star

One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman 19! mdni

[missesstargirl]

Miss Star Masterlist:

Art Student Jean Fanfiction

moodboard, chapters and more!

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One shots about: Neighbor Megumi •·　　.　✸　•　　　　.　　　•　　　.✸　　　•　•　　✦　

Touchy Bsf! Eren headcanons

(inspired by the amazing @satoruined)

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Tutors's brother! Jason Todd part 2 part 3 •·　　.　✸　•　　　　.　　　•　　　.✸　　　•　•　　✦　

Requests [ close ]

ask here for taglist!

[missesstargirl]

Miss Star Recs

Batfamily Edition

Warnings : some are +18 😁 Contains:Jason Todd, Tim drake, Bruce Wayne

Jason Todd

Got Somethin' in My System by @dhazefawn

Addicted to you by @annaevermore

The Guard and The Prince by @coffee-latte-sprite

Lollipops at my Place? by @shisuni

Bulking Season by @honeysucklewatr

In the Buff by @sanguineterrain

Reflection by @pluvoia

Mornings with Him by @bloomcissa

Collar by @srenique

The Suit Stays On by @clarkskink

All That all It Took by @annaevermore

Pineapple Kisses by @ebodebo

Jason just being a good neighboor by @quartzdream

Tim Drake

Coffe by @redcurrantpuff

Body by @anothertimdrakestan

Bruce Wayne

"The Bat in love" by @ilianasbruce

Coffe and Nightmares by @jellyfishthings

The Wrong Man's Wife by @catbayunthestoryteller

Anything Would Happen by @coquettefrancaise

Sugar on the Rim by @mostly-imaginesimages

Rear Suspension by @notrattus

note: i am going to keep adding more and if you want you can share your favorites fics and i can add them!

[missesstargirl]

Miss Star Recs

Anime Edition

Warnings : some are +18 😁 Contains: Jean Kirschetein, Eren Yeager, Megumi Fushiguro, Suna Rintaro Smut Fluff Smut and Fluff Angst

Attack on Titan

Jean Kirschetein

Do I Wanna Know? by @m4nwhore69 I Keep Your Picture Upon My Wall by @jeagersfav Unfinished by @sug4rbrry From the Start by @tetzoro I can be your China doll, if you wanna see me fall by @tragicgirl44

Play Pretend by @sakurashell

Prove it by @piecksz

Jealous Roommate by @nymphbnny

Perfect Strangers by @nymphbnny

Last Meal by @venenatd

Eren Jaeger

Hit Different by @animamii

Roommates by @carmenpridem

You're too loud by @sweettodo

Brothers Friend by @sweettodo

Just Friends by @venenatd

Jujustu Kaisen

Megumi

you walk in on (aged up) megumi fushiguro jerking off. by @izzyisthecoolest6

What Kind of Men is Your Type? by @hannya-writes

Streamer Megumi by @getokive

Haikyuu

Suna Rintaro

Hotbox by @dilfslover0003998

Rude boy by @sukirichi

Seat Stealer by @bokutosenpai

note: i am going to keep adding more and if you want you can share your favorites fics and i can add them!

[missesstargirl]

Miss Star Recs

Harry Potter Universe

Warnings : some are +18 😁 Contains: James Potter, Regulus Black, Cedric Diggory, Oliver Wood, George Weasley, Ron Weasley Smut Fluff Smut and Fluff Angst

Marauders Era James Potter

Strawberries by @wreckofawriter Desperate!james x y/n by @singmyaubade

Mortal Enemies by @curseofaphrodite

Minnie's Daughter by @wreckofawriter

Regulus Black

Muggle Devices by @cupids-crystals

Unearthed by @cherryslyce 

How to Slither-In by @curseofaphrodite

Pretty by @whosvioletta

Love Letters by @curseofaphrodite

Unexpected by @earlgreydream

Forbidden Love by @violetrainbow412-blog

The Best Man by @curseofaphrodite

Sort of Friends (with benefits) by @curseofaphrodite

He's Safe with Me by @messers-moony

Secret Boyfriend by @messers-moony

Annotated Books and Sleek Covers by @messers-moony

Something of Yours by @distantdarlings

Amortentia by @mrsdarkandyandere7

Better by @cupids-crystals

Home by @earlgreydream

Amortentia by @stargirlrchive

brother's best friend's brother by @thatbloodymuggle

loyalty's by @messers-moony

Golden Trio Era Cedric Diggory

Pencil Sketches by @wreckofawriter Poor Timing by @cipheress-to-k-pop  Broken Arm by @blushiinghoney About Time by @luv4freddie

Oliver Wood

Dear Oliver by @lncantatem (i rec all of their fics, they are a gold mine!!) The Quidditch Bet by @jijournal  What a Crush is by @drowsyhope The Hate Game part 2 by @heartthrobin The Accusation by @kitty-tea

George Weasley

Counter Kisses by @lumosflairr  Just Give In by @rottenherbs Stitching Together by @helnjk

Little Miss Perfect by @shysneeze

Ron Weasley

The Rolling Stones by @holysmokesblog  Opposite Teams by @yasministration

note: i am going to keep adding more and do more recs list if you like as aot, jjk and batfamily. if you want you can share your favorites fics and i can add them!

[missesstargirl]

i beg for longer oneshots, the fics here are pure gold yet is so hard to find +10k words

[missesstargirl]

i like the fact of the repeating name in knifes out and wake up dead man, marta and martha, like that make it feel so down to earth somehow, you really see names repeating in midia.

[missesstargirl]

mlm

flip it around

wuh luh wuh

[missesstargirl]

Part two part one: on the same page

PAIRING: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY:When Bruce Wayne is away, Jason Todd steps in as the next responsible adult for Damian PTM meeting — and suddenly, literature class isn’t the only thing sparking between him and the teacher. A shared love of books leads to lingering glances, playful teasing, and slow-burn tension that neither of them can ignore. From stolen moments over coffee to charged encounters in the quiet of Jason’s apartment.

Warnings: smut, oral sex, sex

WORD COUNT: 2k

You feel him claiming your mouth with a fierce, almost desperate urgency, as if every heated inch of his body has been chasing this moment through endless nights — through silent fears, unspoken doubts, and every shadow Gotham has cast over him. His lips move against yours with primal hunger, a hunger that can’t be tamed, an ache that’s been building for too long. The instant your back sinks into the cushions, the world seems to shrink down to just the two of you, the sharp pulse of your hearts pounding in sync. His weight presses above you, heavy but somehow careful, like he’s afraid he might break you if he presses too hard. The scent of rain-damp leather, sweat, and something darker, something raw, mingles with your own scent, creating a heady mixture that makes your head spin.

His breath is ragged, uneven, each exhale a slow, deliberate tease against your lips, hot and humid, igniting every nerve ending. You shudder involuntarily, feeling the wildfire of need ignite in your core, spreading from your stomach to your fingertips. His eyes, dark and hungry, hold you captive, like a predator savoring his prey, his gaze burning into yours, unyielding, as if nothing else exists but this moment. Every glance, every breath, every tiny shift of his weight feels like an unspoken promise, a silent acknowledgment of the fire burning uncontrollably between you, threatening to consume everything in its path.

His fingertips brush the tender curve of your ribs, grazing lightly over the hollow of your waist, featherlight, almost tentative. The contact sends a jolt up your spine, making your breath hitch. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he dips his head, capturing your lips again—softer this time, more reverent, lingering, molding to yours, memorizing your taste, your scent, as if he’s trying to etch it into his memory forever. The softness of his lips, the roughness of his beard, the heat of his breath, all of it becomes an intoxicating symphony that spins your senses out of control.

His hand slides lower, trailing along your side, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your cotton panties, ghosting over your skin with a featherlight touch that makes you shiver. His thumb strokes the delicate hollow of your hip, and your breath hitsched sharply. “Do you  feel how wet you are?” he murmurs against your lips, voice thick with raw need, the words coated in a possessive hunger that makes your pulse race even faster. The vulnerability, the raw honesty in that confession, makes your cheeks flush and your body respond instinctively,  heat pooling low, ache deepening.

Your voice is a whisper, thick with want, trembling as you respond, “Yes,” your body responding to every word, every touch. His jaw tightens, a flicker of restraint flickering behind his eyes, but your words seem to undo him entirely. He slides his hand up your back, fingers tangling in your damp hair, tilting your head so he can kiss along your jawline with slow, reverent strokes, each movement a silent declaration that he’s savoring you, claiming you in every gesture.

“God, you drive me insane,” he whispers fiercely against your neck, teeth catching softly at your pulse. You arch instinctively, hips lifting in a silent, desperate plea — an invitation you know he can’t resist. Without hesitation, he responds ,  hauling you into a fierce, pressed-up against him, feeling the undeniable hardness of his cock throbbing through his jeans, aching to be buried deep inside you. The contact makes you gasp, a breathless, helpless sound that spills from your lips as your body trembles at the raw, primal heat of him — his scent, his presence, his hunger. It’s as if every part of him is a wild animal, tamed only by this fragile vulnerability, this desperate need to be close.

He closes his eyes briefly, savoring the feeling of your heated center pressed against him,  your wetness soaking through the fabric, sealing him in a forbidden, intoxicating trap. Your mind spirals with need, but you fight to hold yourself back, to savor every second of this fragile, explosive connection. You know, deep down, that once you cross this line, there’s no going back.

“Careful,” he manages, voice husky with restraint and longing. “I can’t… I can’t hold back.” His words hang thick between you, a dark promise—an acknowledgment that he’s teetering on the edge of losing control. You brush your lips over his neck in a gentle, teasing promise. “Don’t,” you whisper.

His low chuckle vibrates against your skin, dark and dangerous, as he responds with a hunger that borders on feral. One hand slides beneath your shirt, warm fingertips grazing the curve of your breast, so delicate, yet so full of promise. Your soft moan escapes your lips, trembling with anticipation, and he takes that as the signal to act. Slowly, worshipfully, he peels your shirt upward, exposing your smooth, creamy skin to the cool air — his eyes darkening at the sight of your vulnerability, the vulnerability that fuels his obsession.

His lips press softly against your collarbone, then trail down along your shoulder, leaving gentle, lingering kisses that make your skin prickle with anticipation. He worships you—slow, deliberate, reverent, capturing one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak until you arch again, clutching the cushions as your body responds with every flick, every gentle nip. His teeth catch softly, teasing, while his fingers pinch and roll your other breast, eliciting a guttural gasp from your lips. Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him closer, hungry for more, for everything he’s willing to give.

He draws back, lips and teeth tracing a slow, deliberate path down your sternum, across the hollow of your stomach—every movement sacred—until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. With swift, confident motions, he pushes them down your hips, along with your panties, exposing the glistening evidence of your desire—the swollen, slick folds parted invitingly. Your body is impossibly wet, your core gleaming with need, and he inhales sharply at the sight, as if he’s drinking in your essence.

Leaning in, he presses his tongue against your slit, tasting you, warm, salty, intoxicating, an essence only he can claim. His fingers press gently at your entrance, teasing your swollen lips apart as his tongue flicks in long, slow strokes over your sensitive nerves. Your cry escapes involuntarily, hips lifting seeking more of him, your body trembling with need. Every lick, every flick, feels like a vow—an act of devotion that leaves you trembling and desperate for more.

He obliges, licking you with slow, controlled movements, then flicking his tongue against your clit in rhythmic, torturous circles, curling his fingers inside your hot, pulsing core, stroking your deepest, most sensitive spot. Your back arches violently, nails digging into the cushions, your voice a guttural moan that vibrates through the room. You feel every nerve ending ignite, every muscle tense, as your body threatens to shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Fucking yes,” you gasp, voice raw and trembling, as your hips jerk uncontrollably beneath him. The orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body convulsing, muscles tightening, trembling uncontrollably, clutching at the cushions as white-hot pleasure floods your veins. Your cries echo in the quiet room, unfiltered and primal, as your release washes over you in waves.

But Jason isn’t done. His lips move instantly to your neck, teeth catching softly on your pulse as he presses his body against yours. His hands grip your hips, lifting you with a brutal, possessive force, and then, before you can even catch your breath, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, rough hands gripping your waist. His mouth presses fiercely against your shoulder, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, as he pulls you up onto your knees.

“You’re not done yet,” he growls, voice thick with hunger. “Not even close.” His fist clenches in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to expose your throat, and he delivers a savage, open-mouthed kiss that leaves a mark, an imprint of his hunger. His other hand grips your hip, guiding himself behind you, the thick head of him pressing against your dripping slit.

You gasp, trembling in anticipation, as he thrusts into you with a brutal, relentless rhythm, pounding into your hot, pulsing core with a primal force that leaves you breathless. His hips snap against yours, each thrust a declaration of dominance, of possession. The sound of skin slapping and breathless moans fill the room, raw and unfiltered, as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck—yes,” you cry out, voice ragged, as your body tightens with the impending storm. His hand grips your waist tightly, pulling you back against him, sealing you in this savage, desperate rhythm. Your nails claw into the cushions, your body trembling with the effort to hold on. The pressure builds, your muscles tightening, your breath hitching—until, finally, your release explodes in a shattering wave, convulsing through every fiber of your being.

Jason’s own climax follows immediately, his body tightening, trembling as he spills himself deep inside you, growling your name in a primal, guttural sound. His hips jerk wildly, bucking into you one last time before he collapses against your back, both of you trembling from the force of it.

He holds you there, breath ragged, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, feeling your trembling body beneath him. Not even seconds later Jason starts the second round with the same, or even more hunger. 

His lips devour yours with a ferocity that leaves no room for hesitation, teeth grazing your lower lip before plunging into a searing, desperate kiss. His tongue explores yours hungrily, fighting for dominance in a chaotic dance fueled by primal need. His body presses down into yours, every muscle taut and trembling with anticipation, as if he's trying to merge your souls through sheer force of will. The rough scrape of his beard against your skin, damp from sweat and rain, sends shivers racing down your spine. Your bodies are slick with a mixture of rain, sweat, and the heat of your passion, creating a slick, sticky symphony of friction and desire.

His hand grips your waist with bruising intensity, fingers digging into your flesh as he shifts his hips, pressing his throbbing cock against your trembling core. The sensation makes you gasp sharply, your body arching instinctively, desperate to feel more, to be overcome completely. Without warning, he thrusts into you with a brutal, relentless rhythm—deep, hard, and unyielding—filling every inch of you with his presence. Your cry escapes your lips, raw, primal, resonating in the small, suffocating space as he takes control, pounding into you with savage hunger, each thrust a declaration of possession.

His hips snap forward again, faster and more ferocious, skin slapping against skin in a relentless, primal cadence. The sound echoes through the room—wet, loud, unfiltered. His fingers grip your hips like a man trying to stake his claim, bruising your flesh while he drives into you harder and faster. The cushions beneath you creak and squeak with each brutal impact, your nails leaving red, angry streaks on the fabric as your body shudders from the sheer power of his assault.

“Fucking hell,” he growls, voice thick and gravelly, teeth clenched with exertion. “You feel so fucking good—so tight—so fucking mine.” His words are a rough whisper, but they cut deep, fueling your own desire to surrender completely. You push your hips back into him, craving even more, desperate to be overwhelmed by his relentless pounding.

His hand snakes around your waist, gripping your stomach with bruising force as he pulls you into him, tightening his grip with each merciless thrust. His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, whispering hoarsely, “You’re gonna take every inch of me, aren’t you?” His voice trembles with raw need, and his hips snap faster, deeper, each thrust an unyielding assault that reverberates through your entire body. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breathing, and the wet, slick noises of your bodies colliding in chaotic harmony.

Your legs tremble uncontrollably, muscles burning from the relentless assault. Every nerve ending is on fire, pleasure, pain, and everything in between, until your body reaches the brink of explosion. Your muscles tighten, your breath hitching as your senses sharpen, every touch, every sound amplified.

“Jason—oh God—yes—more—fucking harder—” you scream, voice trembling, raw with lust and desperation. Your plea seems to ignite him further. His hips drive into you with renewed vigor, each thrust claiming you anew—an unstoppable force of desire. His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you back into him, forcing every inch of him into your most sensitive places. The sensation becomes overwhelming, your body trembling violently, muscles spasming as if trying to hold on to the moment just before the inevitable climax.

The tension in your core coils tighter and tighter, spiraling toward the inevitable release. Your nails claw into the cushions, leaving angry red streaks, as your body trembles from the sheer intensity. Your breath hitches as your vision blurs, every nerve ending aflame, your mind consumed by the primal rhythm of your bodies colliding.

And then, suddenly, the tidal wave crashes over you—an unstoppable surge of pleasure that shatters your composure. Your muscles convulse uncontrollably, trembling as wave after wave of orgasm overtakes your trembling form. Your cries become primal howls, echoing through the room, as you shatter into countless shimmering fragments. Your nails clutch the cushions desperately, your thighs tense and quivering, as the orgasm rips through you like a storm.

Jason's own climax follows immediately, his hips jerk erratically, muscles taut with tension, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural growl that reverberates through the small space. His body shudders violently, trembling with the force of his release, then collapses onto your back, breath ragged and wild. His grip tightens around your hips, holding you close as he rides out the storm, both of you trembling from the aftershocks of your ferocious union.

The room is thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and raw desire. Neither of you moves, just panting heavily, hearts pounding in unison, bodies slick and trembling from exhaustion. His hands trail down your trembling thighs, gripping your flesh with bruising strength, anchoring himself as he presses his forehead into your shoulder, trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction.

Finally, he begins to relax, his breath slow and ragged, and softly presses gentle kisses along your sweat-slicked skin—along your shoulder, your neck, your collarbone—each one a tender contrast to the intensity of moments before. His voice, rough and low, whispers into your ear, “We’re not running anymore.”

You turn your head, your lips trembling into a satisfied, breathless smile despite the ache pulsing through your body. “No,” you whisper, voice trembling with emotion and fulfillment. “Never again.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes blazing with possessive hunger and raw affection. “Good,” he murmurs, capturing your lips once more in a softer, more intimate kiss—one that promises more chaos, more passion, and more unspoken promises of forever. His hands stroke your damp hair gently, holding you close as you both lie tangled in a mess of limbs, sweat, and breathless intimacy.

Outside, the rain taps softly against the windows, Gotham’s restless heartbeat echoing in the night. But inside this room, in this moment, nothing else exists—just the fierce, unbreakable connection forged through fire, passion, and raw, unfiltered desire.

[missesstargirl]

PAIRING: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY:When Bruce Wayne is away, Jason Todd steps in as the next responsible adult for Damian PTM meeting — and suddenly, literature class isn’t the only thing sparking between him and the teacher. A shared love of books leads to lingering glances, playful teasing, and slow-burn tension that neither of them can ignore. From stolen moments over coffee to charged encounters in the quiet of Jason’s apartment.

WORD COUNT: 5k

part two

The late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of Gotham Academy’s conference room, slicing into neat gold lines across the long mahogany table. You glanced down at the attendance list for the faculty meeting — and, as always, the name Wayne, Damian sat at the top of your stack of notes.

Damian Wayne. Bright. Brilliant. Unbelievably stubborn. You’d been his literature teacher for almost a year now, and while he could quote Shakespeare from memory and debate Dostoevsky like a grad student, he still refused to use capital letters in essays. Out of principle, apparently. He was infuriating, fascinating, and far too sharp for his age.

You had to admit, though — you’d grown rather fond of him.

Tonight’s meeting was meant to be a brief discussion with parents about the new term’s curriculum and upcoming events, but according to the email you’d received that morning, Bruce Wayne would be unable to attend. Not surprising. He was impossible to get ahold of — all business, all travel, and rarely ever showing up in person.

His assistant’s message was brief: Mr. Wayne is overseas. A family representative will attend in his place.

You sighed softly. That could mean anyone. You’d met Dick Grayson once at a gala fundraiser — polite, charming, with a smile that could defuse a bomb. Alfred Pennyworth had shown up another time, the perfect gentleman. You’d half expected him tonight too.

Instead, when the clock struck 5:55, the heavy oak door creaked open.

A man stepped in — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark leather jacket that looked far too out of place amid the blazers and sweaters of Gotham’s teaching staff. His boots echoed on the marble as he crossed the room. His eyes scanned the space once, sharp and assessing, before settling on you.

“Jason Todd,” he said simply when he reached the head of the table. “Here on behalf of Bruce Wayne — Damian’s father.”

The murmurs started instantly — polite, curious, a few teachers whispering that they hadn’t known Bruce had another son.

You straightened in your chair, forcing a professional smile. “Ah, Mr. Todd. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

He nodded slightly. “You can just call me Jason.”

There was something disarming about him — casual but composed, with a presence that filled the room effortlessly. You gestured to an empty seat beside you.

“Please, have a seat. We were just about to start.”

Jason sat, shrugging out of his jacket just enough to rest it against the chair. The soft thud of something inside caught your attention — rectangular, heavy. A book, maybe? You tried to refocus as the meeting began.

“So,” you began, scanning your notes, “our first item tonight is the new funding proposal for advanced literature electives…”

Jason leaned back slightly, quiet, observing more than speaking. When he did glance your way, it was with an attentive curiosity — the kind that made you hyper-aware of your own gestures. The curve of his lip when you cracked a joke. The quiet nod when you mentioned Damian’s impressive grasp of classical literature — though Jason’s smirk at that suggested he already knew his little brother’s ego didn’t need the praise.

“Yeah,” he murmured under his breath at one point, “that sounds like him.”

You smiled faintly. “Sharp, isn’t he?”

“‘Sharp’ is one word,” Jason said. “Try ‘mini dictator.’”

You stifled a laugh. “He’s… passionate.”

“Sure,” Jason replied, his mouth twitching. “That’s one way to put it.”

You tried to hide your grin behind the meeting agenda.

The conversation drifted back to test scores, curriculum changes, and field trip approvals. But your eyes flickered again to his jacket, to the small rectangular bulge pressing against the leather pocket. You knew that outline anywhere. You were a literature teacher, after all.

Finally, during a lull, your curiosity won.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, leaning closer so only he could hear, “but is that… a book in your jacket?”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah,” he admitted after a beat. “Couldn’t leave it at home.” He pulled it halfway out — a black-and-white paperback, edges worn.

You recognized it instantly. “Wait. Is that Lapvona?”

He raised a brow. “You know it?”

You couldn’t help laughing. “I’m reading it right now.”

Jason’s eyes lit up, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “No kidding.”

“No kidding,” you said, and pulled your own copy from your tote bag like proof of fate.

A few teachers looked over, mildly amused at your exchange, but neither of you cared.

“What page?” you asked.

Jason flipped his open. “Uh… one seventy-three.”

Your laugh came out bright and genuine. You turned your copy around. “One seventy-three.”

He chuckled lowly, leaning back in his chair. “So we’re literally on the same page, huh?”

“Seems like it,” you said, unable to hide your smile.

The moment lingered — quiet, oddly charged. Then the conversation resumed, and you had to force yourself to look away from him.

By the time the meeting ended, the sun had dipped low, painting Gotham’s skyline in shades of burnt gold. Teachers began filing out, gathering their bags, while you stayed behind to pack your folders. Jason lingered too.

“Thanks for running that,” he said finally. “Didn’t think I’d survive an hour of school bureaucracy.”

“You did fine,” you teased. “Better than most parents.”

He snorted softly. “I’m not a parent.”

“No, but you definitely have the exasperation of one.”

That earned a laugh from him — a real one. “You know Damian, then.”

“I do,” you said with a knowing smile. “He’s brilliant, but he likes to test limits.”

Jason smirked. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“Still,” you said, slipping your folders into your bag, “he’s got potential. You can tell he wants to prove himself.”

Jason’s expression softened. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You noticed his gaze drift to the copy of Lapvona again. You tilted your head. “You really picked that one up just for fun?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Sort of. Saw someone online talking about it — thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Someone online?” you echoed, curious.

He hesitated — just long enough for the silence to feel heavy. Then, quietly: “You’ve got a book blog, don’t you?”

You blinked. “Wait — you read my blog?”

He gave a small, guilty grin. “Yeah. Been following for a while, actually. You’ve got good taste.”

You stared at him, surprised. “I didn’t think anyone from the Wayne family even read my stuff.”

Jason shrugged. “Guess I’m the odd one out.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “And here I thought Damian was the prodigy.”

“He gets that from someone,” Jason said, grinning.

The last teacher exited the room, leaving the two of you alone. The faint hum of the city drifted through the tall windows.

“So,” you said lightly, “you take all my recommendations, then?”

“Most of them,” he said. “Not sure I’ll ever recover from that Russian lit streak you went on last winter, though.”

You laughed — and he looked at you like he was memorizing the sound.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you said. “Maybe I’ll post something lighter.”

“Lighter?” he asked, smirking. “What’s that mean for you?”

“Murder mystery, probably.”

He chuckled. “I like your definition of light.”

You raised a brow. “You really shouldn’t say things like that to a teacher, Mr. Todd.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Good thing class is over, then.”

Your heart gave a traitorous flutter.

He straightened again, slipping Lapvona back into his jacket. “Anyway, I should go. Gotta make sure the kid’s not painting the manor walls with oil pastels or something.”

You smiled. “Tell Damian to finish his poetry assignment first.”

Jason groaned. “He’s got one of those?”

“He does. And if he claims he’s too advanced for it, tell him I said even Tolstoy had to do his homework.”

Jason laughed under his breath. “I’ll pass that along.”

He started toward the door, then paused. “Hey,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “you still posting your thoughts Sunday nights?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Usually.”

“Good to know,” he said, smirking. “But I might prefer hearing them in person.”

Before you could respond, he was already halfway down the hall, boots echoing softly on the marble.

You stood there for a moment, heart still racing, staring at the door he’d just walked through. You looked down at your copy of Lapvona, tracing your thumb over the spine. Same page. Same book. Same strange coincidence.

Later that night, when you opened your laptop to draft your next post, a new comment popped up beneath your latest review.

JasonT_92: still on page 173. thinking the shepherd might be worse than the priest. thoughts?

You smiled, typing back before you could second-guess it.

LitTeacher: definitely worse. but you’ll have to keep reading to find out why.

A minute later, the reply blinked into existence.

JasonT_92: guess i’ll see you on the next page.

You leaned back, grinning at the screen.

Across the city, Jason Todd tucked his own copy of Lapvona into his jacket before climbing onto his motorcycle, the engine growling to life. The city lights glimmered in his visor as he rode into the dark, the faintest smirk playing at his lips.

For once, Gotham felt a little less heavy — and maybe, just maybe, a little more like a story worth turning the page on.

The next week blurred by in the usual Gotham rhythm — lesson plans, grading, coffee, more grading. You hadn’t heard from Jason Todd again, not directly anyway, but you caught yourself checking the comments section of your book blog every night before bed.

He hadn’t replied since that last message: guess i’ll see you on the next page.

And yet, you’d reread it more times than you’d ever admit.

On Friday afternoon, the Academy’s annual “Literature and Arts Showcase” filled the hallways — a chaotic blend of students rehearsing poetry, painting backdrops, and juggling nervous energy. Damian Wayne, as expected, was in the middle of it all, directing two students twice his age with the authority of a small general.

You smiled faintly from across the hall, clipboard in hand. “Damian, maybe let them breathe,” you called.

“They are ruining the pacing,” he argued. “Art demands discipline, Miss.”

You bit back a laugh. “Maybe art also needs a break once in a while.”

He huffed but obeyed, stalking toward the refreshment table. As he passed, he mumbled, “My father will be attending this evening.”

“Oh,” you said, arching a brow. “Really?”

He gave a faint shrug — and, if you weren’t mistaken, a ghost of a smirk. “He’s sending someone in his place.”

You blinked. “Someone?”

But Damian had already walked off.

By the time the showcase began that evening, the auditorium filled with parents and faculty. You stood near the stage, making sure the microphone worked, when the back doors opened.

Leather jacket.

Jason Todd.

He looked slightly out of place in a room full of blazers and pearls — and completely unbothered by it. His hair was a little mussed, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he scanned the crowd until his eyes found yours.

You didn’t expect your pulse to spike like that.

He smiled — small, knowing, enough to make your chest tighten.

“Evening, teach,” he said when he reached you.

You folded your arms, trying to look composed. “Back representing the Wayne dynasty again?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied. “Bruce is out of the country, Dick’s in Blüdhaven, and Damian made it sound like this showcase was life or death.”

“That sounds about right,” you said, smiling. “He’s been… intense.”

“Intense is our family brand,” Jason said, half-joking.

You caught a glimmer in his eyes then — warmth under the humor, maybe even pride. It was strange, seeing that from someone who carried himself like he lived behind walls.

When Damian stepped up to perform his reading — a dramatic monologue adapted from Macbeth — you and Jason both turned to watch. Damian’s diction was sharp, his posture precise, and he commanded the stage like he owned it.

“He’s good,” Jason murmured.

“Very,” you said quietly. “He’s got your family’s presence.”

Jason chuckled softly. “You mean arrogance?”

You smiled, but didn’t deny it. “Confidence,” you corrected.

The performance ended with polite applause. Damian gave a single, imperious nod to the audience before leaving the stage.

Jason leaned closer. “He’s gonna be unbearable after this.”

You laughed, glancing up at him. “Oh, definitely.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you shifted — warmer, denser somehow. You were suddenly aware of how close he stood, of the faint smell of his cologne mixed with the leather of his jacket.

Jason noticed it too. His gaze lingered on you, his smirk fading into something quieter.

“You really got through to him, you know,” he said after a moment. “He actually likes your class.”

You tilted your head. “That’s not what he tells me.”

“Yeah, well. Kid’s allergic to admitting things.”

“That sounds familiar,” you teased.

Jason’s lips twitched. “You saying I’ve got a lot in common with him?”

“Maybe just the stubborn part.”

He let out a soft laugh, but his eyes never left yours.

The principal called you to help with the next segment, breaking the spell. You nodded to Jason — maybe too quickly — and stepped away, focusing on anything but the heat in your chest.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of student recitations and applause. When it finally ended and the crowd began to thin, you stayed behind to tidy the stage. Jason lingered again, leaning against the edge of a table, watching you.

“You always stay this late?” he asked.

“Part of the job,” you said, gathering papers. “Besides, someone has to make sure the podium doesn’t collapse before Monday.”

He pushed off the table and walked closer. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

You looked up, startled to find him right there — close enough that you could see the faint scar at the corner of his jaw, the one he usually kept in shadow.

“I don’t mind,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he murmured.

Something in his tone made you stop moving. The auditorium was nearly empty now, the echo of footsteps fading in the hall. The air hung still between you.

Jason’s gaze dropped briefly to the stack of books you were holding — your students’ reading copies. Lapvona sat on top, its spine slightly bent.

“You finished it yet?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not yet. Almost.”

“Me too,” he said. “Been waiting to read the ending.”

“Waiting for what?”

Jason hesitated, then smiled faintly. “For you to catch up.”

You felt your pulse skip. “So you could talk about it?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Something like that.”

The silence stretched again — not uncomfortable, but charged.

You shifted the books in your arms, trying to break the spell. “Well, if you want my thoughts, you’ll just have to check the blog.”

“I already do,” he said softly.

You looked up. His voice had dropped, low and smooth, the kind that settled into your spine. He didn’t look away.

For a heartbeat, it felt like the whole world had gone still — just the two of you, standing too close under the soft auditorium lights, both aware that something was changing.

Then Damian’s voice echoed faintly from the hall: “Todd, we are leaving!”

Jason huffed a quiet laugh, stepping back just enough to let the air move again. “Duty calls.”

You smiled, though part of you didn’t want him to go. “You better not let him drive.”

Jason grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He took a step backward, still watching you. “See you online, teach.”

“See you, Jason.”

He turned and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

You stood there, books in hand, heart still drumming, the faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air.

Later that night, when you opened your blog, a new comment appeared beneath your latest post.

JasonT_92: finally finished. can’t believe the ending. you free to discuss in person?

You stared at the screen for a long moment before typing your reply.

LitTeacher: depends. are you bringing spoilers or coffee?

His answer came almost immediately.

JasonT_92: both.

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. Outside, the Gotham skyline shimmered under the city lights. Somewhere out there, Jason Todd was probably grinning at his own screen, thinking the same thing you were.

That this — whatever it was — wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Because sometimes, being on the same page was only the beginning.

The café was quieter than you expected for a Saturday evening — low jazz humming from the speakers, the smell of espresso and rain hanging in the air. You sat near the window, a copy of Lapvona resting on the table beside your half-empty cup, watching the city shimmer under the wet Gotham light.

He was late. Not that you minded. Not really.

You’d told yourself you were calm, that this was just two people meeting to talk about a book. But the minute you saw him push through the door — leather jacket, damp hair, eyes scanning until they landed on you — your calm evaporated.

Jason smiled when he saw you, that small crooked grin that did dangerous things to your pulse.

“You beat me here,” he said, dropping into the seat across from you. “Guess I owe you a coffee.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You already said you’d bring one.”

He lifted a paper cup from the counter and slid it toward you. “See? I keep my promises.”

You took it, hiding a smile. “So, we’re really doing this. A book club for two.”

Jason leaned back, stretching one arm over the back of the chair. “Hey, I take literature very seriously.”

“You’ve got a reputation to uphold, Mr. Pocket Book,” you teased.

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “You still remember that?”

“How could I forget?” you said. “Not every day I see a guy with Lapvona stuffed in his jacket.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “But it worked, didn’t it? Got your attention.”

You felt your cheeks warm. “Maybe a little.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s all I needed.”

You pretended to focus on your cup, trying to steady the sudden flutter in your chest. “So,” you said, clearing your throat, “what did you think of the ending?”

Jason’s expression shifted, thoughtful. “Dark. But honest. Kind of reminds me of Gotham — no one gets a clean escape, but there’s beauty in the chaos.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You read deeper than I expected.”

He smirked faintly. “You thought I was just a guy in a leather jacket?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “But I’ll admit… you surprised me too. Not many people catch my attention the way you did.”

The air changed between you — subtle but undeniable. The playful rhythm of the conversation slowed, replaced by something heavier, quieter. You could feel the heat from where his fingers brushed the table, inches from yours.

Outside, thunder rolled softly over the city. The café lights flickered once, and for a heartbeat, everything felt suspended — you, him, the space between.

“You always this charming with teachers?” you asked, your voice lower now.

“Only the ones who make me want to read books I’d never pick up on my own,” he said.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You really take my recommendations?”

“Every single one,” he admitted. “Started following that blog months ago. Didn’t even know it was you until the meeting with Damian.”

That made your breath catch. “So when you said we were on the same page…”

He smiled slowly. “I wasn’t lying.”

For a long second, neither of you moved. You could hear the faint tap of rain against the window, the hum of the lights, the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

Then Jason reached across the table, his hand brushing over yours. His touch was careful — testing, deliberate. You didn’t pull away.

“I’ve been wanting to see you again,” he said quietly. “Not just for the books.”

Your voice barely came out. “I know.”

He smiled at that — small, real — and then he stood, walking around to your side of the table.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the window. “It’s clearing up.”

The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, the streets glistening with reflected light. You followed him outside, the cool air sharp against your skin.

He walked beside you in silence for a while, hands tucked into his jacket, the world narrowing to the sound of your footsteps and the glow of street lamps. At the corner, you both stopped under a canopy.

Jason looked down at you, eyes shadowed but warm. “You ever notice how quiet the city gets after it rains?”

You nodded. “It’s like Gotham exhales.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Feels like it’s holding its breath the rest of the time.”

You met his gaze then — steady, searching — and for once, neither of you looked away.

He stepped closer. Slowly. Giving you every chance to pull back.

You didn’t.

When his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, your pulse tripped. His fingers lingered, tracing the line of your jaw, and then his thumb brushed your cheek.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You shook your head, barely breathing. “Don’t.”

The space between you vanished. His lips met yours — soft at first, almost hesitant, but it deepened quickly, the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn’t. You felt the tension of every near-moment before this one pour into it, something sharp and sweet all at once.

When he finally drew back, your foreheads stayed pressed together, both of you caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

Jason’s voice was a whisper against your skin. “Guess we really are on the same page.”

You smiled, eyes half-open, your hand still resting against his chest. “Careful, Jason. You might make me think you read for the plot.”

He laughed softly — the sound low and real — and brushed another quick kiss against your temple.

“Only when the story’s worth it,” he said.

The rain started again — light, gentle — as the two of you stood there under the awning, the city stretching endlessly around you. Somewhere in the distance, Gotham rumbled, restless as always, but for once, you didn’t care.

You had your story — and this time, you weren’t reading it alone.

It started with a simple offer.

“Let me give you a ride,” Jason said as the rain thickened again, voice steady but eyes warm.

You hesitated for a heartbeat — maybe out of habit, maybe out of caution — but something in his tone, that quiet care he didn’t try to hide, made you nod.

The drive through Gotham was mostly silent. The streets gleamed slick and silver under the streetlights, and the city moved around you like a restless dream. Jason’s hand rested loosely on the wheel, the other tapping in rhythm to the muffled hum of the radio.

When he stopped in front of your apartment building, you realized you weren’t ready for the night to end.

He must’ve noticed, because he glanced at you, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “You look like you’ve still got a few words left in you,” he said.

“Maybe,” you admitted. “You?”

“Always,” he said, and then, quieter: “Come up for a bit. I’ll make coffee. No strings.”

You hesitated again — not out of fear, but because you knew this was the edge of something new. Still, when you met his eyes, there was only patience there, and warmth.

“Okay,” you said softly.

His apartment was exactly what you expected — lived-in, dimly lit, the faint smell of leather and coffee lingering in the air. Books lined the shelves in mismatched stacks; you caught sight of Lapvona on his table, half open and marked with a torn napkin.

“You dog-eared a napkin,” you said, amused.

He shrugged, pulling off his jacket. “Couldn’t find a bookmark.”

You smiled. “That’s criminal.”

“Guilty,” he said. “Want a drink?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

He nodded, stepping closer. “Then sit. You don’t have to stand like you’re grading me.”

You laughed softly, letting him guide you toward the couch. The air between you was warm — not stifling, but alive. You could feel it in the way his fingers brushed yours as he handed you a mug, in the way his knee rested close to yours when he sat down.

“I still can’t believe you read all my recommendations,” you said, looking into your coffee.

“I told you,” he said. “You’ve got good taste.”

“You barely knew me.”

“Didn’t need to,” he said, voice low now. “Sometimes you just know when something’s worth your time.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it pulsed, steady and full. Jason’s gaze lingered on you, soft but intent, and you could feel the pull between you like a current.

You tried to say something — anything — but your words tangled in your throat. When you finally looked up, he was already leaning in.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t rushed. It was a slow, inevitable gravity — a quiet pull that neither of you tried to fight.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tracing the edge of your jaw. You felt his breath before you felt his lips — warm, hesitant, asking rather than taking.

You nodded once, barely, and that was all it took.

The kiss was soft at first, careful, almost questioning — then it deepened, as if both of you had been waiting too long to find out what this would feel like. His hand slid to the back of your neck, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The world outside could have vanished and you wouldn’t have noticed.

When you finally pulled apart, the space between you was barely there — his forehead against yours, both of you trying to steady your breath.

Jason smiled, his voice quiet and rough around the edges. “So… this is the part where I say I’m glad we’re on the same page again.”

You laughed softly, fingers still caught in his collar. “You’ve used that line before.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But it’s still true.”

The rain outside started again, tapping against the windows in slow rhythm. You leaned back slightly, and Jason’s hand stayed in yours — not possessive, not uncertain, just there.

Neither of you said another word. You didn’t have to. The night had already filled in the rest. 

As you leaned back, Jason’s gaze darkened, his breath catching slightly. The tension in the air thickened, charged with unspoken desire. His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing the line of your face, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, his voice low and husky, as if he were trying to contain the heat between you.

You nodded, barely able to find your voice. “Please.”

The moment his lips connected with yours again, it was a different kind of kiss—more urgent, more desperate. His hand cradled the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as if he wanted to memorize every curve of your mouth. You responded eagerly, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

Jason’s other hand explored your waist, his fingers pressing into your side, igniting fire wherever he touched. You felt your heart race, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. As he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, you could feel the heat radiating off him, surrounding you like a warm, inviting cocoon.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured against your lips, breaking the kiss just enough to gaze into your eyes. His breath was warm, mingling with yours, and you could see the desire flickering in his dark gaze.

You smiled softly, emboldened by his words. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You have no idea what kind of trouble you’re getting into, do you?”

“I think I might like a little trouble,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a swift motion, Jason stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You laughed in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you to the couch, setting you down gently but with a deliberate intention. He settled beside you, the space between your bodies shrinking as he leaned closer.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and serious, searching your face for confirmation.

“More than okay,” you replied, your heart racing as you leaned in, capturing his lips again.

This time, the kiss ignited a wildfire, both of you losing yourselves in the moment. Jason’s hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your skin, sending sparks of electricity throughout your body. You gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch, craving more.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes trailing over your face, lips swollen and flushed. “You’re stunning,” he murmured, eyes dark with desire.

“Show me,” you breathed, the words spilling from your lips before you could think them through.

Jason’s expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and excitement crossing his features. He leaned down, capturing your lips again, but this time, he trailed kisses down your neck, his mouth leaving a blazing path of fire across your skin. You moaned softly, tilting your head back, giving him more access, urging him to continue.

His hands explored your sides, fingers dancing along the hem of your shirt. With a teasing smile, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Are you sure?”

“More than sure,” you replied, voice thick with need.

With that, Jason wasted no time, his hands finding the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head, exposing your skin to him. His eyes darkened, hungry with desire, and he pressed soft kisses against your collarbone, trailing lower down your chest.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a rush of confidence as his lips continued their exploration. As he worshipped your body with soft kisses and gentle touches, you felt like you were melting into the couch, every kiss igniting a deeper need.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, pulling back to look into your eyes, his own smoldering with intensity.

You took a deep breath, feeling bold. “I want you, Jason. All of you.”

With a wicked grin, he captured your lips again, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as the world outside faded into nothingness.

[missesstargirl]

just going to say that the editor of mean girls and diary of a wimpy kid is the same, so a big thank u to Wendy Greene Bricmont

art by:

althea_morganite

[missesstargirl]

this whole regina x rodrick has me shipping her with a man i cant believe it!!

also i believe he would diff be her type, like look:

sorry for ghosting i'm in the middle of some serious exams, after 11/11 i am free again lol

[missesstargirl]

Could you do a drunk bsf eren “accidentally” kissing us please ??

The house was loud, but the couch felt like its own little bubble — tucked away, half-shadowed, distant from the laughter spilling out of the kitchen. You’d been scrolling your phone, trying to look busy, when the cushions dipped beside you.

“Y/n.”

Your name dragged out of him in a drawl, slow and lazy, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. You didn’t even need to glance up — you knew that voice too well.

Eren.

You turned anyway, and there he was. Slouched, legs spread wide, elbows resting on his knees like he owned the space. His hair was a little damp, strands curling against his temples, and his cheeks were flushed pink — alcohol, heat, maybe both. He smelled like beer, smoke, and faint cologne, the mix clinging to him in a way that made the air around him heavier.

“You good?” you asked, tilting your head, pretending you didn’t notice how close he sat.

He smirked, lopsided, hazy. “Better now.”

You snorted. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, green eyes narrowing playfully as they locked onto yours. “But maybe not.”

That was the first time you caught it — the way his gaze lingered a second too long. Not at your eyes, but just below them. At your mouth. His stare slipped down and back up like he wasn’t fast enough to hide it.

Your pulse jumped.

You tried to look away, back at your drink, but he leaned in slightly, shoulder brushing yours. It was casual on the surface — friends always sat too close, right? But there was nothing casual about the way your skin heated where he touched.

“You’re staring,” you said, half-joking, trying to cut the tension.

“Am I?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, like the alcohol had scraped it raw. His lips twitched, not quite a smile.

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of every inch of space between you — or lack thereof. His thigh pressed warm against yours, his hand draped loosely over his knee, fingers twitching like they couldn’t stay still.

The silence stretched. Around you, the party blurred — muffled music, laughter in the distance, doors opening and closing. None of it mattered. All you could focus on was the way Eren was looking at you now.

Like he’d never really looked before.

Slowly, his hand moved. Not touching you — not yet — but sliding along the back of the couch, behind your shoulders, close enough that you could feel the ghost of it. His arm brushed the edge of your hair. His breath tickled your cheek.

Your heart pounded.

“Eren…” you whispered, warning, questioning, maybe even daring.

He tilted his head, so close now you could see every detail — the cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the flecks of hazel in his eyes. His lips parted just slightly, damp from where he’d licked them, and his gaze dropped again, blatantly, hungrily, to your mouth.

It was slow, deliberate, inescapable — the way he leaned in.

Every inch closer made the air feel heavier, tighter. The warmth of his body soaked through your clothes, his knee brushing yours, his arm caging you against the couch. You could feel the moment crackling like static — that fragile edge between friendship and something else entirely.

“Accident, right?” you murmured, your voice catching.

He smirked, drunk and bold, though his eyes looked almost too clear. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

And then, finally, his lips brushed yours.

Not crashing, not sloppy this time — but slow, tentative, almost testing. His mouth lingered, soft and warm, moving just enough to feel the shape of you. It wasn’t rushed; it was deliberate, as if he wanted you to feel every second, every touch, every choice leading up to this.

You froze for half a heartbeat — not from shock, but from the dizzying realization of how much you wanted it.

And then you leaned in too.

The kiss barely landed — more a ghost of contact than the real thing. A brush, fleeting and delicate, the kind of touch you might imagine later and wonder if it had even happened at all.

Your lips tingled, though, telling you it was real.

Eren didn’t press in harder. He didn’t deepen it. He stayed right there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the subtle shift of his breath when it hitched.

It was restraint. Intentional.

His mouth hovered, barely grazing yours, like he wanted to memorize what this edge felt like — the fragile moment where it wasn’t too late to pull back, where you could both still laugh it off as some sloppy drunken mistake.

But his eyes betrayed him.

You felt it when he tilted his head just slightly, like he couldn’t help himself. The faintest brush of his bottom lip slid against yours, the movement so subtle it sent a shiver down your spine.

It was maddening.

Your heart pounded in your chest, heat crawling up your neck. You should’ve said something, should’ve broken the tension with a joke — but your body wouldn’t move.

Neither did his.

His hand, draped lazily along the back of the couch, shifted just an inch closer. You felt the whisper of his knuckle against your shoulder, barely there, but deliberate. He wasn’t holding you in place — he didn’t need to. The weight of his attention alone pinned you still.

“Eren…” you breathed, but it came out more like a plea than the warning you’d meant.

He smirked against your lips, not quite pulling back, not quite closing the gap either. His voice was low, rough, vibrating right into you.

“Accidents don’t last this long.”

The words hung heavy in the space between you, pressing tighter than any touch could.

And still, he didn’t move in — didn’t take more, didn’t demand. He hovered right there, his mouth barely brushing yours, stretching the moment until your lungs ached and your resolve threatened to snap.

It was torture, the sweetest kind.

•·　　.　✸　•　　　　　.　　　•　　　.✸　　　•　•　　✦　

heyyy, sorry for not being active, just got back from a trip and some important exam are soon!

[missesstargirl]

bsf eren sucking on tits?

It was supposed to be a lazy day. No pressure, no lines crossed — just you and Eren, like it had always been. But the two of you had long since blurred what “just friends” even meant, and today he seemed intent on testing exactly how far he could push it.

You were lying sideways on his bed, half under his blanket, scrolling through your phone when his arm slid over your stomach. At first, you thought nothing of it. Eren was always too touchy with you — that was nothing new. But then his hand crept higher, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast like he was testing the waters.

“Eren…” you muttered, side-eyeing him.

He only smirked, not even pretending innocence. “What?”

“You know what.”

He shrugged. “If you really wanted me to stop, you’d make me.”

And the thing was, you didn’t.

With a lazy kind of boldness, he slipped his hand under your shirt, palming your breast over your bra. His fingers kneaded slowly, deliberately, until he hooked a finger beneath the cup and tugged it down. The cool air hit your nipple before his warm hand did, and you shivered.

“Fuck,” he muttered, staring openly. “Perfect.”

You opened your mouth to scold him, but the words died in your throat when he leaned in and wrapped his lips around you.

The sound you made was embarrassingly soft, but Eren didn’t tease you about it. He was too focused, sucking slow and deep, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud until it tightened under his mouth. His hand slid to your other breast, thumb rolling your nipple there while his mouth worked the first, switching back and forth with shameless hunger.

“God, you taste so good,” he groaned against your skin, pulling back just long enough to drag his tongue wetly across your chest before latching on again. “Been wanting to suck on these forever.”

“Eren—” You tried to push at his shoulder, but your fingers only ended up curling into his damp hair, holding him closer instead.

He chuckled low, the vibration making you arch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His teeth grazed you, biting lightly, before soothing the sting with another long, greedy suck.

He took his time — too much time. Every kiss, every flick of his tongue felt deliberate, like he wanted to map every nerve ending, wring every sound out of you without touching you anywhere else. He switched between them, squeezing, sucking, teasing until your nipples were swollen and aching, shiny from his mouth.

When he finally pulled back, chin slick, he grinned up at you with a smugness that made your stomach flip. “Best friends, right? This is just me… taking care of you.”

Then, before you could catch your breath, he ducked down again, lips closing around you with even more hunger than before.

[missesstargirl]

bsf eren and shower time: longer version +18

since the little drable did so well here is a one shot!!

•·　　.　✸　•　　　　　.　　　•　　　.✸　　　•　•　　✦　

You’d just rinsed the conditioner from your hair, steam curling thick in the small bathroom, when the door creaked open without so much as a knock.

“Eren” you barely managed, clutching at the shower curtain.

“What? Relax, I’ve seen you in a bikini before.” His voice was so casual, so familiar, like he wasn’t intruding on something intensely private. You could see his silhouette through the fogged glass tall, broad shoulders, and way too comfortable leaning against the counter.

“Get out,” you warned, but you didn’t move to shut him out.

He grinned, that infuriating half-smile in his voice. “You left your phone unlocked on the bed. Guess who texted you.” His eyes roamed blatantly, even through the steam, and you knew he was staring. “You know, you should really lock this door if you don’t want people walking in.”

“People? Or just you?”

“Just me,” he admitted without hesitation, stepping closer until you could make out every line of his face through the blurry glass. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone how cute you look like this.” His hand brushed against the curtain, testing your reaction.

You should’ve told him to stop. But instead, your voice came out quieter. “You gonna hand me a towel or just stand there?”

He chuckled, low and smug. “Oh, I’ll hand it to you… but you’re coming out to get it.”

The water was still beating down on your shoulders when the curtain slid open just enough for Eren’s smirk to appear in the gap.

“You’re taking forever,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Eren” You didn’t even get the chance to protest before he stepped inside, shutting the curtain behind him.

The small stall suddenly felt too small, steam curling between you as his bare chest came into view. “What the hell are you doing?” you hissed, but your eyes couldn’t help flicking down.

He shrugged, completely unbothered, droplets already starting to bead on his skin. “Water’s warm. Thought I’d save some.”

“Save some—this isn’t a public pool, Eren.”

“Could be,” he teased, reaching past you for the shampoo bottle like he belonged there. His arm brushed yours, warm and slick, and you felt the heat rise in your face. “Turn around.”

You froze. “…why?”

“So I can wash your hair.” The grin he gave you was downright sinful. “What? I’m being helpful. Unless you think I’m gonna do something else.”

You knew you should’ve pushed him out right then, but instead, you turned. Slowly. His fingers worked through your wet hair, nails grazing your scalp in a way that had nothing to do with friendship.

“See?” he murmured in your ear over the sound of the water. “Nothing weird. Just me… and you… and no clothes.”

Steam still clung to the walls of the bathroom, the mirror fogged so thick you could barely see your own reflection. You’d wrapped yourself in a towel by the time Eren finally climbed out of the shower behind you, his grin lazy and satisfied, like nothing about what he’d just done was out of line.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, shaking water from his hair. “You’re the one who didn’t kick me out.”

Your glare was weak at best. “You walked in.”

“Yeah. And you didn’t exactly push me out, did you?” His voice had that cocky, matter-of-fact lilt he always used when he knew he had you cornered.

You tightened the towel around yourself, heart racing, but the silence in the room was too loud. Because the truth was, this wasn’t the first time he’d pulled something like this. Maybe not this bold, stepping into the shower with you, but Eren had always been shameless about testing the line between “best friend” and “something else.” Touches that lingered too long, the way his eyes tracked you when he thought you weren’t looking, the casual comments that always sounded like jokes but hit too close to the truth.

This time, though… he’d gone too far. And you hated how much you hadn’t hated it.

“Eren,” you said, trying to steady your voice, “you can’t just—”

He stepped closer, towel slung low on his hips, dripping water across the floor as if he didn’t care. “Can’t what? Be honest?” His hand found the edge of your towel, tugging lightly, just enough to make your pulse spike. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? You think I’m the only one who’s crossing lines here?”

You froze, caught between indignation and the heat rising in your chest.

Eren leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “You could’ve told me to get out. You didn’t.” His fingers brushed your arm, teasing, deliberate. “So tell me now. Say the word, and I’ll leave.”

He was baiting you — giving you an out but daring you to take it, daring you to admit you wanted him to stay.

And that was the problem. You didn’t want him to leave.

Steam curled in the air, heavy and damp, sticking your hair against your skin. The towel clutched at your chest felt like the only barrier between you and him, and yet it was already slipping loose under the faint tug of Eren’s fingers.

“Eren…” your voice came out weaker than you wanted, almost pleading, almost warning.

But he only smiled, a sharp, crooked thing that was too smug to be innocent. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to do something about it.” His eyes flicked down, lingering where the terrycloth gaped.

You could’ve told him to stop. You could’ve stepped back. But your feet stayed planted, your breath catching as his hand finally flattened against your waist, thumb brushing bare skin where the towel had shifted.

He leaned in closer, wet hair dripping down your shoulder as he murmured, “You think I didn’t notice, huh? How you don’t move when I get too close. How you watch me the same way I watch you.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, shame burning through you because he was right. You never told him to stop. You’d never wanted him to.

And he knew it. He always knew it.

Eren tugged once more, slow and deliberate, and the towel slid from your fingers. It pooled uselessly on the tile floor, leaving you exposed in front of him. His breath hitched, eyes dragging down your body with none of the restraint he pretended to have around everyone else.

“Fuck…” His voice dropped, low and hungry, but he didn’t lunge like some idiot. He stayed close, savoring, almost reverent despite how filthy his smirk was. “You’re too much for me, you know that?”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs as his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up until you were forced to meet his eyes.

“You really gonna act like you don’t want this?” he asked, tone maddeningly calm, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to admit it.

And maybe it was the steam, or the way his thumb stroked your skin, or the way you were just so damn tired of pretending you didn’t crave the same thing he did—but your silence gave you away.

Because Eren didn’t wait for words. He kissed you instead.

It wasn’t soft, not at first. It was demanding, shameless, the way he always was with you. His mouth pressed against yours with years of pent-up tension, of teasing and pushing and daring. You gasped against him, hands clutching at his damp shoulders before sliding down, feeling the solid muscle beneath your palms.

The towel on his hips hung low, dangerously low, and when your fingers caught on the edge, he groaned into your mouth like you’d been starving him.

“See?” he muttered against your lips, biting lightly before pulling back just enough to look at you again. His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. “Knew it. You’re just as fucked up as me.”

You should’ve shoved him. You should’ve said something sharp to cut through his smugness. But instead, you kissed him back—harder, needier, giving up the last shred of pretense.

And Eren, of course, took it as permission to push further. His hand slipped down your back, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin, nothing left between you but heat and steam and the years of “best friend” boundaries snapping like fragile glass.

When he finally broke away, lips swollen, breathing heavy, he laughed—low, rough, almost disbelieving. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Your heart was still racing, your body trembling, but you couldn’t stop yourself from whispering back, “Yeah, I think I do.”

Eren’s grin returned, sharp and dangerous. “Then stop pretending I’m the only one that wants it”

And when he kissed you again, there was no going back.

The tiles were slick under your feet, steam curling like smoke around the both of you. The towel was gone, forgotten, and Eren’s smirk only grew sharper with the way you didn’t reach for it again.

He dragged his thumb across your hipbone like he was memorizing the shape of you, lingering just long enough to make your pulse stutter. His eyes stayed locked on yours, shameless and steady, daring you to call him out.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate against your throat as he leaned in. “Not scared though… are you?”

You swallowed hard, but didn’t pull away. His closeness was suffocating, intoxicating. You hated that he knew exactly what it did to you.

“I should kick you out,” you managed, though it didn’t sound convincing, not when your hands stayed right where they were—clutching the damp fabric at his waist instead of pushing him off.

Eren’s laugh was quiet, breathy, like he found you entertaining. “You won’t. You like this too much.” His hand slid higher, brushing the underside of your ribs. “You like me too much.”

Heat flooded your face, betrayal written in the way your body leaned into his touch before your mind could argue.

He tilted his head, his wet hair brushing over your cheek as he whispered, “C’mon. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

Your silence was the answer he wanted, and he grinned against your skin like the devil himself. “Knew it.”

For a moment, the shower was nothing but sound—the steady drip of water, the rush of your heartbeat, the quiet hum of his satisfaction. His hand traced over your side, teasing but not claiming, touching like he had all the time in the world to play this dangerous game.

And maybe that was worse than anything else—how patient he could be, how much he enjoyed making you realize you were the one letting it happen.

When he finally pulled back enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes were heavy, unguarded in a way that made your chest ache.

“You know I’m not gonna stop wanting you, right?” he said, like it was a promise and a threat all at once.

You bit your lip, breath shallow, and for the first time, you didn’t pretend otherwise.

The steam curled heavy between you, clinging to every inch of exposed skin. You’d told yourself a dozen times you’d shove him out, slam the bathroom door, and call it a mistake—yet you were still standing there, back to the wall of the shower, with Eren crowding into your space.

“Still not saying stop,” he muttered, a crooked grin cutting across his lips as his hand slid down from your ribs to the curve of your waist. His tone was smug, but there was heat behind it, raw and hungry. “You really gonna keep pretending this isn’t what you want?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to find your voice, but his fingers squeezed at your hip and whatever protest you had died in your throat.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the damp line of your jaw. “Blushing like you don’t already know what I’m thinking about doing to you.”

When you didn’t answer, his laugh was low, almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t believe you were really letting him do this. And then—slowly, deliberately—he pressed his body against yours, chest to chest, heat radiating even through the thin barrier of fabric he still wore.

The contact tore a gasp out of you before you could bite it back.

“There it is,” he murmured, his grin widening. “Knew you’d sound pretty when I got close enough.”

His mouth ghosted over yours, not kissing, just hovering, taunting.

Your hand twitched at your side, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. You hated how natural the latter felt, how much your body betrayed you.

“Say the word,” Eren said, voice husky now, all pretense of casualness gone. “One word and I’ll ruin us right here.”

And you should’ve said no. Should’ve shoved him back and told him to never pull this shit again. But the only thing that came out was a shaky, “Eren…”

That was all the permission he needed.

He crashed his mouth onto yours, hard and hungry, like he’d been waiting for this for years. His wet hair clung to your skin, his hands roaming over you with a possessiveness that made your knees buckle.

The shower blurred into nothing—just heat, steam, the sound of his breath mingling with yours as he kissed you like he’d never let go.

The spray was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You pressed your palms against the slick tile at your back like it might keep you steady, but all it did was make you feel cornered.

Eren leaned in, so close you could see the way the droplets ran down the curve of his cheekbone, catching on his lashes. His grin was lazy, infuriating, and far too self-assured.

“Funny thing,” he said, his voice a low rumble under the hiss of the water. “I’ve walked in on you a dozen times, and every time you tell me to get out.” His hand slid up the wall beside your head, bracing him over you. “But you never make me.”

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but he tilted his head and let his lips brush the edge of your ear, close enough that you felt the shape of his words.

“You like it, don’t you? Knowing I’m looking.”

Your breath hitched, and that was all the answer he needed. He chuckled, the sound dark and pleased, before he let his free hand skim down the slick line of your arm. He didn’t grab, didn’t push—you could’ve stepped away. But you didn’t.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his lips grazing your temple now. “Not scared, though. Excited.”

“Ren—” His name slipped out, half warning, half plea.

He finally leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, his own green gaze sharp, almost daring you to deny it. The cocky smirk softened into something more dangerous: hungry, intent.

“Say you don’t want me here,” he whispered. “Say it, and I’ll leave right now.”

Your throat worked, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, your silence hung heavy in the mist, binding you both tighter than any confession.

Eren’s smile widened, softer this time but no less shameless. He dragged his thumb over the corner of your mouth, water dripping from his knuckles.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “That’s what I thought.”

The air between you thickened, charged. His hand lingered at your jaw, and though he didn’t close the gap, the weight of the moment was unbearable—like a kiss hanging in the balance, inevitable but stretched taut on a thread of restraint.

Every inch of him screamed temptation, and every nerve in your body screamed to give in.

The water poured down in steady rivulets, pounding against the tiles, soaking your skin until everything felt slick and molten. Eren pressed in behind you, his chest flush to your back, breath hot against the side of your neck despite the cool mist rising from the shower spray.

You felt the deliberate way his hands roamed—first skimming the curve of your waist, then dipping lower, lingering as though he was memorizing every inch of you under his palms. His touch wasn’t hurried; it was languid, almost taunting, the kind of pace that left your body arching instinctively into him.

When he dragged his mouth along the slope of your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly before his lips pressed in, the sound that left you was swallowed by the rush of water. Eren only smirked against your skin, tilting your head back just enough so he could catch your expression—the flush on your cheeks, the parted lips, the way your eyes had gone hazy.

“Can’t even look at me, huh?” he teased lowly, voice cracking with amusement and want all at once. His grip tightened, pulling you even closer so you could feel just how little space remained between you.

Every movement became its own rhythm: the sound of drops of water pounding down, the slick slide of his hands exploring you, the heat of his body anchoring you against the cold tiles. You caught yourself bracing with one hand on the wall, the other curling around his wrist as if to either stop him—or guide him further.

The steam blurred everything around you, but not the way your pulse raced, not the ragged sounds that mixed with his. The shower had become its own little world, where the only things that mattered were the weight of him against you, the wet press of skin on skin, the delicious wrongness of how far this had gone between best friends.

And the worst part? You didn’t want it to stop.

The shower was already running hot when he crowded in behind you, the steam clinging to your skin. Eren’s chest was pressed flush against your back, his hand sliding over your hip like he owned it.

You tried to steady yourself on the slick tile, but he wasn’t making it easy—his mouth dragging down the side of your throat, teeth catching the sensitive skin just enough to make your knees buckle. The water beat down on both of you, drowning the sounds you didn’t mean to let slip.

“Relax,” he muttered against your ear, one palm flattening against your stomach, the other already exploring lower. His touch was unhurried, teasing, like he knew exactly how long he could string you along before you begged.

You tilted your head back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as the steam wrapped around you. The rhythm he set with his hands made your breath catch, your body pushing back into him without even thinking. He chuckled when he felt it—shameless, smug—his voice low enough to send heat rushing through you.

“Best friends don’t do this, huh?” he teased, fingers tightening on your skin. “But here you are, letting me touch you like this in the bathroom.”

The spray was loud, but not loud enough to hide the way your body betrayed you—the way you clutched his wrist, not to stop him, but to drag him closer, deeper.

When you finally turned your head to catch his mouth, the kiss was messy, wet, unrestrained. His grip only grew rougher, anchoring you against the tile, moving against you with a hunger that made it clear he wasn’t going to stop until you gave him everything.

And in that steamy little corner of the world, you didn’t want to resist.

The steam clung thick in the air, drops sliding down your spine, but you couldn’t even tell if the heat was from the water or from him. Eren had you pinned to the slick tile, his body flush against yours, cock already hard and pressing insistently against the curve of your ass.

You felt the drag of his teeth at your shoulder as his hands roamed, greedy, like he’d been waiting for this far too long. One hand shoved your thigh forward to open you up, the other sliding down between your legs, two fingers parting you under the spray. The slick heat of the water mixed with the way he worked you open, slow at first, then with sharp, sure movements that made your knees tremble.

“Fuck—look at you,” he murmured against your ear, voice rough with a laugh, “so wet for your best friend. Bet you’d let me fuck you right here, huh?”

Your only answer was the sharp gasp that slipped out when he curled his fingers inside you. He grinned against your damp skin, his hips grinding forward in a slow rhythm that promised more.

When you turned your face to kiss him, he swallowed your moan like it was his own, lips wet and hungry. He pulled his fingers free, slick with you, and brought them to your mouth, tapping your bottom lip until you let him slide them past your tongue. “Good girl,” he muttered, cock twitching against your ass.

He didn’t wait much longer. He lined himself up with a harsh groan, pressing into you inch by inch, the tight stretch pulling a cry from your throat that echoed against the tile. His grip on your hips tightened, keeping you steady as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, that’s it—” His forehead dropped to the back of your neck as he thrust forward, the slap of skin against skin lost in the roar of the shower. Every movement was filthy, desperate, water cascading down both of you as he drove into you with sharp, relentless strokes.

Your palms flattened against the wall for balance, body rocking forward with every snap of his hips. He kept one hand around your waist, the other sneaking back down to circle your clit, rough and fast, like he needed to drag you over the edge just as badly as he needed to finish inside you.

The combination was too much—the relentless pace of his thrusts, the way he bit at your shoulder, the filthy words he groaned into your ear. You came hard, legs shaking, clenching so tight around him that his rhythm stuttered.

“Shit—fuck—” he gasped, driving in deep and staying there, grinding against you as he spilled hot and heavy inside, his groan vibrating against your skin.

The water washed everything away—the mess, the sweat, the breathless sounds you couldn’t stop making. But nothing could wash away the way he held you after, forehead against your damp shoulder, muttering something low and smug, like he knew this was never going to be just a one-time thing.

[missesstargirl]

your tutor's brother aka Jason Todd. You were supposed to be focusing on passing physics with Tim Drake’s tutoring. Instead, Jason Todd keeps showing up at Wayne Manor, all rough edges, sly smiles, and the kind of attention that makes it impossible to think straight. What starts as teasing and casual flirtation quickly spirals into stolen glances, dangerous touches, and a reckless encounter in the library that leaves you aching for more. Tutoring sessions were never meant to be this distracting… or this dangerous. •·　　.　✸　•　　　　　.　　　•　　　.✸　　　•　•　　✦　

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 +18

[missesstargirl]

your tutor's brother aka Jason Todd. part 4 +18

The next tutoring session came faster than you expected. One minute you were reviewing Tim’s worksheet at your desk, and the next you were back at Wayne Manor, notebook open, Tim already filling a whiteboard with neat equations.

“Conservation of momentum,” he said, his tone clipped from lack of sleep. “It’ll be on the exam, guaranteed.”

You nodded, trying to focus, but your thoughts were a mess. They weren’t on the whiteboard, or the worksheet, or even on Tim. They were still tangled up in a certain smile, a certain voice in the dark.

And of course, fate wasn’t about to give you a break.

The library door creaked open, and Jason strolled in like he owned the place—probably because he kind of did. A book was tucked under his arm, and he had that same easy grin that made your stomach twist.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, his voice smooth. “Just looking for something to read.”

Tim didn’t even glance up. “Jason, the fiction section is downstairs. This is for studying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason muttered, but his eyes found yours immediately. The look he gave you wasn’t casual—it lingered, deliberate enough to make your pulse jump.

You ducked your head, pretending to focus on the problem in front of you.

Jason sauntered closer anyway, dragging his fingers along the back of your chair as he passed. The light touch was so subtle Tim couldn’t possibly notice, but it made every muscle in your body tighten.

“Physics, huh?” Jason’s voice was low, almost just for you. “Bet you’ve got it all figured out by now.”

“Not quite,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked, leaning just slightly over your shoulder to glance at the worksheet. His cologne hit you first—warm, woodsy, familiar—and then the heat of his arm close enough to brush yours.

“Looks like you’re doing fine to me,” he murmured, close enough that his breath stirred the hair near your temple.

Tim finally turned, irritation in his tired eyes. “Jason. Could you not hover? You’re distracting her.”

Jason straightened immediately, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Replacement. I’m just being supportive.” His grin widened, but when his eyes flicked back to you, the grin softened into something else—something that made it hard to breathe.

You forced your gaze back to the paper, your pencil trembling just slightly in your grip. Tim resumed his explanation, none the wiser, but you could still feel Jason’s presence in the room—like a current running under your skin, daring you to look up, daring you to want more.

When he finally left, you had to unclench your hand from around the pencil. You weren’t sure what was more exhausting: keeping up with Tim’s equations, or pretending Jason’s voice wasn’t still echoing in your head.

Tim wrapped up the session the same way he always did—neat notes, another printout, a reminder about the exam date. His voice was steady, efficient, but you only half-heard him. You were counting the seconds until he left the room.

“Get some rest,” Tim said finally, gathering his things. “And seriously—don’t let Jason distract you. He lives to make my life harder.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, though your voice was too light, too quick.

When the door shut behind him, the silence was immediate, heavy. You exhaled shakily, turning back to your notes, but you didn’t even get through the first line before the library door creaked again.

Jason.

He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes locked on you with that same amused intensity. “Replacement gone?”

“Don’t call him that,” you said automatically, though your voice lacked bite.

Jason’s smirk deepened. He closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate, the soft click echoing in the room. “Relax. I’m not here to mess up your precious study time.”

But the way he stalked across the room said otherwise.

You swallowed, heart pounding as he stopped beside your chair. He didn’t sit, didn’t ask—he just leaned down, close enough that his shadow swallowed your notebook.

“You’re wound tight, little bird,” he murmured. “I could feel it earlier. The way you were trying so hard not to look at me while Timmy rattled off equations.”

“I was focusing,” you whispered.

Jason chuckled low, a sound that slid straight through you. “Sure you were.”

His hand came down on the table, next to your notes. Big, warm, scarred. Close enough that you could imagine what it would feel like if he moved just a little further—if those fingers brushed your wrist, your thigh.

“Physics isn’t the only thing you’re learning in this house,” he said softly, eyes catching yours. “You’re learning how bad you want something you shouldn’t.”

Your pulse was a drum in your ears. The air between you was razor-thin, hot, every nerve waiting for him to close the distance.

And then he did.

Not a kiss—yet. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, the faintest graze, his breath warm as he murmured, “Say the word, and I’ll give you something to really think about tonight.”

Your breath hitched. The world tilted, narrowed to just him, his voice, the promise coiled between every syllable.

His words sank into you, heavy and impossible to ignore. Your throat went dry. Maybe you should’ve told him to back off, reminded yourself that this was reckless, that Tim was just down the hall. But you didn’t.

You turned your head just slightly—just enough—and Jason caught the movement instantly. His mouth was on yours before you had time to think.

The kiss was rough at first, urgent, like he’d been holding it back for too long. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in harder, tilting your head just so he could deepen it. Heat surged through you, stealing your breath. You clutched at his shirt, fingers tangling in the fabric, needing something to anchor yourself against the sudden storm.

Jason groaned low in his chest when you tugged him closer, the sound vibrating through you. His other hand slid down your arm, skimming your side until it settled on your waist, firm and possessive. He pressed you back against the table, the scattered notes and worksheets crumpling under your weight.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to drag in air. His eyes were dark, wild, locked on yours like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing. “You taste better than I imagined.”

You shivered at his words, at the raw honesty in them, and pulled him back down to you. The kiss turned hungrier, messier, all teeth and tongue and desperation. His thumb stroked the edge of your jaw, gentler than the rest of him, a contrast that made your chest ache.

When his lips left yours, they trailed lower—along your cheek, down your throat. You gasped when he sucked lightly at the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing just enough to make your pulse spike.

“Jay” you whispered, half a warning, half a plea.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, a wicked smirk curving them. “Say it again.”

The sound of his name in your mouth seemed to undo him. He dipped his head back down, kissing you again, slower this time, deliberate. His hand slid lower, gripping your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the table until your knees brushed his hips. The pressure of his body against yours left no doubt about how badly he wanted this—how badly he wanted you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your lips, though the way his hands tightened on you said he was praying you wouldn’t.

You didn’t.

Instead, you tugged him even closer, and Jason growled in approval, kissing you like he intended to ruin every coherent thought you’d ever had.

Jason’s mouth was back on yours, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping past your lips like he had every right to be there. His hand slid higher along your thigh, pushing the fabric of your skirt up with slow, deliberate pressure. You gasped against him, and he swallowed the sound, kissing you harder.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered, breaking away just long enough to trail kisses down your throat. His teeth scraped your skin, then soothed it with his tongue. The mark he left behind throbbed, heat spreading from that spot straight down your spine.

You clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into the muscle beneath his shirt. Jason groaned at the sting, shifting his hips against yours. The hard press of him against your thigh made your breath stutter, reality crashing over you—how badly you wanted this, how badly he did too.

He leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, his pupils blown wide. “Still want this, little bird?”

Your answer came out more like a whimper than words. “Yes.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth crashed back to yours, hungrier than before, while his hands made quick work of tugging you closer, spreading your legs so he could step between them. The table edge dug into your back, your notes forgotten, your world narrowed to just him.

One of his hands slipped under your shirt, calloused fingers splaying across your stomach. The roughness of his touch contrasted with the careful way he brushed his thumb over your skin, like he was memorizing you. He pushed higher, cupping your breast through your bra, and you moaned into his mouth.

“Fuck, that sound—” Jason’s voice broke rough, guttural. He dipped his head, lips closing around your nipple through the fabric, sucking hard enough to make you arch into him.

“Jay” his name tore from you, breathless, desperate.

He grinned against you, teeth scraping over the thin lace. “Good girl. Say it louder. Let me hear you.”

You gasped again as his hand trailed lower, sliding beneath your skirt. His fingers pressed against the damp heat of your panties, and he froze, groaning deep in his chest. “Shit. You’re already wet for me.”

The way he said it—raw, reverent, a little disbelieving—made your whole body shiver.

He rubbed slow circles over you, the friction teasing but not nearly enough. You bucked your hips against his hand, shameless, chasing more. Jason’s chuckle was dark, dangerous. “Patience, honey. I’ll give you what you need.”

He hooked a finger beneath the fabric, pushing it aside. When his fingers finally slid against your bare skin, you cried out, clutching his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Jason growled, sinking one thick finger inside you, then another, stretching you open. He curled them just right, and your knees nearly gave out. He held you up easily, his other arm locking around your waist, keeping you steady while he worked you with practiced precision.

Your head fell back, lips parted in a desperate moan. He watched every flicker of your expression like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. “Look at you. Falling apart for me already.”

His thumb brushed your clit, and stars burst behind your eyes. You clenched around his fingers, a broken sound escaping you. Jason’s smirk turned feral.

“That’s it, little bird. Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on my fingers before I fuck you proper.”

The words pushed you right over the edge. Your body tightened, shuddering around him, heat flooding through you as you came hard, gasping his name. Jason cursed, low and filthy, watching you unravel with a look that was equal parts hunger and awe.

He pulled his fingers from you, slow, and brought them to his mouth. His tongue swept over them, tasting you, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever had. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, voice hoarse.

Then his hand was at his belt, tugging it loose, his eyes locked on you with a promise that made your stomach flip. “And now, I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

Jason’s belt clattered against the table, his movements impatient, hungry. You barely had time to catch your breath before he had you back in his arms, kissing you hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“Up,” he muttered against your mouth, gripping your hips. You let out a startled gasp as he lifted you like you weighed nothing, setting you down on the edge of the table. Papers scattered to the floor, forgotten.

Your skirt bunched around your waist as he stepped between your legs, pushing your panties down with rough, eager hands. He didn’t waste time — the heavy, hot press of him lined up against you had your pulse stuttering.

“Last chance to back out,” he said, voice low and ragged, though the way his cock nudged at your entrance betrayed how badly he didn’t want you to.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Jason’s grin was wicked, but his eyes burned. “That’s my girl.”

He thrust into you in one long, slow push, filling you to the hilt. The stretch stole your breath, made your nails dig into his shoulders. He groaned, head dropping against your neck.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped. “Taking me so good, little bird.”

You clung to him, gasping at the sensation, at the way he filled you completely. The first roll of his hips had you crying out, the sound muffled when he crashed his mouth back onto yours.

He set a rhythm — hard, deep thrusts that had the table creaking under you. Every movement pressed you higher, your body arching into him, desperate for more.

“Keep making those sounds for me,” he growled, biting lightly at your throat. “Let me hear how good I’m fucking you.”

You couldn’t hold back even if you tried. Every thrust dragged another moan from you, your voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.

Jason’s hand slid down, his thumb finding your clit, circling it with practiced precision. “Come on, pretty thing. Come on my cock. Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

The heat built fast, unbearable. You shattered with a cry, your body clenching around him, waves of ecstasy ripping through you. Jason cursed loudly, his thrusts turning rougher, more erratic.

“Goddamn—so perfect—” He buried himself deep one last time, groaning as he came, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the table beneath you. Jason pressed his forehead to yours, still inside you, his chest heaving.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was lazy, satisfied. “Well. Guess that’s one way to make physics more interesting.”

You smacked his shoulder weakly, still breathless. “You’re impossible.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand brushing along your thigh in a surprisingly tender caress. “Yeah,” he murmured against your lips. “But you like me that way.”

The sound of footsteps in the hall made you both freeze. Jason’s eyes lit up with mischief, and he whispered, “Guess we better clean up, little bird. Wouldn’t want Timmy to walk in on… this.”

But from the look he gave you, it was clear he had no intention of stopping here.

[missesstargirl]

your tutor's brother aka Jason Todd. part 3

The worksheet in your hand crinkled as you walked down the steps, the night air biting just enough to make you hug your arms around yourself. You were halfway to your car when a familiar voice drifted from the shadows.

“Leaving already? Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easy.”

Jason.

He was leaning against his bike, helmet dangling from his fingers, one boot braced casually against the pavement. The low light from the manor windows cast sharp angles across his face, catching in his eyes. For a second, you forgot how to breathe.

You forced yourself to sound casual. “You following me now?”

“Please,” he said, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “If I was following you, you wouldn’t even notice. I just happen to have perfect timing.” He pushed off the bike, closing some of the space between you. Not all of it, though—just enough to make your pulse kick.

“I was gonna grab another sandwich,” he continued, glancing at the worksheet in your hand. “But looks like someone’s got homework to keep her warm tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, clutching the papers tighter. “Homework doesn’t flirt back, so maybe it’s the safer option.”

That earned a low laugh from him, the kind that curled down your spine and settled warm in your stomach. He took another step closer, slow and deliberate, until you had to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

“Who says I’m safe?” he asked softly.

The way he was looking at you—like he was weighing every word, every flicker of expression—made your skin prickle. He smelled faintly of smoke and leather, and something distinctly him, something that made you want to lean closer even though you knew better.

“You shouldn’t mess with me like that,” you said, but your voice didn’t come out as sharp as you wanted. It was thinner, breathier.

Jason’s smile shifted—less teasing now, more dangerous. He reached up, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the ghost of his fingers hovering just over your cheek. “Not messing,” he murmured. “Just telling you the truth. You’ve got this… thing about you. Makes it hard to keep my mouth shut.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. For a moment, you thought he might actually close the distance between you, that he might do something reckless—and you weren’t sure if you’d stop him.

But then he dropped his hand, stepping back with a grin that didn’t quite hide the heat in his eyes. “Go ace your exam, little bird. Don’t let me be the reason you fail.”

And just like that, he swung a leg over his bike, the engine roaring to life. He gave you one last look—pointed, lingering—before tearing off into the night.

You stood there long after he was gone, worksheet forgotten in your hands, wondering which was more dangerous: failing physics… or Jason Todd.

The worksheet dug into your palm, edges crumpling under your grip. You told yourself to just get in the car, drive home, and not think about him—but your body had other ideas.

Jason didn’t move away completely. He stood there, bike still rumbling low behind him, and looked at you like you were some puzzle he couldn’t decide if he wanted to solve or break apart.

“Relax,” he said, voice softer now. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

“Maybe I should,” you managed, though you didn’t take a step.

His mouth curved into a slow grin, but it wasn’t the cocky kind he usually wore. This one felt sharper, more intimate. He reached out, and before you could react, his fingers brushed a strand of hair that had slipped forward, tucking it behind your ear. The touch was light, barely there, but it set every nerve buzzing.

“Better,” he murmured, his knuckles grazing your jaw on the way back down. He didn’t pull away right away either—his hand lingered near your throat, hovering close enough that you felt the heat of his skin.

You swallowed, hard. “You… really shouldn’t do that.”

Jason tilted his head, studying you with a dangerous kind of curiosity. “You don’t sound like you mean that.”

The silence stretched, filled only by the distant hum of crickets and the steady thrum of his bike. Your breath caught when he leaned just slightly closer, close enough that his shadow mingled with yours.

It would’ve been so easy to close the gap. Too easy.

Your heart was hammering, your body betraying you by leaning just a fraction toward him. He noticed—of course he did—and his eyes darkened, lips parting like he was about to say something he shouldn’t.

But instead, he exhaled sharply and stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair as if shaking off the moment. “Damn. You’re trouble.”

You found your voice, barely. “You’re one to talk.”

That earned a low laugh, his eyes glinting with something that promised this wasn’t over. “Guess we’re both screwed then.”

He slipped his helmet on, straddling the bike in one smooth motion. “Get home safe, little bird,” he said, voice muffled but still rich with something unspoken.

And then he was gone, the roar of his engine tearing into the night, leaving you standing there breathless, pulse still racing, with the lingering memory of how close he’d been—how close you’d both let it get.