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cheonstapes · 1 day ago

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i dont know if i already reposted it but ill do it again cause damn

# PUSSY TALK !! (vi x reader)

$YNOPSIS. you’ve been feelin’ a little insecure about yourself lately. good thing you have a girlfriend who’s head over heels for you, no matter what! // wc. 2.4k

warnings. insecure!reader, talk of body image + weight, face sitting, spanking (ass + clit), praise, dirty talk, stripping, oral sex, size kink (?), teasing, fingering, begging, squirting, overstimulation, mirrors, awkward aftercare, spooning, pet names

NSFW below the cut. minors, stay away. enjoy your read!

Dresses aren’t your favourite piece of clothing. They never have been and they never will be, and even as you stare at yourself in the floor length mirror of your bedroom, you absolutely hate how this dress looks on you.

When you asked for something flared that would hide your curves, you didn’t expect your tailor to make you look like an overstuffed cream puff. The flared sleeves hang off of your arms like misplaced scraps of fabric, and the material pools at your feet, surrounding you in an unceremonious circle. You look frumpy, you feel frumpy, and nothing in the world could have convinced you that this is the dress you were going to wear to the annual Councillor’s Gala.

“What the fuck…” You turn around to inspect the back, and it’s even worse than you thought. It seems as if the tailor has attempted a daring backless design, but to you, it just looks like a gaping hole, the fabric tight and loose in all the wrong places before messily accumulating just above the apple of your ass. It looks horrible, and if you weren’t insecure enough, this dress makes you feel like a laughing stock.

And that’s when the dreaded words come out of your mouth. “I seriously need to lose weight.”

Someone doesn’t like that, because out of nowhere, you feel a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and a sharp chin on your shoulder. “And why’s that? I think it looks perfect.”

Vi loves seeing you in dresses. She thinks they make you look so graceful, no matter what shape you choose. It solidifies the fact that you are her perfect princess, and she will never understand why you hate them when they make you look so pretty.

She also doesn’t understand this whole weight thing you have going on. If anything, one of the things that first had her on her knees for you was your body, and like now, she always feels a need to be touching it, whether it be stroking your thighs or kissing your collarbone or, like now, wrapping her arms around your perfect waist and pulling you into her chest.

“‘M not perfect though, Vi,” you grumble, hands running along the sides of your chest and resting over where her hands cradle your tummy. “I look like a creampuff.”

“Creampuffs are sweet. I like creampuffs,” she says, her eyes making contact with yours in the mirror as she noses your neck. “I like you.”

You roll your eyes and whine. “I know you like me, Vi. But that’s not gonna change the fact that I hate this dress.”

“Take it off then.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like you’re not going to be stuck in it for three whole hours, playing the part of a member of high society whilst trying your hardest to ignore the obvious stares at the atrocity which is your outfit. You want to tell Vi that it seriously isn’t as easy as that, but you’re distracted by her hands slipping into the open back of your dress.

“I can help you,” she whispers in your ear, and you can feel the cold metal of her nose piercing against your heated skin. “Take it off, I mean. Relax.”

“Vi…”

“Can we try something?” She begins to kiss your neck slowly, and you whimper when you feel the rough scar on her lip brush against your heated flesh. “I know you’ve been feeling some way about your body lately, and to be honest, I have no idea why because your body is already so fucking perfect…” Her hands slide up the insides of your dress, and you lift your shoulders automatically as she slips those god awful sleeves off of your shoulders. “There’s something I want you to do for me.”

After all this time, she hasn’t broken eye contact once, and you notice her eyes go dark when she shoves the front of your dress down, only to find your perky nipples staring right back at her. “What is it?”

“Sit on my face,” she states simply, hands coming round to rub at your tits. “I want all of it, baby. Your whole body. I want you to fuckin’ suffocate me.”

You probably will. You stare at your girlfriend in the mirror incredulously, because there’s no way in the universe that you’re going to sit on her face. Not in a million years, and certainly not today. “No.”

“Give me one good reason why not.” She has a point, because it’s getting increasingly hard to refute her when her hands are making their way underneath the front material of your dress, letting it drop to the floor and revealing your regulation panties. “Go on, give me one good reason why you shouldn’t sit on my face.” Before you can open your mouth to protest, Vi smiles and bites your shoulder. “And your weight is not a valid answer.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Violet.”

“Yes, baby?” She acts like nothing is wrong, like asking you to crush her skull in between your legs a couple hours before the most important event of the year is a completely normal request. And she continues to act this way, even when she slips her hand into your panties, fingers eagerly in search of your clit. “So what I’m hearing is you don’t want to sit on my face, and you don’t want me to make you feel so good that you forget all about this stupid dress and that stupid gala?”

Your back arches into her chest when she starts rubbing your clit in small circles, lips widening into a smile as she watches you unravel against her. “That’s not what I said.”

“So why are you acting like you don’t want it?” She’s taunting you now, fingers halting all movement on your clit and sliding down lower, tips starting to tease your quivering hole. “Because I know you want it, baby. She’s telling me you want it.”

You hate how Vi can read you like a book. You do want this, but you’re worried, and she makes sure to eliminate of all of that worry by slipping her fingers into your cunt, mouth dropping open in wonder when you begin to crumple against her.

“Vi, please.”

“No.” Stubborn. “You’re not cumming unless you’re where you're supposed to be, princess. My game, my rules, and no amount of that pretty begging is gonna change that.”

You bite your lip as you feel her palm grind against your clit, fingers speeding up and continually assaulting your sweet spot. It’s so hard not to beg her to let you cum, especially with the way she’s holding eye contact with you so intensely.

“Say the words, and that orgasm’s yours,” she mumbles, smile ever present as her fingers alternate speeds. “Come on baby, I know you can.”

You can, you will, and you do. Your pleas to cum are replaced with nonsensical begging and whimpering, your hands futilely clawing at her biceps as you try to rip her fingers away from your weeping hole. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it, just let me cum, Vi, please-”

All of a sudden, the pressure building up inside of you dissipates, and you notice Vi licking her fingers clean as she backs towards the bed. “That’s what I like to hear,” she laughs, sitting down on the bed in a way that has you weak in the knees. “Come take a seat, princess.”

Embarrassingly enough, that’s all it takes to have you stepping out of the pool of fabric on the floor and crawling onto the bed towards her, legs planted on either side of her hips as you bend over and catch her lips in a heated kiss. It’s loud and it’s messy, her hands sliding up your thighs and onto your covered ass as you grind down onto her knee, tongue intertwining with hers in a clash of passion and need.

“Good fucking girl,” she groans, squeezing the flesh of your ass before slapping it hard, drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. “Come on, baby, c’mere, come sit.”

Your hands splay the surface of her chest as you push her back onto the bed lightly, chest heaving gently with every heated breath you take. Vi looks up at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, because to her, you are, and she wouldn’t want to be underneath anyone else.

“There she is,” she whispers as you situate yourself comfortably on her chest. “My pretty girl, huh?”

“I’m nervous,” you mumble, hips beginning to move slowly as you plant your hands on either side of her head. “I… don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Trust me, you won’t.” She captures your hips in her strong hands and pulls you further up her body, letting you hover just above her collarbone. “I’ve lifted this perfect body with my own two hands before. What makes you think a little face sitting will hurt me?”

In a way, she’s right. Vi is strong, more so than most people. If it got too much, she would be able to move you effortlessly, and-

You’re pulled out of your train of thought by the feeling of Vi’s nose nestling in between your legs, rubbing up against your pulsing clit under your panties. “Vi…”

“You’re thinkin’ too much, baby,” she groans, voice muffled in between your thighs. “Just do it.” This time, she doesn’t leave you any time to think, because she’s now mouthing at your cunt through your panties, strong arms wrapping around your thighs and pulling you ever closer. You gasp in surprise, one hand coming up to grip onto the headboard as you fight not to lose balance.

Another thing about Vi: she’s impatient. And when you hesitate to begin moving your hips, she does it for you, fingers pulling the seat of your underwear to one side and arms pushing you down hard.

“She’s so wet, baby, I don’t know how you can say you don’t want this.” Her tongue darts out to lick your throbbing clit and you whine, hips stuttering as you stare hazily at the mess of pink hair in between your legs. Vi is staring up at you with lust swirling in her eyes, and you can feel her smile on your cunt as her tongue slides downwards to your entrance. “I mean, she is practically begging me to eat her out. Is that what you want?”

Before you can answer her, you’re caught off guard by her hand slapping at your clit playfully, sending pleasured shockwaves throughout your system. “ ‘M not talking to you anymore, silly,” she laughs, thumbs rubbing at the area she just assaulted. “I’m talking to her, since my girl doesn’t seem to know what she wants anymore.”

“Stop it,” you grumble, but Vi pays no notice, resuming her languid licks on your pussy. Your protests are quickly turned into prolonged whines and whimpers of her name, the pressure once taken from you beginning to build in your core with each shallow thrust of her tongue into your hole.

“Not until she’s satisfied, angel.” And she means it, because the grip she has on your thighs is nothing next to lethal, and you feel yourself begin to shake as the pressure builds more and more. “And she’s getting close, don’t you think?”

She is. Your head begins to swim and you tangle your fingers in Vi’s hair in an attempt to stabilise yourself but it proves futile, mouth dropping open as you beg her to let you finish. “Vi, please, please, I’m sorry, I-”

“Nothin’ to apologise for, angel, you’re doing a great job.” You have no idea how she still manages to speak when she’s being all but crushed in the trap that is your quivering thighs, but her voice drives you ever closer, your hips grinding down onto her happily awaiting tongue as you chase your orgasm desperately. You want it- no, you need it, and when she begins to massage your ass sensually, you think you might just squirt.

“Vi...”

“Yeah, baby? Is she telling you something?” She loves playing this game, delaying your orgasm as long as possible whilst making it impossible to hold yourself back. It feels like her hands are everywhere because suddenly her thumb is massaging your clit, and you’re begging her like there’s no tomorrow.

She seems satisfied by your begging, because she takes one arm off of your thigh to use her fingers to fuck your needy cunt. “Cum for me baby, c,mon. Give it to me.”

And give it to her, do you, and in gracious abundance at that. Your juices drench her face unceremoniously as you twitch above her, spine shaking as you hold on to her hair for dear life. You’re all but riding her tongue, and she’s moaning profusely into your cunt, the vibrations only heightening your sensitivity. And try as you might, you can’t pull her away, her mouth a suction as she pushes you unforgivingly into overstimulation.

When you’re all but ready to surrender your stability to her relentless assault in between your legs, you feel a strong pair of hands lifting you off of her mouth gently, and light kisses being littered all over the expanse of your thighs. Vi’s mouth travels along your skin lazily, her powdery blue eyes looking up at your shaky form with nothing but love etched into her irises. You barely begin to register the sweet praises she gives you, instead basking in the afterglow of your intense climax mixed with the feeling of her hands stroking your back.

Moments later and you’re laying down on the bed next to her, curled in a foetal position as you fight the army of sleep threatening to overthrow you. “Are you tired?”

“Mhm.”

“Why don’t you… skip the gala? Stay here with me, I’ll cook, and…”

You think the difference between the Vi laying next to you now and the Vi who made you climax to the brink of passing out is a cute one. She’s never been too good with aftercare, instead trying to make awkward conversation in an attempt to divert from the fact that she just rocked your world in more ways than one. “We can stay home. I’ll tell the organisers I wasn’t feeling too well.” That, and the fact that god awful dress made you want to bust a nerve.

Vi smiles at you gently, and you wish you could stay like this with her forever. “Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.”

main masterlist

#arcane #arcane x reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi smut #arcane smut #league of legends x reader #league of legends #league of legends smut #cheonsreviews❕#I LOVE WOMENNN

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idyllcy · 1 year ago

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girlhood

word count: 2.4k

warnings: implied attempted rape/assault, but overall fluff

summary: sometimes girlhood is just loving the girl you grow up with

in the beginning of a girl's life, there is little to love and everything to despise.

From the way the toys are created with boys in mind and the only cool things are given to the boys, you had learned to despise what was given to you with a title of 'girl'. You always had to be the damsel in distress, you always had to be the one being saved, and you could never hold a sword and cheer about how you had saved the princess from the tower and loved her to the moon and back. The misogyny you develop as a result of whatever the hell it was that the system taught you is ingrained into your blood, and you despise your girlhood. You hate being a girl because pink is girlish and it isn't strong enough. You hate being a girl because you aren't strong.

then comes trying to stick out— Then comes trying to be different from everyone else, Then comes trying to be one in a million.

Then comes sticking around girls who are tomboyish like you, then comes sticking around people like you, realizing in a cruel dawning that boys would never like you no matter how girlish you came to be, and realizing that boys would only ever see girls as something to play. It didn't matter if you weren't like the rest of them; they would think of you as the same as the rest anyway, so you find solace in the girls like you. You stick with girls like you, girls who are quiet, orphans. You blink at the black-haired girl owlishly on the street, the street light illuminating her, and you open your mouth, but she understands nothing. She doesn't even blink.

You try and motion with your hands.

She understands then, fishing something out of her pocket, and you exhale in relief.

You bow as a sign of thanks as she disappears into the darkness.

The pad in your hand crinkles slightly as you rush to the nearest tent to change.

girlhood is a rollercoaster of things under the rain of society you receive as a result of your biology.

You dig through the back of a Nordstrom rack to find thrown-out clothes you can try and wear, staying vigilant to stay away from cops and not get yelled at by the employees, tossing what you could wear into a bag, tossing what you couldn't into another, some instinctive and part of you desperate to take care of the other young ones on the street who were worst off than you, even if it didn't matter whether or not they survived the winter. You finish in the trash, the smell normalized in your system, the rats no longer bothering you.

You meet her again tonight, her tilting her head at you, you blinking owlishly at her again, and this time, she motions the same with your hand, and you rummage through your pocket, handing a similar wrapper to her, smiling. You settle her hair and draw in the gravel with your broken shoe the way to the bathroom, and she nods at you as a thank you. You watch as she disappears, her black hair fluttering behind her, and you haul the trash bags over your shoulder, looking for the street children.

The bags drag through the gravel as the first snow in Gotham starts, and you change into new clothes and shoes as the children do too, and you smile at them sadly, heart whispering, souring in your chest, and you wonder if you could have a family. Maybe you would have been happy had you been in a family that loved you and did not care to have a son, but it wouldn't have been the same. You wouldn't have been loved even if you did end up in a family that loved you, because that was not a life for you to live.

You tilt your head at the girl who blinks back at you, a candy bar in her hand, handing it to you.

You wonder if she stole it.

Well, not that it matters. You pat the spot next to you as the two of you sit down by the docks, and you snap the bar in half, handing part of it to her as you stare down at the Gotham waters— waters with so many chemicals that you would probably die if you had a sip (not that it stopped you. Clean water was still a privilege to have.)

She tilts her head at you, pulling on her lips, imitating a smile.

You smile back.

girlhood is forcing yourself not to throw up over despising what you are to others.

The mirror in the convenience store is bloody from Batgirl's fight with a random man who tried raping you in the stall. The man is unconscious in the stall, and you heave, eyes wide, heart ringing in your ears as you try and return to the real world. You feel a hand on your back, a hand too gentle to be a man's, and the hand doesn't move, almost as if there to ground you. You don't have the courage to move, the fear rendering every part of your body unable to, and your final break into reality comes in the form of hot, scathing tears that fall in fat blobs onto the dirty tile, and the cry that rips past your lips ricochets off the walls, the agony causing the ground to shake. You sob into the girl's shoulder as she holds you, slightly worried, unsure if she was doing the right thing. She thinks it's correct since you haven't made a move to shove her off.

You cling onto the black of her clothes, your whole body quivering from the attempt, grounding yourself in the cling of Batgirl herself. She wishes she could speak to you, maybe. She wonders if it would be better if she could speak to you, but she supposes that all you need right now is a shoulder to cry on. The man she's just beaten is going to be dead in the next three minutes if she doesn't call for help, but she finds herself frozen while embracing you.

It's scary. She admits that— and if the man who caused you fear to this degree is going to die because of her, then so be it. You matter more.

You pull away eventually, apologizing for keeping her, voice hoarse. You don't say anything after the first word, everything tumbling past your eyes as you stare at her.

She nods her head, finally calling for backup as she walks you back to your camp, and you wonder.

You type on the broken phone you fished out of the back of a Best Buy, showing her the screen.

you like girls?

Batgirl disappears before you get a response.

You weren't even able to tell her answer based off her body language or eyes because she was covered head to toe.

girlhood is picking up pieces of yourself after a bad day, tucking yourself back into what you have, learning to slowly cherish yourself again.

You stare at the mirror in your apartment this time. The pieces of your life fall back into your hands slowly, the scars from getting into fights on the streets slowly learning to heal. Old wounds start to mend themselves. The scars from when the boys at school would throw themselves at you, the wounds from when you had fought to free yourself from the police when caught stealing, the wounds from everything.

You blink at Batgirl at night on days that she visits, your window unlocked, her wrapped in your bedding, and you don't offer much other than that.

You aren't seeing each other.

You two are... friends? Best friends? Girls?

You don't know. The concept of relationships is far too complicated for your well-being, and they're too much for you to care about. All you care about is how her hand feels rough in yours as you paint her nails black, her gloves pulled off. You wonder if it's a sign of trust between the two of you. You'll never get to see her face-to-face, maybe, but it didn't matter. She looked just as confused as you when the two of you first got the bag of makeup, the two of you huddled on your couch as you watched people teach you how to do makeup on the internet.

Batgirl can't do her makeup, but you can, and you let her do yours as she watches the video.

She tilts your face with her calloused hands, hands stained with so much blood that it could fill a bath, hands rough from everything she's handled up until that point in time, and you giggle, a smile on your lips as the brush dances across your face. The blush is spread, and you stare at yourself in the mirror, laughter spilling past your lips as half of your face is pink with the powder, but there is no malice behind your laugh.

You find your girlhood with Batgirl slowly, lips pulled into a smile, teeth fully out for her to tilt her head at.

She finds her girlhood where she's allowed to cry and smile and scream in you, and you find your girlhood where you have friends that aren't boys and talk about what you love until your ears fall off.

You find parts that you lost in each other, hands laced together under the moon on the roof, the stars visible in the sky, laughter spilling from both your lips, something lost found again.

because once the storm is over, girlhood causes the clouds to clear and one to fall in love with herself again.

You spin slowly in your room, a pair of broken pointe shoes dug out of the dumpster behind a ballet studio, and Batgirl claps enthusiastically as you bow at her afterward. The shoes were scrubbed clean after much hard work from the two of you, and the shoes were fixed with a little google on your new phone.

You find a part of yourself that you lost while dancing for Batgirl, your steps too masculine, your stride too proud, but you're happy. There's something that blooms and spreads through your skin as you spin and spin and spin, your head spinning for you to calm down yet you don't, a laugh on your lips as you continue spinning until Batgirl catches you in her arms, a smile surely on her face from the way her mask was pulled. She stills, you still in her arms, and you smile foolishly.

She tries the shoes on eventually, and your eyes sparkle as you look at her, her spins are much more graceful and elegant than yours, her bows much more dainty than yours, but it makes you all the more in love with her, your cheeks flushing with warmth as you tackle her to the ground with a laugh, smiling down at her with a laugh.

"We should dance together," You click on your phone, showing her as you kick your feet.

She stretches her arms above her head as she takes the phone from you, clicking back.

You rest your head on your pillow as she clicks and taps, and you blink slowly, closing your eyes eventually, a content smile on your face as you think about the two of you. You're happy like this, your heart racing in your chest with her next to you.

You love her, you think.

Batgirl shows you her phone, and you smile cheekily.

Her answer is yes this time.

girlhood may leave, but it will come back. Just as it's ingrained into your skin, you're engrained into its heart as well.

Batgirl goes missing on you for a couple months, maybe even a couple of years— you lose count.

The memory of her stays in your apartment, even when rent goes up slightly and you wonder whether or not to move, you stay there, her black nail polish dried up on your vanity, the makeup long expired and new one sitting in replacement of the old one. You sit in front of your vanity mirror doing your own makeup now, memories of Batgirl's rough hands still on your skin, but a smile on your face as you do, her love still with you.

You sign up for ballet classes eventually, being moved back and forth to play the more masculine characters, sometimes playing the girls, other times playing background characters, but you never once forget the black bat in your room in the dead of the night. You adore her to the moon and back, sure that you'll never find someone as precious as her ever again— and for that moment in time, you're happy you had known her.

Even if she had been nothing more than a cryptic friend of yours, you had found a part of yourself that you denied to own for the longest time because of her, and you loved her with your whole heart, even if it weren't something you could have done with someone else. You found a piece of you back slowly, love for her spilling through the cracks of your girlhood to connect with hers, the two of you only for each other.

But there's something else— You have a ballet to attend.

An anonymous invite to the audition, a generous gift from an anonymous sponsor, and a pair of ballet shoes that you could only dream of having as a child.

Your hair has grown too long for you to play the role of a masculine lead, and your nails are done to look pretty. Your roles are no longer the ones of masculine stride and form, your spins are delicate, and you wonder for a moment while getting ready who the other lead would be. Would you click with them? Even if you don't, it's not a choice.

The ballet ends as you sob with your lover in your arms, the curtains pulled, and your whole body freezes when you remember the feel of your skin on hers.

The girl grins up at you, opening her mouth to speak to you.

"I love you too."

sometimes, girlhood is pressing your lips to the girl you love, smiling against her lips, giggles slipping past your lips as you both gasp for air behind closed curtains—

and that's perfectly fine the way it is.

#I LOVE WOMENNN RAHHHHHH #cassandra cain x reader #orphan x reader #(I think that's her hero name)#black bat x reader #batgirl x reader #cass cain x reader #cassandra cain imagine #cass cain imagine #dc x reader #☾.fics

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