You say you don’t like him. So why are you riding him like that?
Nerd!Gojo x Mean Girl!Reader
💌 public sex (library), lots of teasing & denial, he's a little subby, you're a little evil, maybe a part 2 where you get caught by ta!suguru from my au.
“You’re disgusting.”
You say it while sinking down on his cock, slowly, like you're savoring it.
Gojo’s glasses are fogged up, his mouth open and flushed and a little stunned—because you’re so warm, so tight, so fucking mean even with your pussy wrapped around him. His fingers grip the edge of the desk to try and stay grounded. You’re still fully dressed, skirt hitched up and panties shoved to the side. He’s got his slacks around his ankles and his shirt unbuttoned, the stupid little red pen still clipped to his collar.
Nerd.
“You—fuck—but you said—” he chokes, head thumping back against the shelves. You bounce once. Hard. His voice breaks.
“I said you’re disgusting,” you snap, grinding down slow just to feel him twitch. “And annoying. And ugly.”
He moans as if you were telling him he’s perfect. Quite the opposite.
“But you’re so—fucking—tight—” he whines, hips twitching up into you. “Nngh—you’re clenching so much—!”
“That’s your problem,” you bite, hand wrapped around his throat—not enough to choke him, not really, just enough to make him look up at you. Make him see your gloss smeared lips and your fucked out gaze.
You ride him faster. The slap of your ass against his thighs echoes between the library shelves. Your breath stutters but you don’t stop—not when his hands tremble, not when his glasses slip down his nose, not even when he whimpers, “C-could you just admit you like me?”
“No.” Your voice is sharp, shaky. You’re close. You’re pissed. “I don’t even like you. I hate you. I fucking—hate—”
You clench around him on every word. He cries out—high, breathy, overwhelmed.
He’s gonna cum first. Again.
“Oh my god, you’re literally such a loser,” you pant, leaning in close. Your forehead brushes his. “Can’t even hold it in when I talk shit to you, huh? Ew- don't tell me you're into that shit.”
He nods. Fast. Desperate. “I’m—I’m sorry—” Pathetic.
You smile.
“Don’t apologize,” you whisper, licking into his mouth. “Cum in me, 'Toru.”
He does.
Loud. Shaking. Hips bucking up into you like he’s never been touched before. And that loser probably hasn't.
And when he comes down, twitching thighs and cum leaking out while he blinks up at you like he’s in love, you just tilt your head and sigh.
golden retriever!yuji who clocks your "attitude problem" as more than you just being a mean girl. he can tell that you use it as a defense mechanism to keep people from getting too close. as a second year, you have become accustomed to those around you dying, so you push people away rather than worry about mourning them later.
golden retriever!yuji who never ever calls you mean. not even when all you do is call him names and push him around. he is always making excuses for you and gets especially annoyed when people assume things about you when they clearly know nothing.
golden retriever!yuji who just smiles when you insult him, like your giving him a compliment. you literally call him insufferable and he is grinning at you from ear to ear, mumbling, "she knows who i am :D !" you have to physically walk away from that situation.
golden retriever!yuji who really just doesn't take your meanness personally, especially when he can tell your overwhelmed. he knows the difference between you using it as a coping mechanism and you lashing out because your trying to hurt him. he refuses to punish you if he thinks you might actually be hurting.
golden retriever!yuji who is so bf coded that he learns your habits without even noticing it. little things that are so mundane it makes your heart race. like how you take your coffee, what foods you pretend not to like, what tone means you're actually upset vs your normal tone.
golden retriever!yuji who is the only person not intimidated by you being satoru gojo's little sister. everyone walks on egg shells around you. this is yet another reason you refuse to make connections, most of the girls at jjk are so in love with your brother that they think if they are some how nice to you, gojo will let them in to him pants ( a game you are definitely not interested in playing! ).
golden retriever!yuji who actually gets worried and weirdly soft when you go quiet. if you're not snapping or rolling your eyes, he immediately assumes something is wrong and is instantly trying to find a way to remedy the problem, even before he knows what the problem is.
golden retriever!yuji who absolutely melts the first time you do something gentle without thinking like fixing his collar, brushing something off his face, or handing him something without the usual level of snark. he will literally freeze. sure, your insults make his dick hard but your gentleness make his heart race.
golden retriever!yuji who as a bf is constantly bragging about you in the most serious ways.
━ "she's really strong, like stronger than me."
━ "she's lowkey scary, but it's soooo hot."
━ "i once heard her tell a curse to shut up, like what??"
you definitely overhear all of it, yuji is not exactly a quiet person. you really string his neck once your alone, not that it does much good because as we established, he's into that!
Rafe was soft. Thoughtful. The kind of boyfriend who brushed your hair out of your eyes while you pretended not to melt, who remembered the way you took your iced coffee, who held your hand like it was something priceless.
And you?
Well… you weren’t exactly known for being “nice.”
Rafe found it amusing.
“You’re cute when you’re mean,” he’d laugh whenever you rolled your eyes at someone, “but you never scare me.”
You’d always answer with, “I’m not trying to scare you.”
He’d grin, kiss your temple, and everything was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
Her name was Tina. She worked at the new smoothie bar by Boneyard and had one of those smiles, wide, bashful, glowing, like she had never known what insecurity felt like.
You and Rafe stopped by one afternoon, his hand in yours as usual. The wind was warm, salty, easy. You should’ve known peace never lasted.
Tina's smile locked onto Rafe like she recognized him from a dream.
“Hi! Oh my god, welcome! I really like your shirt,” she gushed.
Rafe blinked. “Uh, thanks.”
She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, still beaming, practically sparkling.
“And I love your eyes, too. So blue. Sorry, that’s weird, isn’t it?”
You felt your jaw tighten.
Rafe just offered that polite, clueless smile back, too kind for his own good.
“No, uh, it’s nice. Thanks.”
And you?
You hated it. The way she looked at him. The way he looked confused but didn’t pull away. The way she was soft and sweet and everything you weren’t.
The way she made you feel… replaceable.
— — — —
It started slowly.
Ignoring texts for a few minutes longer.
Walking a step ahead instead of beside him.
Pretending to be busy.
Rafe noticed, he always did, but at first he didn’t push.
Until he did.
One night, you were lying on his bed, staring at your phone but not actually reading anything. Rafe came in, drying his hair with a towel, and stopped like he walked into an invisible wall.
“You’re mad at me.”
You didn’t look up. “No, I’m not.”
“Baby,” he said softly, and somehow, that made everything worse. “You barely look at me anymore.”
You shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Rafe sat beside you, close, knees touching yours.
“You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?”
Your throat tightened. “Maybe you should be with someone who’s easier.”
“Easier?” Rafe repeated, face twisting. “Where is that coming from?”
You didn’t answer, so he did the thing he rarely did, he raised his voice, just a little.
“Is this about that girl at the smoothie place?”
Silence.
Your silence.
“Oh my god,” he muttered. “Baby, she was just being friendly. I didn’t even—”
“She’s nice,” you blurted. “Nicer than me.”
Rafe stared at you like you’d said something genuinely insane.
“Why the hell would I want nicer?” he demanded. “I don’t want her. I want you.”
But you shook your head.
“I don’t want to get in the way.”
Rafe’s expression shifted, not angry, not annoyed. Hurt. Deeply hurt.
“In the way of what? A random girl who barely knows my name?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Maybe she’s better for you.”
Rafe didn’t say a single word after that. He just got up, grabbed his keys, and said:
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To fix this.”
He brought you back to the smoothie place.
You groaned. “Rafe, why—”
“Because you need to see,” he said firmly, “exactly what I think about her.”
The bell above the door jingled as you stepped inside. Tina looked up instantly, smile bright.
“Oh! Rafe! Hi!”
Rafe didn’t smile back.
In fact, he looked at her the way you’d look at someone who keyed your car.
Tina blinked. “Um… did I do something wrong?”
“Yeah,” Rafe said, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. “You made my girlfriend think she isn’t enough.”
Your heart stopped.
Tina looked mortified. “What? No! I didn’t— I would never—”
Rafe shook his head.
“Look, you were being nice. Fine. But don’t look at me like that. Don’t flirt with me. Don’t talk like you know me. Don’t even try it.”
His grip tightened around you, protective, grounding.
“Because she—” he turned to you, eyes softening instantly, “—is the only person I’m ever looking at.”
Your breath caught.
Tina stammered out an apology, cheeks red, eyes wide, and Rafe didn’t even glance back at her as he guided you out.
The second the door shut behind you, Rafe cupped your face gently.
“Baby,” he whispered, forehead touching yours, “don’t ever think she could replace you. She couldn’t even replace a freckle on your face.”
You laughed wetly. “That’s a terrible line.”
“It worked,” he murmured, kissing your cheek. “Didn’t it?”
You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, breathing him in as everything inside you unknotted. His hands rubbed slow circles on your back.
“You’re not losing me,” he said quietly. “Not because of her. Not because of anyone.”
You tilted your head up. “Promise?”
“Swear on my stupid boat,” Rafe said, smiling that soft, heart-melting smile that was yours and only yours. “You’re my girl. No one else even comes close.”
And when he kissed you, slow, warm, certain, you believed him.
Summary: a cold hearted teenage psychic doesn’t care for simple humans. So why do these humans care for her so much?
Info: reader is mostly talking through telepathy. Yes this is implied Saiki k!reader. Reader has green colored glasses and you can see her for having pink hair or not. Although pink hair is mentioned.
Genre: friendship // fluff // Drabble
Wc: 204
“..I want pudding.” You said into their heads, using telepathy. The party, they paused whatever they were doing. Seeing you stand there with that same cold-hearted stare.
Immediately the others rushed to find you some, leaving you to think about how it even came to being part of the party.
It wasn’t sad enough to be dragged into some bullshit all because you happened to be in the same lab Eleven escaped out of.
You were 000, zero. Strange right? Well, you’ve seen more things than being called a zero. You were simply an anomaly.
So why care for others when you can just care for yourself? Well, it’s hard to know when literally the group you’re now associated with cares for you more than they do themselves.
Being dragged into their troubles with demogorgans, Vecna, the mindflayer, etc. you didn’t expect them to be on your soft side. Well, Mike isn’t really fully on it despite SAYING he is.
Your purple soulless eyes, pink hair and green glasses are what made you known around Hawkins, you could’ve changed your appearance easily, making people forget about you. But even if you did, you’ll just end up alone. So why care… why do you care…. About them.
Jason Todd x fem!Reader x Roy Harper | Challengers AU
tags: AFAB reader, substance (alcohol & marijuana) use, mean!Reader, oral f!receiving (though clothes), hair pulling, like one smack?
a/n: yes. It’s inspired by that scene, thank you and goodnight.
wc: 3.7k
part 2 | masterlist
Dating is just a distraction, relationships have to take a backseat. Anyone who disagrees just doesn’t know what tennis is, tennis is a relationship. The most important one in your life.
You didn’t exert yourself to the point of passing out for no reason, all those scraped knees, all the sweat, the blood, the tears, it’s all part of your purpose. You were meant to be number one, no doubt about it.
It started on the court, like any sort of interaction you’ve ever had, and it wasn’t even your opponent.
Nope, just the two dolts standing in the corner staring at you. Two sets of eyes. One calculated, watching every swing of your arm and every single tilt of your head. The other? Flicking between you and the racket in his own hand with an almost dumbfounded grin.
On the left, is Jason Todd. His eyes narrowed with every single step you take. Ice they called him, his expression calculating, unwavering. How fucking cliche, huh? You’ve played against him before in practice matches, even though you two never really got conversational, you had a silent understanding of each other. No bullshit, no chitchat, just some good tennis. It’s not like you’ve got a high opinion of Jason or anything, sure he can play but he’s a goddamn Wayne at the end of the day, whether his Daddy’s money has anything to do with his place in Stanford or not.
On the right? The opposite. Roy Harper. He’s all dumb little grins and wandering eyes. Fire, cause of that stupid red mane of his, slightly swooped to the side behind his sunglasses. He’s quick though, you have to admit. Quick with his serves, quicker with his conquests, and a never-ending roster it seems. You don’t get it, truly. He can hardly have his head in the game if it’s constantly between someone’s legs.
“I’d let her fuck me with that racket.” Roy hums into his can of Coke, his eyes flickering from you on the court to Jason beside him.
“You’d let anyone fuck you with anything, Harper.” Is Jason’s only response, seemingly indifferent as his hand goes to snatch the can out of Roy’s hand, finishing what’s left of it in a quick swig.
“Hey,” Roy’s lips curl into the beginning of a stupid little pout, but he’s quickly distracted by the whistle blowing, Jason tossing the now crumpled-up can into his lap, already on his feet.
Wiping the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand, you’re crouched down on the court, staring at your laces as you catch your breath. You won again, of course you did. A wound to your own ego would bear greater pain than any physical injury you could ever imagine.
“You’re good,” Jason observes, his shadow blocking out the beating sun. Yeah, fork found in kitchen.
“I know.”
It’s been abundantly clear since you three started whatever the fuck this even is, there are no friends in your game. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with drinking socially to quell your loneliness, but this isn’t meant to mean anything, why would it? Tennis is your life, anything and everything else is secondary.
You blink, staring at the joint in Roy’s hand. You’re usually strict about this kind of shit, for your own good. You’d honestly rather tear every ligament in your shoulder before failing a fucking drug test before a game. But you’ve got all your stuff shoved into a suitcase anyway, tossed under your bed and ready for spring break. All of your practice games are done and dusted until the real thing this summer. You’ll be fine, it’s just one laid-back evening, besides Roy and his stupid puppy eyes kinda got you into it.
“Hey.” Jason sighs, unceremoniously tossing the case of beer he had to drag here from his own dorm onto the carpet, the bottles clinking against each other.
“Seriously, not an ounce of alcohol to your name, what’re ya, a nun?” -with a sigh he slumps himself down on the floor beside Roy, letting his head thump back against the dresser.
“No, it fucks with my focus.” You correct him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you reach for a bottle, cracking it open against your side table, leaving a small scratch in the wood.
“Do you shit diamonds or something? Loosen up a little.” Roy hums as he stares up at the ceiling, the joint hanging between his lips. You’re not uptight, really! You’re just committed, okay? There’s a difference.
Though still, in an effort to shut him up, you take a drag, sticking your tongue out as if to prove a point.
Jason just watches in silence, sipping at his beer until his gaze narrows just by a fraction, his eyes flickering down to your mouth until he receives a huff of smoke in his face, snapping him out of it.
“So,” you sigh, passing the joint over to Jason, your head tilting over to Roy, “How long have you two been-”
“Oh, we’re not really-” Roy begins with a sheepish chuckle before he’s swiftly cut off by Jason sweating like a sinner in a church,
“No, it’s uh, it’s not like that,” -his voice more than a half-dead drawl for what seems like the first time ever.
You’re in no position to be judging their homoerotic friendship by any means, but you have a functioning pair of pupils in your eyes and at least two brain cells to rub together, and judging by their reactions you aren’t that far from the truth.
“You don’t sound too sure there, Jay,” Roy mumbles into his bottle, chewing on his tongue piercing under the dim light of your dorm room. Within the last couple of seconds you’ve definitely felt a shift in the atmosphere, the air heavier and you swear it ain’t the weed. The glances shared aren’t so subtle anymore, especially with how Roy’s lying back with his head against your side table. He’s got that same grin on his face that he always wears but his eyes ain’t boyishly wide like usual, they’re half-lidded, his t-shirt riding up his torso just a little bit.
“We’re just close.” Jason clarifies as he clears his throat, downing another sip of beer. He hates how unsure he sounds, He’s Jason fucking Todd, he’s ice.
“We met when we were like ten at a tennis camp or something.. and he just stuck around like gum on my shoe.”
Roy shoots him a saccharine little pout at that, his tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet of beer that slowly drips down the neck of his bottle.
You almost feel like you’re walking in on something here, and honestly? Maybe you are.
“Redheads aren’t my type,” Jason grumbles, passing the joint over to you. He’s gripping that glass so hard that he’s got the condensation dripping down his fingers. He’s also sulking like a moody toddler, you’d laugh if you weren’t so weirdly intrigued. You’re not entirely sure just who he’s tying to convince here.
Roy just grins, tucking a stand of his messy hair out of his eyes before going for another drag, “You’re full of shit, Jay. What about-“
“Enough. C’mere.” You suddenly pipe up, rising to your feet, only to promptly slump back on your bed, your fingers drumming against the mattress.
Dumb and dumber just stare at you, Roy tilting his head to the side like a puppy seeing snow for the first time in his life, Jason’s expression faltering for just a moment before he washes the knot in his throat down with another swig of beer.
“Huh? Me or him-”
Before you even think to answer Jason’s question, both of them are perched on the edge of the mattress beside you, Jason still gripping onto his beer bottle for dear life, while the other offers a sheepish grin, dragging his blunt nails over the fabric of his shorts.
“Hi,” Roy breathes, slumping his head against your shoulder like one of those great danes who thinks it’s a lapdog. You can feel his eyes on you under his messy red bangs, unfortunately it’s almost cute.
“Hey,” Without thinking, your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb moving in little circles against his flushed cheeks. You can’t even laugh at him right now, his eyes as half lidded and teary as yours. He’s absolutely baked, all three of you are.
Tilting your head to your left, Jason isn’t much better at the moment, awkwardly drumming his fingers against the neck of the cold bottle, holding it to his face. He’s staring down at the floor mostly, but occasionally over at you two, how Roy leans into you like a plant chasing the sun. You can tell he’s a little tense, his chin on his knee as his free hand twirls the white streak at the front of his hairline around between his thumb and forefinger.
“S’all fuckin’ spinnin.’” He mutters, his voice oddly soft for once. The room, his brain, his feelings, everything.
Slowly, he feels a a hand tugging on his wrist, his fingers curling up slowly before his hand falls back down against the covers with a small thump. He’s not sure why your touch grounds him, truly. It’s like he’s smoked away all his pride, nudging at your palm with his head.
“Close your eyes.”
You’re not sure why you even said that, you’re not in the right state of mind either. Perhaps you’re subconsciously testing these two, seeing if they’ll actually listen to you.
Sure enough, they do. Of course they do.
You chew on your tongue, glancing between the two of them. Roy caved in first, but that’s only cause he’s barely able to focus on anything anyway, anything other than your thumb tracing under his jawline. After a blink, Jason followed, setting his bottle down on the floor with a small clink against the metal leg of your bed frame, his lashes fluttering shut until like Roy, his head lands against your shoulder, subconsciously nosing at your neck.
It’s spring 2006, you smell like weed, sun cream and that little perfume that lives on your bathroom counter, that pink one with little green diamonds. Jason isn’t sure what it’s called, he doesn’t particularly care. But every time he smells it, he just knows he’s going home with a busted up ego and an equally busted up racket.
You’re gnawing on the insides of your cheeks now, thinking. You were tempted to call bullshit on Jason’s defensiveness earlier, but that would’ve only ended in an earful and him not speaking a word to either you or Roy for the rest of the night.
You test them once more, tilting your head back to Roy, letting your lips brush against his. Despite his slow and sluggish movements otherwise, his hand finds your knee, crawling up your thigh and curling into the fabric of your shorts. His response is immediate, bumping his forehead against yours in a clumsy attempt to tilt his head and let his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He’d whine about it under any other circumstances but it’s just muffled by your own teeth tugging at the bar of his tongue piercing.
Jason barely has the chance to even let his eyes open before your hand moves to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the dark curls at his nape and giving them a firm yank, just to fuck with him, of course.
Roy being loud is a given, literally look at him.
But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer whine of filth to leave Jason like that, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his hands move with urgency equal to the one of his lips against yours, he’s pawing at you at this point, pulling your shirt in every which way.
Roy is busy mouthing at your neck, biting at your skin and soothing it with the cold ball of his tongue piercing as if to apologise.
The second you pull your mouth off if Jason to as much as breathe, he looks like he’s about to sob, near going cross eyed when he sees that thin string of spit break.
“No, no, no, come back,” He’s shaking his head like you’ve denied him his one and salvation, tugging at your shirt, the fabric closed tightly in his fists.
You’re quick to shut him up once more, briefly brushing your mouth against his before you tilt your head back, letting him trail his kisses down the other side of your neck.
Shit, your heads spinning now. Like really spinning, staring between them both as you feel hands wandering up your shirt, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, everything, everywhere.
As you’re watching this all unfold, something hits you. You’re tempted to mess with them again, like you so often are. Maybe it’s your own inebriation talking right now, but you just wanna test them a little bit more.
Your grip on Roy’s jaw tightens by a fraction, crossing your legs as you lean back a little bit, your hand in Jason’s hair giving him another little yank upwards. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you in that moment, nor are you in any kind of rational headspace, but you can’t help it.
Slowly, you tilt your head back, either hand still on Jason and Roy, cradling their faces in your palms.
Just as Jason tilts his head down to press a kiss to your inner wrist, you yank Roy’s jaw forward, ultimately resulting in the two of them bumping teeth, then lips, then tongue, and then holy fuck, they’re just fully going at it in front of you, Roy lazily cracking one eye open to help you tug your shorts down your thighs, just enough so he can snap the waistband of your panties against your hip.
Bastard.
It’s like making your Barbie’s kiss, just in this case, it’s two grown ass men.
Roy’s been around the block, he knows what you’re doing, leaning back on your elbows like you’ve got front row seats. You’re shameless about it too, which is actually one of the very few things you two happen to have in common.
Jason well and truly cannot formulate a coherent thought other than the raging boner he’s shifting his legs to hide, his eyes shut tight, feeling the ball of a piercing drag against the corner of his mouth.
He knows you don’t have one, you don’t kiss like that.
But he knows exactly who does.
You were right earlier.
That feeling like you’re walking in on something here, and now? You definitely are.
Jason’s so unbothered normally, they call him Ice for a fucking reason. But right now? He couldn’t hold your gaze in a conversation for longer than about two seconds before he was ducking his head with reddened cheeks and staring down into his lap, trying to ignore the throb between his legs.
Though apparently, he’s warmed up to everyone in Stanford but you. He certainly gets on with your Roy just fine, better than just fine. You wouldn’t even bat an eye if you heard those two fucking in the changing rooms.
The weed is just fucking Jason up right now, he knows, but he can’t—he can’t even do anything about it, he’s got his hands clutching his knees so hard they’re almost shaky, It’s weird and embarrassing and he’s been doing so well trying to act like this means nothing, like this is just a causal smoke.
Only Roy knows about his dilemma, and his only wonderful advice all year long has been to get his head out of his ass and a whack to the back of his head, followed by a delighted snicker of, “Fuck, you need to get laid more,” to Jason’s inconsolable grumbles.
Roy is honestly finding this shit more amusing than he has any right to, his words coming in a drawn out pant as he reaches a hand up to ruffle Jason’s hair a little, his grin unwavering.
“You embarrassed, Jay?” Roy hums, all too proud as he glances between you and Jason, his pupils blown like saucers.
You’re not sure whether to speak or not.
“Off,” Jason shifts slightly, letting his fingers uncurl from a fist as he tugs lightly at your shirt.
Roy only scoffs at that, his chin resting atop your shoulder as he eyes his friend, bumping his head against yours with a small huff.
“C’mon, you’re gonna freak out n’forget your manners and everything?”
That makes Jason avert his eyes, though only briefly before he’s staring at you again, tugging at the cotton.
“Off,” he repeats, “Please, take it off.”
You’re not a fan of people telling you what to do, especially guys who think they’re the shit cause they’ve got a couple good matches under their belts. You try to convince yourself that it’s just out of curiosity, that it’s another one of your stupid little tests - just to see how they react.
Your shirt is soon pulled off over your head as you move to lean back against your headboard, staring at them with a slight arch of your brows.
Oh. You’re so dismissive of them almost, just like you would be on the court. Of course you are. God, Jason feels stupid even sitting here. He spends enough time trying to prove himself as a player against you, but this is incomparable.
Roy on the other hand, is well.. Roy, letting out an obnoxious whistle before he’s silenced by your balled up shirt hitting him square in the face, catching it in his teeth.
“I’ll pay you twenty dollars if you lemme keep that.” He mumbles, twirling it around on his finger. He’s staring at you. Yeah, he knows where your eyes are.. but why would he be looking there if you’ve got a perfectly fine pair of tits be could be staring at instead?
“And you call Jason the freak?”
You’re doing that thing with your voice, again. The one that makes his brain sort of go fuzzy, you talk to him like he’s an idiot. He is.
God, there’s something seriously wrong with him.
Jason isn’t distracted by your stupid chitchat, he doesn’t care if Roy pokes fun at him or not, all he cares about is the pretty girl laid out in front of him. His lips trail down your neck, kissing and biting but not too hard, he doesn’t wanna freak you out yet.
You keep staring at him, with those pretty eyes, with that unreadable expression, and he’s not going to survive this. God. He feels like he’s dying. Maybe from embarrassment, or lack of oxygen, or a hard-on; but he feels like he’s dying. Like he’ll pass away any moment, and then never have to live through this moment again.
Roy shifts quietly, thumbing over the drawstring of his shorts as he moves to sit up beside you, the bed creaking slightly under the weight of three people.
Jason glances up at you through his eyelashes, holding the silver pendant of your necklace in his teeth.
He looks sweet for once, the white streak in his tousled hair falling into his eyes as he shifts down the bed, the top of his nose dragging between between your tits, down to your stomach before he pauses, fingers lightly tracing the waistband of your underwear.
“Can I?”
When you nod, Jason’s other hand wanders up your thigh, tracing little circles over your skin before he lifts your leg over his shoulder, anything in an effort to be closer to you as he catches the little bow at the front of your panties between his teeth.
Roy finds it funny actually, how a bitch like you shatters people’s tennis careers with a drawer full of pretty, lacy things.
He definitely wasn’t snooping in your drawer while you were looking for a lighter earlier.
Roy raises an eyebrow for a moment, his lips curling up into another one of his stupid smirks when his eyes drift down to the slight wet patch in your panties, he noticed it earlier when he pulled at your shorts while him and Jason made out.
“And I’m the freak? I mean you’re literally-”
He’s very swiftly shut up by your hand smacking the underside of his jaw, your hot breath ghosting against his lips.
“Nobody’s talking to you, Harper.”
There you go again, treating him like an idiot. Fuck, he needs to get his brain checked out cause that shouldn’t make his dick throb the way it does.
In efforts to muffle another utterly embarrassing sound, Jason pushes his face further into the lacy fabric of your panties, his blunt nails digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave little crescents on your skin.
You’re having none of it though, unimpressed with how he’s trying to keep himself quiet for the sake of his fucking pride. Men and their egos, huh?
Your hand goes down to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging at the long dark strands at the base of his neck, the action that resulted in that precious little whine earlier.
This time, it’s paired with an unintelligible ramble into your clothed cunt about how pretty you are, his hips pushing into the mattress beneath him.
Jason doesn’t even care if Roy laughs at him for being whipped for you at this point. He’s mouthing at you through the fabric almost desperately. He’s all over the fucking place, one second he’s got his nose bumping against your clothed clit, and then his lips are at your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach, any way he can be close to you.
“Please,”
Kisses all over your thighs, shaky pants as he tries not to grind against the mattress too pathetically, his eyes half lidded as he uses the last of his common sense to try string together a sentence.
“Please let me fuck you.”
Roy can feel his heartbeat in his ears as he palms himself, unable to stop his hand sliding under his waistband.
You’re cradling Jason’s face again as he keeps mumbling into your thigh, tilting your head up to glance at Roy.
“You just gonna sit there and watch, freak?”
a/n: part 1, possibly????
yes I totally wrote this for myself.. yes I may or may not be cooking up part 2 if anyone’s interested..
❥ mean!popular!reader paying nerd!rafe to do her schoolwork, but not with money (hihihi)
nerd!rafe x mean!reader moodboard
warnings : smut (mdni) , masturbation (male) , sexting , sending nudes , just reader being mean , reader and rafe are both kooks (it’s not really mentioned) , lmk if i missed anything!!
you were putting your books in your locker, only to see rafe when you close it. “uh.. here’s your homework..” he handed it to you, his hands shaking a bit. you snatch it from him and look at all the pages to see if he actually did everything, and as always, he did.
“good. you can go now.” but he just kept standing there. “did i tell you to stand there and look stupid? no, so walk.” you waved your hand in his face as a gesture for him to go away, and you didn’t dare look at him.
you sat in your last class of the day, the professor talking about… you actually don’t know because you weren’t paying attention. you just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
and when the bell finally rung, you huff ‘finally’ you mumble to yourself, but before you stand up and walk away, someone tapped on your shoulder, you turn around, looking very annoyed, especially when you see it’s rafe.
“you– you forgot to give me my money…” and you just roll your eyes at him and turn around to walk away “i’ll pay you back later” and with that, you were gone.
when you arrived in your room you dropped your bag on the floor and started wondering how you were gonna pay rafe back, you had money, but you needed to safe that for shopping. and as you were thinking of rafe, you get an idea.
everytime you had science, rafe sat across you, you didn’t want him to, but it’s what the seating chart said. and every single time you looked at him, you caught him staring at your tits, which were hard not to stare at because of the low cut tops you always wear. but everytime you caught the poor boy staring you told him to “stop staring because he’s never gonna see or feel them.” and then he’d just look away
thinking of this, you grab your phone out of the back pocket of your denim skirt— well, if you could call it a skirt, it was practically a belt. you go to your contacts and text sarah for rafe’s number, you didn’t want his number, but you had to so you could pay him.
YOU 5:12 PM // hey babe, can u send me your brothers number?? i have to ask him something about science
SARAH 5:19 PM // heyy! uh sure wait
you hearted her message and waited patiently
and then a text popped up at the top of your screen, it was a number that you hadn’t saved, Rafe.
??? 5:27 PM // hey it’s Rafe, Sarah said u needed help with science??
YOU 5:28 PM // i didn’t. I just didn’t want to tell her that i needed your number to pay you for doing my homework.
RAFE 5:30 PM // oh okay... well should i venmo you??
YOU 5:31 PM // no, i got a better idea. i think you’ll like it more than my money, no, i know so.
RAFE 5:32 PM // ??? what do you mean?
YOU 5:38 PM // *2 attachments*
you smirked at your screen when you saw that rafe opened the pictures of your pretty tits that sat perfectly, pushed up in your lacy bra. he didn’t type anything for a few minutes so you decided to text him again.
YOU 5:46 PM // not even a thank you? ungrateful brat.
after that he replied, but not with a text.
RAFE 5:48 PM // *1 attachment*
your eyebrows furrowed, confused why he sent a video instead of a text back, you opened it, to see rafe slowly stroking his unexpectedly big cock. you could hear him moaning softly in the background, no not moaning, whimpering. for some reason you couldn’t stop staring at the screen, playing the video 3 times. and because it took you a long time to reply back, rafe texted again.
RAFE 5:54 PM // sorry was that too much?… i shouldn’t have sent that..
you snap out of your thoughts, so many things running through your mind as you looked at the video.
YOU 5:55 PM // no keep going.
RAFE 5:56 PM // okay..
as he took his time taking a good video, you couldn’t help but take a video of yourself squeezing your tits through your bra to send to the nerdy boy who was shamelessly sending you videos of himself stroking his cock.
YOU 5:58 PM // *1 attachment*
RAFE 5:58 PM // *1 attachment*
you and rafe send the videos at the same time, you open his and he was stroking his cock way faster than before, you could see it twitching in his hand, and you could hear him breathe out “m so close.. m so close” faintly in the background, so cute
YOU 6:01 PM // you only get to cum if you make our next assignment for science for me
RAFE 6:02 // ill mke it
his texting was messy as he was typing with one hand
YOU 6:03 // you better, now cum.
i got super tired sorry so no whiny rafe at the end 💔
School au (Tim is your upperclassman and your his mean junior) Tim Drake x mean!reader next
Stomping on the stairs of the escalator, boy, you're annoying. Boyfriend? Well, not really annoying he just aggravated you a little bit. Silent treatment, which, and avoiding his very presence, doubles as Tim having to deal with your constant whining and complaining (even when you say you won't talk to him, you desperately need the second or last word).
You're lucky he thinks your voice is so cute when you grumble and complain, or else he'd probably rip his ear off. He stands on the escalator, letting it slowly move up, while you, determined to make yourself far away from him, move faster.
You said you wanted to keep your distance, but it won't last for long. You're easily swayed by the sound of his voice and the gentle wrap of his arm around your neck.
You finally stopped walking, but he hasn't made his move yet. He hasn't even come up to you. Has that boy lost his mind?
"Oi, are you just gonna stand there like some dummy, and leave me here all alone!" You shout snapping your head to look down at him.
"Alright, alright, just quit shouting." You hear him walk up, then his footsteps stop. "Oi! Are you even listenin'—"
You see his face completely red. He looks like a heated kettle. You could have sworn you saw steam coming out like little whistles from his ears, and his nose starts dripping with a small trickle of red he has a nosebleed.
"Pink and bunnies," Tim whispers, staring straight up. But it wasn't at your face. You think about his words again: pink and bunnies. Then you remember the panties you were wearing and quickly pull back down your skirt.
"Ugh! You're such a pervert!" Your face slightly heats up.
Don't worry, he'll make it up by saying they were cute.
ൃ●754 words, Dom!reader x msub, choking, slapping, dirty talk, degradation, begging, jerking him off, etc ൃ•
̮͡𑁍ུ18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ̮͡𑁍ུ
His knees creak on the floorboards as he looks up at you, already flushed, lips swollen and wet from sucking. You’ve got two fingers down his throat, knuckles pressed to his tongue, and he’s drooling shamelessly, tears running at the corners of his eyes.
“Hold it,” you command, voice low, sharp.
He chokes, throat working around you, eyes squeezed shut. His hands fist in his own lap like he’s fighting instinct, like he doesn’t know whether to gag or grind against the air.
“Mm,” you hum, leaning closer. “Look at you. Pretty little mess, choking on my fingers.”
He moans, muffled around you, and you finally pull out—dragging spit with you. He gasps for air, chest heaving. Before he can wipe his mouth, you slap him across the cheek with the same wet fingers. The sound is obscene.
His hips jerk forward. “F-fuck,” he whines, eyes going wide, pupils blown.
“Yeah,” you sneer. “You like that, don’t you? Getting slapped with your own spit. Pathetic.”
“I—” His voice cracks, desperate. “I like it, could you—please—”
“Please what?” you cut him off, tilting his face up by the chin. Your palm lands across his cheek again, sharp, leaving that stinging heat. “Spit it out. You can beg or you can stay quiet like a good boy.”
His lips tremble. “Please let me cum again,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Please, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything—just need it—”
Your laugh is mocking, cruel. You press your fingers back into his mouth, slower this time, stroking the wetness across his tongue. “You think you’ve earned it? Hm? After the show you gave me last time? Crying, shaking, begging to stop—”
He whimpers, sucking harder around your fingers like it’ll convince you. His thighs tremble where he kneels, cock leaking against his stomach, every line of him drawn tight with need.
“You’re hard just from me slapping your face,” you taunt, curling your fingers against his tongue. “God, you’re such a slut. Say it.”
He pulls back just enough to mumble, “I’m your slut. Yours. Just yours.”
You slap him again. Not as hard this time, but firm enough to sting. His moan cracks into a sob.
“That’s right,” you hiss. “Mine. And you’ll take what I give you. You’ll cum when I say.”
His hands clutch at your thighs now, nails digging in, forehead pressed against your leg. “Yes, please, I’ll wait, I’ll do anything—just don’t leave me like this—”
You grip his hair, drag his head back until his throat’s bared, mouth open and wet. “Pathetic little thing,” you murmur, thumb smearing spit across his cheek. “I could keep you on your knees all night and you’d thank me for it.”
“I would,” he blurts, breath ragged. “God, I would, please—I’ll take anything, just don’t stop touching me—”
You shove him down onto his back before he can finish, climbing over him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. Your other hand wraps around his cock, stroking slow and mean. His whole body jerks.
“Too sensitive?” you mock. “Already whining, and I haven’t even started.”
“F-fuck—” He bucks helplessly into your grip, head thrashing. “Feels so good, oh my god—please don’t stop, please—”
You tighten your hold, drag your palm just rough enough to make him cry out. “So greedy. You want to cum again already? You're so disappointing.”
“Yes, please, please—I’ll be so good—” His voice cracks, high-pitched now, almost sobbing. “I can’t—feels so good, please let me—”
You lean close, lips brushing his ear. “You’ll cum when I tell you. Not before. You hear me?”
“Yes—yes, I hear you—”
You stroke him faster now, cruel, squeezing tight at the base, your palm smearing precum up his length. His hips lift off the floor, straining, his mouth open in broken moans.
“Beg for it.”
He does. “Please—please let me cum, I need it, I need you—please, I’ll be good, I’ll take anything, just let me—”
You slap his face again, quick and sharp, and his whole body convulses. “Cum for me then,” you press. “Show me how desperate you are.”
His cry breaks open as he spills over your hand, chest heaving, dick twitching helplessly. You stroke him through it, relentless, until he’s sobbing, begging you to stop.
You slow only when he’s shaking, spit and tears streaking his face, his voice wrecked.
“Good boy,” you murmur, finally soft, wiping his cheek with your wet fingers. “Let's get you cleaned up.”
