tip of his nose, “I really like you too, handsome.” before retracting and grabbing your bag from the floor, “You have any rehearsals today?”
“Yeah, but a little later. You guys are crazy having it so early in the morning.” he stands up, following you as you walk outside to your door, “Can’t you stay for a bit?”
Your fingers hooks at the inside of your shoes, eyes glancing at Jinu from the side, “A bit? I’m 20 minutes late.”
The man moves closer, body radiating warmth as he lingers behind you, “Yeah, five minutes.”
You turn around and you smirk, raising your eyebrows, “What are you planning to do in five minutes?”
His warm palms move to rest on your waist, bringing you closer to him, “I can think of a few things.” he mumbles, head disappearing into the crook of your neck, chapped lips trailing over your jaw and neck.
“Jinu,” you breathed out, your hand going up to make contact on his bare chest, “I’m gonna be more late.” your voice trails away, and even with your words, your body acts on its own, head involuntarily tilting back to give him more access.
He chuckles into your skin, “You’re already late so what's another five minutes, huh?” his tongue dangerously trails over your jaw.
“Ngh-” you whimper, body hot all over as you feel goosebumps appear on Jinu’s skin at the noise you let out.
He moves up, finally slotting your lips together. You practically melt into him, feeling his body warm up under your touch. His kisses are slow, needy, savouring each movement as if he could bend time itself. Warm hands move up to to cradle your face as he holds you softly but there is an edge of desperation threaded in it, the way he keeps you locked in his perimeter, close to his chest.
“5 minutes are up.” you whisper into his mouth.
He lets out a small whine, keeping your face close to his, reluctant to let go.
“Jinu.” you giggle, pushing him back.
“No, no, come back.” he softly begs.
You shook your head, “Nope. You’re gonna make this five minutes into an hour I know it.”
He sighs, giving you a small peck before retracting, “Fine, then. Leave me.”
You roll your eyes, lips twitching up into a smile, “Such a drama queen.” opening the front door, “My keys are on the table, lock before you leave and leave the keys in the shoes I leave outside, kay?”
He snorts, “What am I, a pet?”
You raise your eyebrows, “Out of everything, you pick ‘a pet’?”
He shrugs, you stare at him for a moment before cupping your hand around the back of his neck, bringing him down to give him a last deep kiss, taking the breath out of his lungs. As you back away, you take note of his lidded eyes and the red blush decorating his cheeks.
“Be a good boy for me, yeah?” you smirk, leaving and closing the door.
“Ah— no! You can’t do that! You can’t leave me now–”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
gojo fell prey to the great cooking and fat ass his new neighbor had. he would peak out of his window just at the right time to squeeze the cum out of his cock whenever you walked out of your home.
he knew about the large age gap you two had. hell, he knew about your kid as well, he would watch when the father came to pick them up for his week, wondering if this was the week he would be able to finally get you - feel you
“m-mouhhh i can’t” he whimpered his cock starting to hurt from the excessive amount of cum that he has been producing. to be older your were making him look like such a bitch, and he loved it! his limp dick immediately rose when you hands wrapped around him again the long acrylics, clacking together while you hallowed your cheeks gobbling gojo’s dick down
sucking nosies came out of your mouth along with a lot of saliva. you liked giving messy head, making it nasty.
you licked down all the way to his balls putting each one in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. the whole time gojo’s tearful face was red, scrunched in the feeling of being close and his ball feeling so heavy.
“m-mommy cummm shitfuck! gonna cum” with a mouth full of balls a giggle erupted from you setting the young college boy off the edge. his cum came out slow, globs sliding down his all the way to where you still sat with his balls in your mouth.
the next day after making gojo pass out on his bed with cum all over himself - just from head. you knocked on the door with a plate of cookies for him and his roommates acting as if nothing happened
