#He's insatiable I'm sure he will | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strawberrymochin · 27 days ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐚' 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬!

synopsis- dared by nobara, Yuji decides to pull a prank on their physics professor— gojo satoru, infamous for his wickedly handsome face and his notorious mouth. He spikes gojo’s coffee with a few pills of viagra, suppressing the jolts of illegal excitement bubbling up his veins— which soon dies when gojo offers the cup of coffee to you instead.

warnings- college!au, SMUT, physics professor gojo with huge d, you having a hopeless crush on gojo, nobamaki as your sidekick, age gap(6yrs), use of APHRODISIACS, oral male receiving, mutual masturbation, SQUIRTING, CHOKING, unprotected sex(sort of), VOYEURISM, I feel sorry for Yuji, cursing, dirty talk, some great latin words.

w.c- 4.8k

a/n's note- Yuji will always be remembered as my brave soldier! Next will be nanami in the series!! i hope you like it. comments and reblogs are much appreciated!! Taglist is open!

“Professor gojo is always a hot topic for the girls” nobara stated blandly to her senior maki, sitting opposite to her at their regular corner cafeteria table.

Maki rolls her eyes at the statement, unable to pinpoint what exactly girls like about their professor. Even you— her best friend has an insatiable crush on him. She unwrapped her chicken cheese burger taking a huge bite before muffling “yeah, nothing new…”.

Gojo Satoru, your physics professor, has been a topic of constant gossip ever since he joined the university. He was surprisingly young, menacingly handsome and had a notorious way with his tongue. His carefree attitude and indelible impression caused students to mark him as the— infamous professor among the trio of young havocs.

Girls swarmed around him sprawling new tattles each day. And another one that randomly popped out at the chatter page of your university was— professor gojo having an extremely high sex drive.

An anon posted it in the forum and disappeared and it blew up overnight. People agreed over online, some simping, some getting disgusted or jealous(mainly boys), and some concocting new scandals having seen him going out with two different women in one day.

Today was no different. The chatter forums have been buzzing with news and rumors and among them the trending one was professor gojo’s libido discussions.

Nobara dragged her finger down the screen of her phone, refreshing the page hoping to see something new. “I can't believe they don't have any better discussions other than this.” Her disappointment was clearly visible as ‘gojolibido’ thingy still remained at its position on the top.

she placed her phone down on the table, sipping up the last of her drink.

Yuji leaned back in his armchair, his head resting against the cool metal frame, his body partially slouched. His crumpled paper wraps of sandwich sat messy on the table, “come to think of it, professor gojo never declines any of the stuff…”

The college rumors spread like gasoline set ablaze. There was little to no chance of him not being aware of the sizzling situation.

Maki dropped her half eaten burger, placing her elbows on the table top leaning in a bit. “He probably enjoys it.”

And maybe he does. There are sure subtle hints. The slight curve of the corner of his lips when students gawk at him as he walks past them, hearing them fawning over him. Or the smug side eye he gives to his male students— almost satirical. Or the infamous way of his wicked tongue, it's as if he was mocking them.

No one can say for sure.

“If that's the case I'm sure he wouldn't mind some pranks too…” Yuji straightens up half joking. “What do you mean?” asks maki.

“Like some pulling up a bold act…” he suggested, stretching his arms out before letting them fall on his thighs, rubbing his palms over the rough fabric.

“Woah!” Nobara almost jumped up in excitement, looking at Yuji as if he finally had some sense knocked in his head, “And here I thought Itadori never grew a brain,” she sprinted her head to maki who was gnawing on her burger.

“How ‘bout we get y/n pull something on gojo sensei?”

“Bruh—” maki leaned back in her seat, narrowing her eyes as a little smirk crawled up her face.

You've had a crush on professor gojo. And this was no secret from your friend group. Plus they already had enough of you sighing dramatically at the mere sight of him. They can only wonder how you even manage to behave normal when you're assigned to help him sort out some paperwork after class.

“This is gonna be awful. And fun to watch.” Maki turned her head to spot you in the cafeteria line, currently buying lunch for yuta and inumaki.

They have a paper due the next day so they requested you to buy them lunch to save time.

As you leave the cafeteria with lunch boxes in your hand, heading towards the classroom yuta and inumaki might be stressing over work, maki, nobara and Yuji join you.

“Done buying the idiots lunch?” Maki came up wrapping a hand over your shoulder. “Woa— yeah! On my way delivering it as you can see…”

“Sure thing.” Nobara said.

“Well you know we're playing truth and dare.” Maki continues dragging out the ‘dare’ part.

“Yeah lame shit…”

“So, we’ve got a dare for you.” She announces outright.

“Bitch i wasn't even playin—”

“Yuji wants to pass his dare to you.” Yuji looked baffled at nobara, but decided to play along anyway. “Ah yeah y/n senior, can you please take the dare my stead.”

Aww, you pitied the pink haired boy, one year junior than you. You nodded you head in sympathy, feeling sorry for what ridiculous of a dare maki and nobara might have imposed on him, not caring what they might impose on you.

“It's really simple okay….” maki says comforting you with her grip on your shoulder. “You just need to go and pull up a bold act on professor gojo.”

Your nodding halts as her word registers in your mind. You look up questionably at her with one eye twitching, face cringing.

“You want me to do what?”

“Chill, I'm not asking you to get naked or edge play with him. Just a little flirting will do…” nobara nods aggressively at maki’s words, eyes sparkling to convince you.

The lunch boxes stayed in your hand, before giving it away to the stressed duo who found it strange for maki, nobara and Yuji swarming around you, looking this excited considering your freaked out expression. You eventually agreed to them, unable to resist their sparkling eyes and it wouldn't be a lie to say you yourself were itching to try it out.

You sort of had a head start when things came to professor gojo. Atleast that's what your friends thought, though you tried to convince yourself the opposite. You were just an average student. Not too good not too bad.

It was a coincidence that he out of all the students ‘randomly’ chose you to sort out paperworks.

You even wondered if he knew your name. Not once has he addressed you with your name from the previous two paperwork sessions. Not being able to ask, you decide for yourself that he doesn't. After all, why would he even try to remember you? Bet he doesn't even glance twice at your face.

“Go!” Maki whispers at your ear, pushing you at your back, urging you.

Professor Gojo was standing outside his office. A rare scene indeed, he seemed immersed in his phone screen typing something.

You gulp once before looking back at your friends— whom you definitely cursed in your mind. Nobara pulled yuji’s collar down to her level, whispering something, which made him suppress his bubbling laugh.

Your face twists bitterly, feeling a burn of anger, which soon dies as they push you off causing you to stumble mid corridor.

Awkwardly you try regaining your balance as a string of curses slip past your mouth. You should have never agreed to this in the first place. Why did it matter anyway? You'd be graduating in a few months and will barely see the pink haired guy again.

Gojo’s gaze shifts in your direction as you try to maintain a straight posture. Your best friend and the juniors hid themselves behind the small alcove, eavesdropping eagerly.

“Yes?” Professor gojo stuffs his phone back in his pockets, one hand coming up to slide his rimmed sunglasses up his nose bridge.

You suck in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of each hair in your body and every single sensation coursing through your body causing them to stand in attention. “Eh—”

Gojo eyes you up and down, a discreet smile tugging off his lips, as he comes forward closing the distance between you two. His towering body blocked the sun rays pooling over your body from the huge glass window. “Have a doubt about the previous lecture?”

Maki and others sigh face palming themselves. Your frozen stance grows their doubt even stronger, questioning how you even manage to stay after class for the paper sorting sessions.

“Yea— i mean I want to ask you something— ” you fiddled with your fingers, looking the other direction as gojo leans down to your level. A familiar embarrassing burn creeps up your cheeks, soon spreading up to your ears.

“Um—”

Gojo hums encouraging you to speak up, his sunglasses slipping down a bit as one sapphire eye peeks at you.

You could feel maki and the other's gaze piercing through your back, suddenly wondering how come your professor hasn't noticed them gawking yet.

Gojo looks at you expectantly.

Okay, you've got this— you only need to pull a little bold stuff like flirting as nobara suggested. You can go with some pick up line, even related to physics for highlighting the pun intended, for example you can say ‘i know the spring constant of my mattress, wanna take some data?’

Okay, that was shit. What if you ask him to expand your polynomial? That's even more weird.

“You oka—”

“Cubitum eamus?”

“ -what?” Gojo straightens up, scrunching his nose, resting one hand at his hip.

Red spreads down to your collarbone, seemingly flushed yet relieved when gojo doesn't gets the hint. “Nothing.” You say before sprinting away downstairs, your friends following you down from the alcove.

“Y/n wait-” maki huffs catching up to you, the juniors following behind huffed out. “What the heck did you say?”

Her further inquiry made you even more flushed, eyes shutting as you take in another deep breath grabbing maki before shaking her by her shoulders. “I. Said. Nothing. You get it. NOTHING!!”

Maki showed you a thumbs up, as Yuji halts your action, saving her spinning head from your ass.

You calm yourself before making up and excuse and running away, still flustered, while the entire gang had no idea what the heck was wrong with you, coming to the conclusion that you were probably high.

“Bruh what did she even say? A curse or something?” Nobara cracks up as Yuji was still trying to rescue maki from her brain shaken plight.

“I swear,” Yuji agrees holding a eye- spiralling maki from her arm, “i could have done better than her.”

“Better?” Nobara lends a hand to Yuji.

“Yeah…much better.”

“Itadoriiii,” her eyes narrowed, a wicked grin blooming on her face, “I bet you're a man of your words.”

And this is how Itadori Yuji, was dared-convinced that a he could ofcourse pull a better prank than his senior, such as spiking professor gojo’s coffee with aphrodisiacs. ‘i mean it wouldn't hurt to see him ache a bit.’— was what nobara had said yesterday. ‘We've got so many rumours about professor gojo atleast someone have to confirm them.’ she shrugged sliding the ziplock of crushed pills in his shirts pocket, before slamming on his back.

Yuji checked once again at the front door of the office, his hands stirring the spoon on the hot coffee to let the powder dissolve. He somehow managed to sneak into gojo's office from the back door when professor geto called him out for a bit. The classes are over, and now would be the perfect time to get a look over the amusing scenario about to unfold.

Yuji gets alert when he hears footsteps coming near, abandoning the cup before scurrying to the back door in order to slip out before anyone notices him. He intends to hide in the men's washroom before coming back near the back of the gojo’s office peeking from the small gap in the door he'd left open.

As you enter professor gojo’s office with the bundle of written assignments the juniors had submitted, you see Yuji rushing out from the back door.

Confused, you tilt your head. “What the heck was he doing here?” You mumble to yourself. The embarrassing moment of the last encounter you had with professor gojo flashed through your mind, face cringing red as you shook your head to forget those thoughts.

Fortunately professor gojo didn't mention about the last encounter, he just asked you to collect the assignments from the juniors and bring it to his office. As usual he'd need your help evaluating the credits.

You did feel a bit awkward after what you'd done but you tried to feign indifference, which didn't actually work, your palms were sweating wet. However you nodded as usual and went on with your work.

You place the bundle of papers on his table, when your eyes travel to the cup of coffee, slow tendrils of warm stream rising upwards. However it was slightly displaced from its previous position, and— even the spoon in the coffee sat opposite from what you've seen before. There were slight sprinkles of white dust surrounding the saucer.

Your mouth forms a small astonished ‘o’, head turning back to look at the back door, with the small open gap. You weren't sure whoever you saw was Yuji or not, but you did spot a hint of pink.

Your brows knitted together.

Did he spike the coffee? You thought.

But why would he do that? Yuji wouldn't go and do something like this. As you try to connect the dots with the situation, the creak of the door draws your attention back from it.

Gojo entered back, his gaze briefly met yours, acknowledging you before turning back swiftly and sliding the door shut.

He slipped back into his directorial chair, hand gesturing to the chair across his table. “Have a seat.”

“—yes.”

He ran a hand up his hair, getting hold of the first assignment among the bunch of papers, “take my laptop and register the credits.” He flipped through the pages, scrutinizing some parts longer than the others as you obeyed him.

The excel sheet was already on screen as you opened his laptop, ready to type in the credits as he dictates.

“Y/n,” you raise your head, eyes wide at him. This is the first time he said your name, even more shocked that he did remember it.

“Yes.”

“Have the coffee.”

“—i'm sorry.”

Minutes of silence pass, before gojo flips through the last page of the first assignment, separating it from the others. “I said. Have. The. Coffee.”

You gulped at his persistent nature, did he spotted the white dust laying around?

“I— I'm not very fond of it.”

“Of coffee? Or of me?” you almost choked on your spit as he raised a cocky eyebrow, halting his hand midway from another assignment before picking up the metal spoon and stirring the lukewarm coffee once again.

“Coffee. I m-mean.”

“You seem nervous,” he placed both of his elbows on the table between you two, “I'm sure it will help you calm your nerves.”

“T-thank you but I rea—”

“You know you shouldn't reject your professor’s kindness.” your mouth felt dry, never have you ever seen professor gojo being this intimidating and hot, and if your brain already wasn't a freak, it was sort of turning you on. “Why are you adamant about it? Try it once.” he slid the saucer to you, as he let his face fall on the palm of his one hand, eyes watching your every movement with an orphic gleam.

Unwillingly, you raised your hand, getting hold of the cup before bringing it to your lips.

You gulped thickly not wanting to drink. You weren't sure if it was Yuji who spiked the drink or not, but it was sure spiked. You couldn't even bring yourself to tell gojo about it since you didn't want to blame Yuji for nothing but—

“drink.”

You sip it. And— it tasted normal. Maybe you were just overthinking.

Half an hour passed and you kept typing the credit scores on his laptop, as he continued checking the assignments.

Everything was fine except you felt hot- like extremely hot. Your shirt stuck too tight to your skin and you wanted to take it off, your chest was heaving, sweat beads were forming on your temple even though the ac was on.

“you okay?” gojo asks when you don't answer him. “Yes, I'm sorry, what was the score again?”

“You seem to sweat awfully? Is something wrong?” Gojo rose from his seat, pushing the chair back slightly as he did so. He moved away from the table and approached you till he was in front of you.

He extended one arm to you as his fingers touched your burning temple. You suck in a breath, his cold fingertips in contrast to your burning temple sent shivers down your spine. Heat pooled down your lower stomach as you felt the urge to clench around nothing.

Was the coffee spiked with—

Gojo narrowed his gaze when you didn't answer him, retreating back to the almost finished cup of coffee, pouring out the rest of the remains into the saucer as the white powdery residue became visible.

He swiped two fingers on it before rubbing and speculating it, sniffing it from his fingers. “tch, so you drugged it with aphrodisiacs.”

“Huh?” you gawk at his accusation.

“First you ask me to sleep with you, second you drug my coffee, do you really want me that bad?”

You wanted to deny his accusations, you wanted to tell him that you didn't drugged his coffee but the way his words were laced with a hint of mockery, especially the fact the he knew what you said to him the last day, increased the dull ache of your core even more, thighs squeezing with each other to get some relief.

You take a deep breath, calming your mind and open your mouth to deny him when he inserts his fingers in your mouth, the one with the white residue.

“Suck.” your eyes widen once again, you shouldn't be doing this, you didn't drug his drink, so you should be telling him the truth. But what if you played along, what if you sucked his fingers as he said.

What if—

Your tongue lapped the residue off his two fingers, sucking it clean, as he pulled his fingers out. He leaned down, hands on your arm rests caging you.

“Such a good girl.” His breath tickled your burning skin, “I was going to wait till you graduate but since you're so impatient…strip.”

It was an order. Unable to resist, you give in, if there was this mere possibility of him fucking you why not let it happen. You've had a crush on him since the very beginning and after all, this was the golden opportunity for you to confirm all the rumors about professor gojo you'd read in the forums.

You let out a shaky breath, setting his laptop aside before hands come up to undo your shirt. Gojo straightens up, watching you shamelessly strip out of your shirt without blinking, gaze predatory even as if he wanted to devour you whole.

You rise from your seat, letting your shirt fall on the chair you occupied before unzipping your skirt, its fabric pooling around your legs.

You were now almost naked, only in your lace bras and your drenched panties.

“Was the aphrodisiacs strong? You are pooling wet down there, it's almost dripping down your thighs.” And as if you weren't flushed enough, his mocking yet firm tone sent sparks dancing around your body.

He didn't waste any more time before yanking you against his table and ripping off your panties.

You hissed out a breath, which gojo swallowed with a bruising kiss. His one hand snaked his way to the hook of your bra while the other drifted down to your pulsating core.

Oh god. He murmurs against your lips.

He barely even touched you and you're so achingly wet. Not that he expected any less with the uncertain amount of aphrodisiacs you swallowed.

With one click, your bra loosened, before falling to the floor joining your torn laces.

There you were completely naked, whimpering, withering mess under him as he kissed and suckled your lips.

The infamous professor gojo satoru was kissing you, his hand down your pulsating core sent jolts circling the rough pad of his thumb on your red clit brutally.

Gojo pulls away from the kiss, letting you feed chunks of oxygen to your lungs. A slim string of drool attaching both of your lips. “Open my shirt.” He says guiding your hand to his shirt, before latching onto your neck, marking you.

You fumble with his shirt buttons hastily opening them before discarding his shirt on the floor. The way he was kissing his way down from your neck to your chest didn't allow you to take a look at his bare body, but you could feel it, muscles —defined, carved and chiseled. His hand reaches out, capturing yours, and he guides it across his chest, till it reaches the edge of his trousers.

“Woa—” you gasp at his pent up fabric when gojo eased himself, grinding on your hands.

A rumor confirmed: gojo had a big dick.

“Go on, do what you want with it.” He raised his head from your chest, now covered with red marks. He signals down with the corner of his lips curving sassily as he slips two of his fingers inside you.

You suck in a breath.

He draws back his free hand, cupping one of your breasts, caressing the neglected peaks of your arousal, while the other slowly fingers in and out of you, curling in so sweetly that it has your mind going dizzy. His fingers have you so full, that you feel you might just orgasm right now. The feeling of his rough fingers inside you was so different from yours, the way it pressed on different spots causing you to jolt of sensitivity, the way his thumb stimulated your clit, soothing the hot desire bubbling on your bunch of nerves, was otherworldly. You tried holding back your orgasm for this heaven to last longer, for him to lick on your nipples a little longer, for him to plunge his fingers in and out a little longer.

You heave out whimpers, trying to focus on something else other than your building hot white pleasure, unbuckling his belt as you unzip his trousers, letting it fall.

His cock sprang out in full bloom as you pulled down his boxers, taking it in your grip causing him to hiss.

It was thick and angry, already leaking precum. Your breath came out in harsh raps as you started jerking him, trying to match his rhythm. “Mmhh fuck” he lets out a growl before withdrawing you of your pleasure, leaving you empty and dripping sticky.

You suddenly regret holding back your orgasm. Will he stop? Will he say it's not right to do what you are doing now? Leave you unsatisfied, denied from your release, embarrassed and insulted.

He pushed you down to your knees, as your grip on his cock loses which is soon replaced by his hand. Jerking rough and slow.

“Open your mouth.”

You couldn't react when his hand closed around your neck, squeezing it tighter and harder until darkness surrounds the edges of your vision and you gasp your mouth open barely managing to drag in a chunk of air when he shoved his cock in.

“Yeah, now suck” he releases his hand from your neck only to tangle his fingers in your hair, forcing you down to gag on his thick cock.

“Mphfh.” drool leaked from the corners of your lips and dripped down your chin.

Gojo tugged your head back until only the tip of his cock remained in your mouth as he looked down at your tear filled eyes. “isn’t this what you wanted?” He plunged back down your head again with a sharp thrust. His tip was touching the back of your throat that you could feel it twitching slowly in your mouth and if this wasn't too much, the urge to relieve your throbbing clit intensified. You slide a hand down to your core, rubbing circles as he pulls back your head again. “Tch. Tch. Y/n. You're so needy for me. Cubitum eamus?” he says gently wiping off a tear from your cheek.

Fuck.

Before you could answer he starts fucking himself mercilessly into your mouth, his low grunts mixed with the obscene sound of your gagging caused another sensation of heat coiling down your stomach. This time he didn't even touch you yet you were this close to your orgasm. You were sure to release this time with his cock throbbing inside your mouth, fucking furiously, and tears clouding your gaze when he pulls out.

“Mmhh—” your protests die down as quick as they arise when he pulls you up and lifts you to his table, jerking aside the bundle of papers you brought.

He adjusted your hips, before spreading your legs wide open with his knees, yanking you closer, letting your back fall on his table, “so eager ain't ya’,” his voice was raspy with lust, as you pushed yourself up with your elbows to look at him when he thrusts himself in, nails digging on the plush of your hips. He slides in without much resistance as he grows a smile, “so horny that ya’ drugged ma’ coffee. Don't worry your professor’s gonna get you riling nuts.” He slides out before slamming in with one sharp thrust. Driving deep and hard with every single thrust. The table was shaking at the intensity of him pounding into you.

You cried out, mind getting blank, unable to process any coherent thoughts other than the sensation of his skin sliding with yours. His veins became more prominent with each thrust, flush getting deeper and deeper as his cock buried into you inch by inch till it touched the hilt of your ecstasy, which came down so sudden and so erratic, spilling down his cock onto his table till it dripped down the floor.

The table banged with each thrust yet you were too numb to even care for things to fall and shatter down on the floor as if the second wave of your ecstasy wasn't arriving, building up hot and raging along with the thrusts of your professor.

You clamped hard around his cock taking it all in, being so good for him that he hissed out his moans, more ravenous than he'd ever been. Your pussy clenched and stretched so good that he felt his blood running erratic, thrust getting more sloppy as your second high crashed down, cunt rippling with juices over his cock drilling into you, incoherent chants of his name spilling out your mouth. His head fell back, mouth opening in a breathy moan, as his eyes roll back, he knew he was close and might cum inside you if he didn't suppress his clawing desire.

With his muscles tensing each fucking second, he painfully let go of the warm sleeve of your cunt, the air feathering cool at his red cherry tip, before spurting out strings of cum on your stomach.

You barely could get hold of your consciousness, fucked feral by gojo satoru, laying naked on his desk with your stream of orgasm dripping down and marks of his arousal sticky on your stomach. Your hair was messy, skin marked from his iron grip and you looked dumb, wincing from the sudden emptiness— yet you were the most beautiful sight to him.

Yuji stood behind the door peeking from the gap he left open, you— his senior lays fucked on the table, his grip over his aching cock had the white of his cum slicking down from his knuckles. Oh what a scene it was, to let you have the blame for his misconduct and see you getting bullied by their professor, and to jerk off watching the entire scene unfold.

He felt bad for what he did, and yet he kept looking at the way you gagged around gojo’s cock, the way gojo sucked your nipples, and the way you squirted for him. He knows he shouldn't feel like this yet he was turned on, even though he came twice he was still turned on.

You don't remember much of what happened later. You only heard the rustling of papers, fixing of chairs and the only blurry sight you can regain was papers collected next to you, the mess of both of your arousals clean and the slight press of his lips on your temple.

Professor Gojo was fully dressed and calm. And you were in his car, wearing back your clothes except for your panties which were torn. You don't remember how you even got there.

“Where are we going?” You manage to ask, your voice hoarse from all the shouting.

“Home.”

Who knows you might be able to confirm the truth of the other rumors from the forums, however you were too spent to think any of that, slumping back into your slumber.

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nereidprinc3ss · 2 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s.

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side.

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him.

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night.

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real.

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word.

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one.

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair.

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question.

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to.

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment.

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth.

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up.

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table.

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you.

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God.

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out.

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you.

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially.

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door.

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal.

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you.

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you.

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong.

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him.

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss.

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine.

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment.

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze.

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound.

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text.

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling.

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will.

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough.

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty.

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly.

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan.

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak.

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you.

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more.

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent.

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him.

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet.

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about.

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers.

Long night, huh? I remember those days.

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all.

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor.

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning.

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation.

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away.

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.”

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him.

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see.

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken.

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away.

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down.

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem.

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve.

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently.

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad.

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what.

But that’s not the topic at hand.

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow.

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response.

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting.

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers.

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back.

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting.

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here.

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough.

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you.

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list.

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough.

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice.

He can’t not worry.

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him.

part nine

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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willieverseetheland · 3 months ago

Text

good girl

Dexter Morgan x reader

based on this ask!

Warnings: 18+ smut, rough sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I write), oral m!receiving, slight choking, dom!dexter Summary: Dexter comes home after an unsuccessful kill and needs to blow off some steam ;)

You stand in your kitchen, admiring your work. You've spent the entirety of the day cleaning, scrubbing until the whole room sparkled. The entire house is filled with the fresh lemon-y scent of cleaner. You plop down on your couch, satisfied with your hard work. You reach for the book lying on your coffee table when suddenly the door flies open and shuts with a loud slam. In walks your very handsome boyfriend, Dexter Morgan. Something about the look on his face, and the dramatic entrance, tells you he's not in the greatest mood. His gaze is dark, angry. You feel like you should be scared when he's like this, hell most people would, but you feel rather turned on instead. He's pacing around your living room. Not stopping to look at you, or even say anything.

"Dex, what's wrong?"

He shoots you a harsh glare

"It's just work. I should probably go" he replies

"No, don't. I want to help" you reach to grab his arm

"No, I shouldn't have come here" he pulls his arm back

You frown in response

"What can I do to make you stay" you ask, looking up at him with pleading eyes

he sighs

"I'm sure there's some way I could help. I can be pretty convincing" you slide your tongue across your bottom teeth while holding eye contact

He sighs again, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back

He's contemplating his next move. He'd love nothing more than to rip your clothes off and have you right here on the floor. But considering tonight's circumstances, not being able to feed that need inside him. He's afraid he'll be too much, too dark and empty. That he won't be able to control himself. He's been stalking his prey for the past two weeks all for nothing, all for him to turn up empty handed. No blood slide to bring home. He didn't know what else to do but come over. Deep down he knew what he wanted, what this would lead to. The only thing that could take his mind off of things, just for a little while at least. Maybe he could channel that hunger, that need, into something else. You.

As he's looking at you, something in his eyes shift. From anger to a hunger. Something insatiable. You knew what this meant. You could hardly contain your excitement as your arousal began to pool in your underwear. He cups your face in both hands kissing you hard, deep. Teeth clashing, breath heavy. It's like something switched in him. From a man wounded, angry, to a man in need. A man who knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was you. In this moment it's all he could think about. He had tunnel vison, trying to keep tonight's previous failure out of his mind. His hands began to roam your body, grabbing anything they could. You slid your hand down to his crotch, grabbing and rubbing. He growls in response. This only further fueled the fire inside him, like a spark to gasoline. He spun you around and slammed you against the wall.

He breaks the kiss searching your face for any sign of discomfort. He may be a killer, but he would never hurt the woman he loved.

"Keep going" you say breathlessly

At your confirmation, he returns to kissing you. Moving down your neck, sucking and biting. Your breath catches in your throat. His hand snakes down to play with the hem of your pants. He slides between the band reaching further down, tracing circles around your clit. You let out a soft moan. You move your hands to his hair, gliding your fingers through his auburn locks, pulling and tugging. He begins to kiss you more roughly now, breathing hard. You can feel him hardening against your thigh.

"Bedroom" you whisper

You wrap your legs around his waist as he picks you up. Never once breaking the kiss as he carries you to the bedroom. He drops you onto the mattress, springs creaking from the impact.

"Off" he orders, referring to your clothes

You slowly remove your shirt, then pause

"Everything" His face is like stone as he watches your every move, his eyes the only thing moving as he follows your hands move across your body.

When you unclasp your bra and let it slide off, you watch as his pupils dilate wide, focusing in on your now exposed chest.

You move your hands down to start working the buttons of your jeans, moving teasingly slow.

He grabs your wrist

"Don't play games with me" His voice ragged and deep

You can't help but smirk ever so slightly. You've never seen him like this before. Dominant? Sure. But never this dark and angry, never this in need.

You slide your pants off, then your underwear. You're completely exposed now, while he's still fully dressed. You blush a little. His eyes scan your body, taking it all in. Preparing for what's about to happen, playing out different scenarios in his mind. You frown when he doesn't make any moves to remove his own clothes. That tight green button up makes you think horrifically sinful things, you just want him to rip it off and crawl on top of you already. You guess you'll have to do it yourself.

You reach up to tug on the hem of his shirt, he understands and pulls it off over his head. He removes his belt as well which brings your attention to his now extremely large bulge. 'He must be so uncomfortable' you think. You look up at him, making eye contact as you slide his pants and boxers down to his knees. His wild eyes looking into yours as you lean forward to lick a long stripe along his cock. He clenches his jaw at the sensation, wanting more. You finally take him into your mouth, pushing further inch-by-inch. His head falls back as he lets out a low groan. You move your head slowly, still trying to adjust to him in your mouth. He decides this is too slow and places a hand on your head pushing you faster. Your gags only encourage him as the closer he gets the rougher and faster he pushes until he's full-on face fucking you. He stops however and pulls away; this isn't how he wants to finish. He wants more, he needs to be inside you.

He looks down at you, noticing tears streaming down your face. He snaps out of whatever sex induced daze he was in. His eyes dissolving from aroused to concerned.

"Are you okay? Was that too much?" His voice laced with worry

But to his surprise, you just smile up at him

"No, I can take it. I promise" you say, giving him the same pleading doe eyes that got you into this mess

With your approval, he immediately snaps back. Lips crashing into yours, tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, like he's trying to memorize your taste. He pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. He continues devouring your lips, rough and passionate, he even bites and draws a little blood, much to his amusement. One hand grasping your jaw while the other snakes down to your core. He easily slides two fingers in while his thumb rubs circles on your clit. Your loud moans are muffled by his mouth on yours. Gripping your jaw tightly, he moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck. He loves the sounds you make when he bites the tender flesh where your jaw meets your earlobe. He ravages your neck, biting, licking, and sucking any available skin he can get his mouth on. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was a vampire. Maybe that's just the effect you have on him. You moan loudly as his fingers work you into bliss, practically screaming his name as you cum.

He moves your face back to look at him. Your eyes glazed over with pleasure, one of his favorite looks on you. He grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He locks eyes with you as he aligns with your entrance and slowly pushes in. He loves watching your mouth fall open and your eyebrows scrunch in pleasure. He moves his hands to your hips, gripping tightly. His pace quickens, causing you to moan with every deep thrust. You squeeze your eyes shut as pleasure rolls through you.

His thrusts become faster and rougher. He moves a hand from your waist to your chest, rubbing his thumb across your nipples.

He suddenly pulls out and you whimper at the emptiness. You look at him confused

"Dex, please. I need you"

But before you know it, he grabs your waist and flips you over. His hands return to your hips, gripping them tightly. You arch your back in response, pushing into him.

"Good girl" he says in a low taunting voice

You moan at his words, God you love when he's like this

Without warning, he plunges back into you. Hitting deeper inside you with this new angle. He's just as rough, pounding into you relentlessly. With every stroke he can feel all his anger and stress fall away. He doesn't care about what happened earlier, all he can feel is you and the way you wrap around him perfectly. It doesn't take long for you to fall over the edge as you're sensitive from your previous orgasm. You cum hard, moaning out his name as your walls clench around him. Dexter continues to fuck into you, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he gets closer. He leans over you, bringing his lips to your ear.

"Inside, is that okay?" he whispers

You can't do anything other than nod

With a few final thrusts he comes undone, spilling into you. He slumps over you, chest against your back. Breathing in sync, feeling each other's bodies pressed together. He places soft kisses to the back of your neck, a complete contrast to the man he was a second ago. He collapses on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" he asks in his usual calm, gentle voice

"No, you were perfect." you smile, pulling his hand to your face and placing a gentle kiss.

...

This ended up WAYYY longer than expected but I'm very glad. Big thank you to the person that requested this, I hope I did your vision justice. Thanks for reading! <3

#dexter morgan #dexter #dexter morgan x reader #dexter x reader #dexter fanfiction #dexter morgan fanfiction

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4unnyr0se · 5 months ago

Note

Could I ask for Akaashi, Osamu, Kenma, and Bokuto + them giving oral?

❥ til your teeth rot! | akaashi, osamu, kenma, bokuto

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader, cunnilingus (duh), praise, degrading, overstimulation, face sitting, semi-public sex, osamu's accent, kenma is v lazy, fingering

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.8k

a/n: i wrote this when i was having tummy issues so i'm sorry if its awful

got a request? my ask are open!

❥ Keiji Akaashi | Slow and steady

Akaashi eats your pussy like it’s made of glass like it could break at any moment. Every flick of his tongue, every sucking motion on your clit is calculated based on your previous reaction. Did you mewl louder when he harshly sucked on your sensitive bud? He’ll apply more pressure next time, hopefully earning another one of your adorable moans.

Just because he was calculated to give pleasure does not mean he was inexperienced or selfish. Absolutely not. He could never dream of denying you anything you so plainly desired. All you had to was flash him those beautiful, sparking eyes of yours, and you would be on your back, legs spread, and moaning like an amateur pornstar while Akaashi made you cum for the second time that day.

He never rushes you through your orgasm, he doesn’t think that being intimate with you is some kind of game. It’s a puzzle that he simply wants to solve. His tongue is achingly slow against your folds, making the most precious moments between the two of you last longer. He is savoring each bit of your sweet nectar, and he fucking loves it.

K-Keiji!” you sobbed, your hands flying to his neat mess of dark curls, desperate for purchase. Your legs were wrapped around his shoulders, just in case he would try to flee. Akaashi fucking loved it when you trapped him between your legs, it made him feel like the two of you were the last people on earth. “Gonna cum!”

Akaashi smiled against your folds, his tongue pausing momentarily. “I know, pretty girl. Wanna fall apart on my tongue again? I love it when you do that.” he praised, diving back to make out with your core. His tongue slipped past your entrance, the tip of the wet muscle gliding in and out with ease. His soft hands squeezed the inside of your thighs, rolling the supple and soft flesh between his fingers.

Your head was rested on the pillow beneath you, hair growing knotted and messy whilst your thighs trembled in Akaashi’s grasp. His nose rubbed against your clit so deliciously, the additional stimulation pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm washed over you as you cried in pleasure, his name leaving your lips over and over again. Akaashi purred at the sensation of your release coating his mouth and tongue, pulling away once your high had subsided.

“Amazing job, pretty girl. You did so well for me.” he praised, wiping your slick from his chin. He leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips, lingering just long enough for you to taste your own release. “See how delicious you are, darling? So unbelievably perfect for me.”

❥ Osamu Miya | No time to lose

Osamu eats your pussy like he has somewhere to be at all times like he’s in a hurry. Being the owner of a popular rice ball spot keeps him occupied most of the time (as well as dealing with his pain-in-the-ass older brother), so when he finds a free moment to be intimate with you, he makes sure he makes himself efficient.

Even though Osamu is the more relaxed and lazy twin, he’s never lazy in the bedroom. His usually tired and ‘over this’ attitude would melt away the second you two shared a longing kiss, his body being taken over by some kind of insatiable desire. He’s driven by his motivation to make you scream his name for the shop next to him to hear. His tongue lashes at your pussy like a man starving in the middle of a desert.

If there’s a rare lull in customers entering and exiting his onigiri shop, he’ll change the ‘open’ sign to a ‘come back later’ sign and text you to be in the back of his shop ASAP. And, of course, you’re there in less than ten minutes, your skirt flipped up and your hands supporting your weight on the steel countertop as his tongue ravishes your cunt, drinking in your slick like honey.

“Stay fuckin’ still,” Osamu groaned into your heat, slapping the inside of your thighs. “I can’t make ya cum if yer wigglin’, sweets.” that was a lie. He was a liar. He could make you cum regardless of how much you were moving, he didn’t matter to him. But if you writhed around so much that it caused some ingredients to fall onto the floor, then it became a problem.

“S-sorry ‘Samu! Fuck!” you moaned, your hands gripping onto the steel material of the counter for dear life as his tongue hungrily, your sweet nectar coating his tongue beautifully. It was the best alcohol he could ever wish to taste. “M’close!”

“Ya better fuckin’ be. I only got five minutes before those fuckers wonder why the shop ain’t open,” his words sent vibrations through your core, your clit painfully pulsating. The rough pad of this thumb swirled around the sensitive bud, pressing against it harshly. “Be a good girl and fuckin’ cum already, yeah? Gotta open up soon, sweets.”

Osamu finally flattened his tongue in the way that drove you over the edge, still swirling your bud with his rough thumb. “That’s it, good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, lapping up your release eagerly. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He pulled himself out from between your thighs, wiping off his chin with the backside of his hand. Osamu stood up and pecked the top of your head, playfully slapping your soaked cunt. “Get outta here, I got customers to serve.” he also had to sanitize his countertop hard.

❥ Kenma Kozume | Suffocate him

Kenma will only eat you out if you sit on his face. Not hover, not dangle, fucking sit on it. Despite being a CEO and a popular streamer, this man is lazy as hell. Typically, you do all the work during sex. Bouncing on his cock, sucking him off, etc. But on the rare occasion Kenma wants to eat you out, you still have to pull a heavy load. He is not getting up off his ass by any means, so you might as well cooperate with him. He’s stubborn as a fucking mule.

Kenma was a selfish lover, and he didn’t want to change that. He liked being taken care of and not putting much effort into it. He’s already so successful. Why should he do more work than he already is? That’s so exhausting. But how could he refuse when his pretty girlfriend practically paws at him to help get her off? He’s lying on the bed in a minute, gesturing to you to tear off those pretty red panties and take away his ability to breathe.

“Ride my fucking face,” Kenma groans into your core, squeezing your ass with hands as your hips buck into his mouth wildly. He loved it when you got like this, so desperate and needy for his tongue. His tongue plunged into your sobbing cunt over and over again, eliciting the cutest moans from your pretty lips.

“Fuck, Kenma!” you whimpered, your hands grasping the mahogany headboard like it was the last lifeboat on board. Your ground your clit onto his nose, mewling pathetically as his tongue lashed at your most intimate parts. Kenma savored your sweet honey, adoring how it nicely coated his tongue. Maybe he should make you fit on his face more often.

His deep brown hair stuck to his forehead, the skin slick with sweat as the tip of his tongue traced meaningless shapes on your clit, occasionally nibbling at the sensitive bud. He knew you were close. The way your entire body was shaking was a dead fucking giveaway. That, and his name practically being screamed repeatedly, was also a good sign. “Gonna cum? Do it, princess. Make a mess on me.”

And you did, your orgasm spilling all over your boyfriend’s cute face. Your writing stopped, with Kenma slapped your ass, indicating that you should get off. You sighed and chose to straddle his lap, pecking his nose gently. “Thank you, baby, that was amazing.”

“Did you think we were finished?” Kenma groaned, resting his arms behind his head. “You got me really fucking hard, princess. How about you take care of that for me, yeah?”

❥ Kotaro Bokuto | Pure addiction

Boktuo fucking loves eating you out. Whenever you mentioned that you were horny, he would drag you into his bed and plunge his face into your thighs until he got you to coat your inner thighs with your release. He could never get enough of you and how good you tasted. How you would only crave his tongue and his fingers on your most imitate parts.

He didn’t fucking care when or where you were horny, he was more than happy to make you scream in pleasure. Whispering to him in a cafe? He locked the bathroom and had you sitting on the sick, your dress bunched up at your hips, and your stockings ripped so your soaking cunt could be displayed just for him. Woke up at two in the morning from a wet dream? No problem, he had you riding his face while he jerked his fat cock to the sounds you made. Did you also wanna suck him off? No problem, baby! You were sixty-nining until the rooster screeched. Truly, Bokuto was addicted to eating you out.

“Why are you covering your mouth, baby? I wanna hear your moans,” Bokuto groaned into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your slick like a man gone mad. Your trembling body was pinned against the bathroom door of your favorite restaurant, your skirt pushed upwards, and your soaked panties dangled off your ankles while Bokuto whispered pure filth into your cunt. “Don't you wanna let all those people out there know how good my tongue can make you feel?”

“Ngh, we’ll get in trouble, Kotaro!” you whispered, doing your best to keep your voice at an acceptable level while your boyfriend spelled his name with your tongue, eliciting a sharp squeak in return. “F-fuck, don’t stop!”

“Yeah? You wanna cum on my face in a public bathroom, hm? God, you’re so fucking hot. How’d I get so lucky?” he purred against your clit, swirling the tip of his tongue over the throbbing bud. “You taste so fucking good, holy shit. Way better than lunch.”

His index and ring finger bullied their way inside of you, curling at the spot that made you instantly cum all over his face. He didn’t stop sucking on your folds when your orgasm hit, his fingers still scissoring deep inside of your broken cunt. Your hand slapped over your mouth, covering out your molten cries of ecstasy.

“Good fucking girl, I’m so proud of you.” Bokuto praised, licking off his tongue as he stared at your ruined state. He pulled your panties up and your dress down, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Now, do you wanna go back home and cum again, hm?

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kierahn · 5 months ago

Note

Stripper y/n being drained by bottom yandere and getting fucked by dom yandere basically a threesome

UNEXPECTED CLIENT. [ yandere ! ceo x m ! reader x bodyguard ]

summary : yandere ceo brings an unexpected guest with him, claiming that his father had insisted on bringing his bodyguard with him everywhere. you didn’t mind, you could use an extra buck or two.

expected content : threesome with reader being in the middle ✧; overstimulation ✧; willing stripper reader ✧; voyeurism

masterlist !

✩ i've been gone for 3 months (again wkwk sorry) i'm trying to get back into writing though, but i can't promise daily fics. it might take me a week or two to post new fics. requests are open, but selective :] don't be shy to ramble about your ideas. happy reading ! ✩ cero's one of my rare gentle yanderes, except for the fact that he tries to buy you out from time to time kekw. love this man. ✩ also, thank you to @dilvei for beta reading for me ! helped my muddled brain to get through this fic fr <3 they also write scrumptious fics, make sure to check out their blog !

➷ it was something that started out as a mere curiosity turned into an insatiable longing that persistently drew him back to the same place every single night. after a long and tiring day in his secluded office, cero sought solace in a place bustling with neon lights and busy bodies grinding against each other.

➷ however, the allure of colorful and decorative drinks wasn’t what made him return each night. it was the sensation of your soft lips brushing against his and your body pressing against him closely that dissolved all his problems. your time together became his nightly routine as much as it became yours.

➷ adorned in a black robe made of fine silk that stopped above your knees–one of cero’s extravagant gifts–you settled on the king sized bed, meticulously prepared by the club for its most discerning clients, awaiting the ceo who was unusually running late.

➷ cero soon arrived a few minutes past your appointed meeting time. you quickly rose to greet him as usual, but to your surprise, he wasn’t alone. a towering figure trailed behind him, pausing by the door.

cero saunters over to where you stood, slowly taking off his blazer that had started to weigh heavily on his shoulders after wearing it for the entire day. he blocks your vision of the man that stood attentively by the door, making you divert your attention away from the man to the ceo in front of you. cero wraps an arm around your waist to catch your attention.

"the color suits you well," he comments as soon as he notices his gift worn by you. a smile adorns his lips as he stares you down with hungry eyes that you could feel his gaze slowly undressing you. you return his smile with a sultry one, trying to ignore the eyes that burned a hole through you.

your hands instinctively work to undo his tie slowly as you speak, your curiosity getting the best of you. "who's the unfamiliar face ?" you question quietly, hoping that the conversation does not reach the man's ears.

you hear cero sigh deeply, visibly annoyed. you could imagine him rolling his eyes by the tone of his voice. "a bodyguard," he starts as he leans down to capture your lips in his, hands trailing down your waist to trace its shape. he pulls away after a moment to resume talking. "someone had recently tried to make a move against the company, so father insisted that i bring him along wherever i go or don't leave home at all."

a low hum escapes your lips, listening to his short rant as your hands work on his buttons. you gently slip his dress shirt off, your lips pressing themselves against his shoulder blade as you toss his top aside for him to find later.

it isn't long before he finds himself buried deep inside you, ordering you to hold your legs apart as you’re forcibly faced towards the unsuspecting bodyguard. cero’s fingers knead at your swollen buds, teeth sinking on your exposed shoulders to leave marks.

you start to feel conscious as your eyes land on the man by the door who was forced to watch the entire thing. you were starting to think that cero purposely made you face his bodyguard to try and throw him off. if that was the case, it wasn't working.

"your bodyguard's hard," your raspy voice catches the ceo's attention, his eyes trailing down to confirm your statement. there was indeed an obvious tent forming on the bodyguard's slacks, restrained by the tight fabric. you inwardly snicker when you notice the male attempting to slightly shift sideward to hide his embarrassment.

"wouldn’t you be a bad employer if you left him in that state ?" you prod at the ceo, your words hinting your intent. as much as you favored cero, you didn't mind pulling in another client. it would only mean more income for you, and his bodyguard wasn't too bad looking either, so there was no reason to leave him out of the fun.

cero doesn't seem too pleased with your suggestion, a deep frown now etched onto his lips.

"are you suggesting that he joins in ?" cero questions, his tone failing to hide his disapproval. his fingers pinch and twist at your pink buds, leaving you shuddering and twitching in his embrace. blood instantly rushed up your cock when cero’s tip successfully prod at all the right spots that made you melt against him.

you try to muster up words despite barely being able to form a coherent sentence. cero eventually understood that this was something you wanted, and as much as he hated the thought of having someone else lay their hands on you, he could never turn down a request from you.

"elliott." defeated, cero calls for his bodyguard. in an instant, the bodyguard's attention is on the ceo, a startled expression on his face. cero gestures for him to move closer, and compliant to his employer's commands, elliot hurriedly brings himself over. his large stature led you to think that he'd be more snappy and alert, but his movements were unexpectedly awkward and stiff.

elliot's gaze briefly met yours, your vision blurred with all the tears that cascaded down your cheeks; half-lidded eyes filled with pleasure. his gaze is suddenly ripped away when a hand roughly grabs at his cheeks, forcing his attention away from your form to meet cero's stern gaze.

"you stare too much." cero’s forehead creases, not bothering to hide his displeased expression. he released his grip on elliot. "strip."

"pardon ?" elliot's expression is replaced with one of disbelief, his mouth slightly agape upon hearing the order. however, one look from the ceo was enough to make him start stripping himself of his clothing, knowing his job, and possibly his life, was on the line.

your eyes watch with interest as the male strips himself bare before you, and as expected, he had a good build that was totally up your alley. compared to cero, elliot was a lot bigger; both in body size and–

a hand harshly drapes itself over your eyes and forces your head back, shrouding your vision in complete darkness. you can both hear and feel cero's hot breath caressing your skin, making you stiffen as the realization of your mistake dawns over you. “i don’t appreciate the way you’re eyeing my employee, y/n.” the ceo’s lips brush against your sensitive earlobe, the sharp edge in his tone causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“I didn’t expect you to be the jealous type,” you poke fun at him in a lighthearted manner. you hear cero scoff at your words before he slams himself inside of you once more, making you jolt in surprise. your limited vision heightens your senses, making everything you feel twice as pleasurable (or painful) compared to having your eyesight.

cero pauses abruptly, his cock still buried deep within you, as he feels your whole form tremble against him. your grip around your own legs falters slightly. you could feel each vein on cero’s throbbing erection, making you conscious of his every movement. “keep your legs up, we’re just getting started.”

your thoughts are a mess, your inability to see beginning to slightly overwhelm you. the hand that temporarily took away your sight was replaced by a thin layer of fabric, an order carried out by cero to elliot who had used his own tie to wrap around your eyes. before you could register anything with your muddled thoughts, a warm and wet sensation wraps around your hardened cock, catching you off guard.

“what–” you cut yourself off with an unexpected whimper escaping your lips when cero suddenly starts to move his hips once more. the action causes you to arch your back slightly, your lips gaped open as wanton moans involuntarily escape them.

in addition to cero’s rapid thrusts that tore at your insides with his size, the lips that wrapped themselves around your erection began to move at a fixed pace.

your fingers instinctively pull at elliott’s brown locks, your breathing ragged as you try to process each sensation their movement brought you; the fingers kneading your nipples, the lips around your member, the teeth leaving marks on your neck, and the dick ramming against your ass. it was all too much for you to handle all at once.

you bite back a moan when you feel yourself getting closer and closer to climax, until you can't hold it back anymore and end up releasing your load down elliot’s throat. your limp member twitches inside elliott’s mouth as he pulls away to detach himself from your cock, licking the remaining remnants of your cum that trickled down his chin.

cero’s thrusts grow more desperate when he feels your walls tighten around him, as if he’s trying to remind you that he was still there. purple bruises and red bite marks litterboth your shoulders, cero having done a number on you. you can feel each mark sting painfully as your sweat glazes over them.

you jolt at the sudden pain on your thigh. elliott buries his teeth on your inner right thigh, his eyes gazing up at your lewd expression. to his surprise, the sensation makes blood rush up your cock once again, and your cheeks flare up in embarrassment.

“what a slut,” cero groans out as his eyes land on your hardened member. the ceo removes his hand from your sore nipples to tug at elliot’s locks, pushing the guard back down on your cock. a gargled sound reaches your ears as elliott struggles to catch his breath from the sudden intrusion in his mouth. “that’s it. this was what you wanted, right ?”

having just recently finished, your cock is in an extremely sensitive state, twitching inside elliott’s mouth. you whimper, the sensation bringing a slight tinge of pain. too much of something is not a good thing after all, and right now you feel overstimulated.

your whole body trembles, a string of curses leaving your mouth as you try to plead for cero to stop moving for a moment. your pleas fall on deaf ears as they focus on chasing their own release. elliot’s hand wraps around his own neglected member, his hands following the pace of his own bobbing head.

it isn’t long before you feel the warmth of cero’s release painting your insides white with his seed. in sync with your second climax, elliot groans against your member as he stains the satin sheets, your overflowing cum trickling down his chin.

you lean tiredly against cero who gives a few more sloppy thrusts before eventually pulling out of you. he gently nuzzles his face on your bruised shoulder, listening intently to your ragged breath as his hand works carefully in untying the fabrics's knot.

“you did well tonight, good boy.”

elliot's tie slides down against your skin as you were met with a blinding light, your vision blurred by your own tears.

your hair stuck to your skin due to excessive sweat, but was soon brushed aside by the ceo who leaned down to plant his lips gently upon your forehead.

needless to say, you received the extra bucks you wanted by the end of the night.

#yandere x male reader #male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #x male reader #bottom male reader #yandere male #yandere oc x reader #yandere #kiahndere

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

Text

The Google antitrust remedy should extinguish surveillance, not democratize it

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

If you are even slightly plugged into the doings and goings on in this tired old world of ours, then you have heard that Google has lost its antitrust case against the DOJ Antitrust Division, and is now an official, no-foolin', convicted monopolist.

This is huge. Epochal. The DOJ, under the leadership of the fire-breathing trustbuster Jonathan Kanter, has done something that was inconceivable four years ago when he was appointed. On Kanter's first day on the job as head of the Antitrust Division, he addressed his gathered prosecutors and asked them to raise their hands if they'd never lost a case.

It was a canny trap. As the proud, victorious DOJ lawyers thrust their arms into the air, Kanter quoted James Comey, who did the same thing on his first day on the job as DA for the Southern District of New York: "You people are the chickenshit club." A federal prosecutor who never loses a case is a prosecutor who only goes after easy targets, and leave the worst offenders (who can mount a serious defense) unscathed.

Under Kanter, the Antitrust Division has been anything but a Chickenshit Club. They've gone after the biggest game, the hardest targets, and with Google, they bagged the hardest target of all.

Again: this is huge:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/boom-judge-rules-google-is-a-monopolist

But also: this is just the start.

Now that Google is convicted, the court needs to decide what to do about it. Courts have lots of leeway when it comes to addressing a finding of lawbreaking. They can impose "conduct remedies" ("don't do that anymore"). These are generally considered weaksauce, because they're hard to administer. When you tell a company like Google to stop doing something, you need to expend a lot of energy to make sure they're following orders. Conduct remedies are as much a punishment for the government (which has to spend millions closely observing the company to ensure compliance) as they are for the firms involved.

But the court could also order Google to stop doing certain things. For example, since the ruling finds that Google illegally maintained its monopoly by paying other entities – Apple, Mozilla, Samsung, AT&T, etc – to be the default search, the court could order them to stop doing that. At the very least, that's a lot easier to monitor.

The big guns, though are the structural remedies. The court could order Google to sell off parts of its business, like its ad-tech stack, through which it represents both buyers and sellers in a marketplace it owns, and with whom it competes as a buyer and a seller. There's already proposed, bipartisan legislation to do this (how bipartisan? Its two main co-sponsors are Ted Cruz and Elizabeth Warren!):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/25/structural-separation/#america-act

All of these things, and more, are on the table:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-search-monopoly-judge-amit-mehta-options/

We'll get a better sense of what the judge is likely to order in the fall, but the case could drag out for quite some time, as Google appeals the verdict, then tries for the Supreme Court, then appeals the remedy, and so on and so on. Dragging things out in the hopes of running out the clock is a time-honored tradition in tech antitrust. IBM dragged out its antitrust appeals for 12 years, from 1970 to 1982 (they called it "Antitrust's Vietnam"). This is an expensive gambit: IBM outspent the entire DOJ Antitrust Division for 12 consecutive years, hiring more lawyers to fight the DOJ than the DOJ employed to run all of its antitrust enforcement, nationwide. But it worked. IBM hung in there until Reagan got elected and ordered his AG to drop the case.

This is the same trick Microsoft pulled in the nineties. The case went to trial in 1998, and Microsoft lost in 1999. They appealed, and dragged out the proceedings until GW Bush stole the presidency in 2000 and dropped the case in 2001.

I am 100% certain that there are lawyers at Google thinking about this: "OK, say we put a few hundred million behind Trump-affiliated PACs, wait until he's president, have a little meeting with Attorney General Andrew Tate, and convince him to drop the case. Worked for IBM, worked for Microsoft, it'll work for us. And it'll be a bargain."

That's one way things could go wrong, but it's hardly the only way. In his ruling, Judge Mehta rejected the DOJ's argument that in illegally creating and maintaining its monopoly, Google harmed its users' privacy by foreclosing on the possibility of a rival that didn't rely on commercial surveillance.

The judge repeats some of the most cherished and absurd canards of the marketing industry, like the idea that people actually like advertisements, provided that they're relevant, so spying on people is actually doing them a favor by making it easier to target the right ads to them.

First of all, this is just obvious self-serving rubbish that the advertising industry has been repeating since the days when it was waging a massive campaign against the TV remote on the grounds that people would "steal" TV by changing the channel when the ads came on. If "relevant" advertising was so great, then no one would reach for the remote – or better still, they'd change the channel when the show came back on, looking for more ads. People don't like advertising. And they hate "relevant" advertising that targets their private behaviors and views. They find it creepy.

Remember when Apple offered users a one-click opt-out from Facebook spying, the most sophisticated commercial surveillance system in human history, whose entire purpose was to deliver "relevant" advertising? More than 96% of Apple's customers opted out of surveillance. Even the most Hayek-pilled economist has to admit that this is a a hell of a "revealed preference." People don't want "relevant" advertising. Period.

The judge's credulous repetition of this obvious nonsense is doubly disturbing in light of the nature of the monopoly charge against Google – that the company had monopolized the advertising market.

Don't get me wrong: Google has monopolized the advertising market. They operate a "full stack" ad-tech shop. By controlling the tools that sellers and buyers use, and the marketplace where they use them, Google steals billions from advertisers and publishers. And that's before you factor in Jedi Blue, the illegal collusive arrangement the company has with Facebook, by which they carved up the market to increase their profits, gouge advertisers, starve publishers, and keep out smaller rivals:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

One effect of Google's monopoly power is a global privacy crisis. In regions with strong privacy laws (like the EU), Google uses flags of convenience (looking at you, Ireland) to break the law with impunity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

In the rest of the world, Google works with other members of the surveillance cartel to prevent the passage of privacy laws. That's why the USA hasn't had a new federal privacy law since 1988, when Congress acted to ban video-store clerks from telling newspaper reporters about the VHS cassettes you took home:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

The lack of privacy law and privacy enforcement means that Google can inflict untold privacy harms on billions of people around the world. Everything we do, everywhere we go online and offline, every relationship we have, everything we buy and say and do – it's all collected and stored and mined and used against us. The immediate harm here is the haunting sense that you are always under observation, a violation of your fundamental human rights that prevents you from ever being your authentic self:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/blog/2013/jun/14/nsa-prism

The harms of surveillance aren't merely spiritual and psychological – they're material and immediate. The commercial surveillance industry provides the raw feedstock for a parade of horribles, from stalkers and bounty hunters turning up on their targets' front doors to cops rounding up demonstrators with location data from their phones to identity thieves tricking their marks by using leaked or purchased private information as convincers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

The problem with Google's monopolization of the surveillance business model is that they're spying on us. But for a certain kind of competition wonk, the problem is that Google is monopolizing the violation of our human rights, and we need to use competition law to "democratize" commercial surveillance.

This is deeply perverse, but it represents a central split in competition theory. Some trustbusters fetishize competition for its own sake, on the theory that it makes companies better and more efficient. But there are some things we don't want companies to be better at, like violating our human rights. We want to ban human rights violations, not improve them.

For other trustbusters – like me – the point of competition enforcement isn't merely to make companies offer better products, it's to make companies small enough to hold account through the enforcement of democratic laws. I want to break – and break up – Google because I want to end its ability to bigfoot privacy law so that we can finally root out the cancer of commercial surveillance. I don't want to make Google smaller so that other surveillance companies can get in on the game.

There is a real danger that this could emerge from this decision, and that's a danger we need to guard against. Last month, Google shocked the technical world by announcing that it would not follow through on its years-long promise to kill third-party cookies, one of the most pernicious and dangerous tools of commercial surveillance. The reason for this volte-face appears to be concern that the EU would view killing third-party cookies as anticompetitive, since Google intended to maintain commercial surveillance using its Orwellian "Privacy Sandbox" technology in Chrome, with the effect that everyone except Google would find it harder to spy on us as we used the internet:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/googles-trail-of-crumbs

It's true! This is anticompetitive. But the answer isn't to preserve the universal power of tech companies large and small to violate our human rights – it's to ban everyone, especially Google, from spying on us!

This current in competition law is still on the fringe, but the Google case – which finds the company illegally dominating surveillance advertising, but rejects the idea that surveillance is itself a harm – offers an opportunity for this bad idea to go from the fringe to the center.

If that happens, look out.

Take "attribution," an obscure bit of ad-tech jargon disguising a jaw-droppingly terrible practice. "Attribution" is when an ad-tech company shows you an ad, and then follows you everywhere you go, monitoring everything you do, to determine whether the ad convinced you to buy something. I mean that literally: they're combining location data generated by your phone and captured by Bluetooth and wifi receivers with data from your credit card to follow you everywhere and log everything, so that they can prove to a merchant that you bought something.

This is unspeakably grotesque. It should be illegal. In many parts of the world, it is illegal, but it is so lucrative that monopolists like Google can buy off the enforcers and get away with it. What's more, only the very largest corporations have the resources to surveil you so closely and invasively that they can perform this "service."

But again, some competition wonks look at this situation and say, "Well, that's not right, we need to make sure that everyone can do attribution." This was a (completely mad) premise in the (otherwise very good) 2020 Competition and Markets Authority market-study on "Online platforms and digital advertising":

https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/5fa557668fa8f5788db46efc/Final_report_Digital_ALT_TEXT.pdf

This (again, otherwise sensible) document veers completely off the rails whenever the subject of attribution comes up. At one point, the authors propose that the law should allow corporations to spy on people who opt out of commercial surveillance, provided that this spying is undertaken for the sole purpose of attribution.

But it gets even worse: by the end of the document, the authors propose a "user ID intervention" to give every Briton a permanent, government-issued advertising identifier to make it easier for smaller companies to do attribution.

Look, I understand why advertisers like attribution and are willing to preferentially take their business to companies that can perform it. But the fact that merchants want to be able to peer into every corner of our lives to figure out how well their ads are performing is no basis for permitting them to do so – much less intervening in the market to make it even easier so more commercial snoops can get their noses in our business!

This is an idea that keeps popping up, like in this editorial by a UK lawyer, where he proposes fixing "Google's dominance of online advertising" by making it possible for everyone to track us using the commercial surveillance identifiers created and monopolized by the ad-tech duopoly and the mobile tech duopoly:

https://www.thesling.org/what-to-do-about-googles-dominance-of-online-advertising/

Those companies are doing something rotten. In dominating ads, they have stolen billions from publishers and advertisers. Then they used those billions to capture our democratic process and ensure that our human rights weren't being defended as they plundered our private data and put us in harm's way.

Advertising will adapt. The marketing bros know this is coming. They're already discussing how to live in a world where you can't measure clicks and you can't attribute actions (e.g. the world from the first advertisements up until the early 2000s):

https://sparktoro.com/blog/attribution-is-dying-clicks-are-dying-marketing-is-going-back-to-the-20th-century/

An equitable solution to Google's monopoly will not run though our right to privacy. We don't solve the Google monopoly by creating competition in surveillance. The reason to get rid of Google's monopoly is to make it easier to end surveillance.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/07/revealed-preferences/#extinguish-v-improve

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #google #antitrust #monopolies #remedies #ad-tech #competition #power #doj v google #attribution

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bunnys-kisses · 5 months ago

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grid bunny - a (long) drabble

feat. max verstappen, lando norris, charles leclerc & carlos sainz

(it's dirty filth, i'm sorry!!!!!) 🐇

most grid bunnies know they're grid bunnies, they actively search for drivers to bed. but not you, you got caught up in this for some reason or another.

you joined redbull as a mechanic, you were proud of that title! not many can call themselves that! it was an opportunity to see the world and work on what you loved. the cars. your focus was on the cars, not men driving them.

you thought that the relationship you struck up with max was platonic, the thought didn't even cross your mind that he had any feelings for you. you thought to him you were just another face in the crowd. that was until you both split a bottle of wine and you ended up in his hotel room.

you were face down in bed and let him fuck you. he grumbled under his breath in dutch and liked to hold your head back. the three time champion loved to bite as well, your shoulders looked like a total mess by the time you staggered out of his hotel room. you however didn't get far as before you could get your pants in, the champion had his strong arms around you and pulled back into bed.

max was the kind of fuck that you knew you wouldn't get out of your mind. he liked it rough and dirty, he liked that he could move you into the position he wanted as he rutted up into you. it left you out of breath and hot all over, sweat stuck to the expanse of your back. he said to you in a brief break between rounds, "only the best." before he ran his thumb across your clit which made you grow tense. it only made him chuckle before his lips were on your neck again. "you look good in redbull colours."

you wouldn't end up leaving till morning, at least max bought you breakfast and some tylonel for the back pain. the hickies on the other hand had you zipping your coveralls a little higher to cover your neck fully.

lando was a flirt, he was all smiles and determination. you had assumed that word got around that the new little mechanic for red bull was a good fuck. he was in your personal space and made you laugh. he'd continue to make you laugh when his head was between your legs.

the driver didn't even get his racing gear off as he got you up on the couch in the driver's room. his tongue dragged along your pussy and you had to cover your mouth to not cause attention. the last thing you needed was some assistant walking in on lando norris, the second higher driver between your legs. headlines in the making. the gloves he wore were rough against your bare thighs as he sloppy noises he made filled the room. he ate like a man with an insatiable hunger, like he had been yearning to get between the legs of the little mechanic. "you feel so good." he groaned, "they should've hired you to bring a little relief to the grid." he chuckled as he looked up at you, "but i'm pretty sure i'd get just a little jealous if you were shared amongst the grid. bad enough i have to share with verstappen."

you felt flushed all over, so vulnerable under him. it was almost cute, as his tongue grazed your clit and soon his fingers joined the fray. you tried to keep noises down to a minimum. it was bad enough the max had rubbed it in lando's face that he had a grid bunny in his repertoire, you didn't want everyone to know about it.

every driver did know about it. which landed you in the arms of charles. he was smiles and sunshine, you took a liking to leo. but it was hard for charles to maintain the conversation when he saw you bent over to look at the dog. when you giggled at the animal's antics, you swayed a little which only enticed the ferrari driver.

he had heard from both max and lando about the mechanic that was scurrying around the paddock. with a pussy soft and tight, and a smile that was infectious. that and she was a easy to bed. charles didn't go after grid bunnies, but you were technically a mechanic, so.... charles however would take the longest to bed you, you thought it was because he was a gentleman.

that was not the case, instead he was trying to figure out how to tie you up in his hotel room as he fucked you. also forget about condoms, you had to scatter to different pharmacies in austin to find plan b.

the way he fucked you, he liked watching your face. he like the faces you made when he hit your sweet spots. it was almost a rivalry between the other two men as he held you face in his hand and maintained eye contact. no shying away from him as he moved his hips against you. "pretty girl." his voice was a low drawl and you felt your heart leap in your chest. his hands played with your breasts and you noticed when he got close, his tongue hung out of his mouth like a panting dog.

you'd never admit how good a cream-pie felt, you didn't want any of the others to know that they could do that. you weren't going bankrupt on emergency contraceptives.

if charles knew, then carlos knew. you were starting to get a little worried about it. you managed to get yourself through the top four ranking drivers, two from the same team. you couldn't help but feel a little flustered by it all.

the sex was amazing you weren't going to deny it, each driver had their strengths as a lover. the strength of max, the selflessness or lando and the eagerness of charles. carlos was a whole other beast entirely, he liked his hands in your hair. he liked the yank on it as he fucked you from behind. that wasn't his favourite activity though, he loved when you sucked his cock.

when you sucked his cock, it was warm up. he'd always get a little too excited and end up with you on your hands and knees. because of course, your main draw was your pussy after all! (sadly, not your mechanic skills). he did kiss a lot however, any time he pushed you a little too hard he'd smother you with kisses as he tried to ease his pace. but, it was hard. sometimes he forgot that you joined formula one as a mechanic when he was balls deep inside of you. his cock always nudged a little further than his teammate, which often took the air out of you. he had you by the waist as he moved against you. he'd often whisper praise to you, which only made your pussy wetter. he was diligent about protection which you were thankful for (two nights prior you were wrestling lando trying to get him to wear one). if you could describe sex with carlos it would be fun. even if it exhausted you, and he was just as rough as the other three.

maybe these men were egomaniacs who all fucked you as a means of one upping each other. passed between first and fourth. but, jesus were they big suck-ups when the post-nut clarity hit.

lando bought you flowers ("pretty flowers for a pretty girl!"), max snuck you some of the fancier food from the driver's room while you worked on his car ("you have to keep up your strength to help me win"), the lengthy almost romantic text message from charles before you started working "i hope it all goes well today, mon amour! i will be waiting for you at the finish line"), and finally the smothering after-care from carlos ("do you need anything? anything you want, i'll get.")

meanwhile you were around the paddock with a slight limp and rope burns around your wrists and thighs (fuckin' leclerc). but you appreciated it, it made you feel like you were more than just some stress relief for the top drivers. they thought about you, or at least thought enough about you, that these acts of kindness (maybe love) were on their mind.

they did have a habit of trying to one-up another. a race of their own for your affection. meanwhile you just wanted to make sure you weren't going to end up in hr's office. you just came here to fix cars!

at the end it felt like you were on a routine for each race with minimal breakaway from it. thursday you were with max, friday you were with lando, saturday with charles and sunday with carlos followed by an evening with who won (or at least got to podium), which often meant limping out of max's room in order to meet the other mechanics for the flight out of whatever country you were in.

you didn't want to think about the wetness in your panties when you sat in the plane seat. the plane would take off and the cycle would repeat.

by the end of the season, you were exhausted. as a christmas present you were gifted a one-way plane ticket to monaco. you looked at it then up at max who had his hand in your hair.

"where else were you going to spend the break?" he asked, not even taking into consideration that maybe you'd go home to your family, "i promise it is very nice this time of year, we want to make sure that you're safe over the break." he cupped you by the cheek and those blue eyes gazed into yours.

the idea of your safety needing to be assured sounded like a half assed attempt to seduce you back to the sunny shores of monte carlo. you wondered for a moment if you even needed to pack clothes.

"come home with us."

you took the ticket and looked at it closer. every excuse died in your throat, there was no way that you were going to weasel your way out of this. you should be happy, most would kill for the attention of one driver, and now you had the lingering gaze of four.

you just had to figure out how to get your hands on better birth control before the holidays started because you could only imagine the damage that was going to be done over the next few months. <3

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ciphillan · 6 months ago

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He's gonna monologue about how much he dislikes you or smth

I think being tortured and killed and revived again and again by a sadistic omnipotent AI for 109 years would fix me.

[Reblogs >>> Likes] ⚠️PLEASE DO NOT REPOST⚠️

Insane ramblings under the cut:

If harlan ellison didn't want us to fuck the incel war machine he wouldn't have written lines like "he was God as Daddy the Deranged" and "the machine masturbated and we had to take it or die". What else did he mean by this

I have no time and I must draw. I read ihnmaims last year when I started post-grad and instantly got AM brainrot. I binged every single piece of ihnmaims media within the next few days. The Hate and radio monologues live rentfree in my brain

I'm also not sure if I wanted the person he's got under bondage to be Ted or a self-insert. Feel free to imagine it as yourselves, AM fuckers

Btw I'm surprised how BIG ihnmaims nation is on tumblr! There's been a boom recently so HIIIII PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT THE AI WITH THE INSATIABLE BLOODLUST AND THE HOT VOICE

This is very different from my usual stuff bc I hate drawing straight lines and mostly draw humans. But I just wanna contribute something to ihnmaims tumblr SO BAD I wanna puke, yall are so talented and creative!! I don't have a solid AM design, I can barely draw machines and cables so this is all you get! A weird claw hand, somewhat of a 'spine' along the cables behind his monitor, an eye in his logo to stare at you as he ties you up, questionable cable placement etc etc

..was anyone gonna tell me amazing digital circus is based on ihnmaims. is pomni their ted

Cough cough AIDAN from the Illuminae files by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff was my evil AI lover awakening

#ihnmaims #my art #ihnmaims fanart #allied mastercomputer #ihnmaims am #am #traditional drawing #sketchbook #objectum #i have no mouth and i must scream #artists on tumblr #cogito ergo sum #artblr #and dare I say it #eroticism of the machine

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girlkisser13 · 6 months ago

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dick grayson fucking you raw for the first time

pairings: dick grayson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: smut (18+), unprotected sex (practice safe sex guys), creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk

divider by @plutism

you've always been so careful, so meticulous in the way you both make sure to use protection to prevent any stds or accidental pregnancies.

when dick comes to you one night with his test results from the clinic and it reveals he's clean, he's fucking insatiable. you had already known you were clean from getting tested right after your previous partner and you've been with no one except for him.

you're loyal to him, and he's loyal to you. the way you gasp harmonizes perfectly with his deep groan as he slowly sinks into you, your pussy sucking him in as he thrusts into you without a condom on for the first time.

"fuck," he practically whimpers. "you're so wet— so warm."

you can feel all of him; feel every bump and ridge of his cock as he pulls back just to roll his hips back into you. your head ends up tossed back, jaw slack in pure pleasure as he fucks you deep and hard into the couch cushions— he just couldn't wait to have you.

"i'm gonna cum in you, yeah?" dick grunts as he thrusts deep into you, balls pressing against your ass as he lifts your legs over his shoulders. "you like that? i'm gonna fuck a baby deep into this pussy."

you mewl, head nodding dumbly in agreeance despite knowing he can't, but the thought of dick wanting to breed you has you close to seeing stars.

his hands grip your thighs hard, the soft fat giving way to his slender fingers as he keeps you right where he wants you. drool seeps out of the corner of your mouth, slowly trailing down your cheek and meeting the tears that have left your eyes as soon as dick started thrusting into you with no inhibitions. you're right there, and you know dick is too when his pace starts to falter ever so slightly.

"fuck, yes dick," you moan, voice sweetened like honey as your inevitable orgasm teeters on the edge. "cum inside me. fuck! please, please put a baby in me," you babble.

you grasp his shoulders and pull him towards you so his chest is flush with your own and bring him into a heated kiss. he moans against your lips, and then his hips are stuttering until he thrusts into you as deep as he possibly can.

his cum coats your walls, warmth accompanied by the throbbing of his cock causing you to meet your own end as your pussy clenches down on him, muscles spasming. he sloppily kisses you through it, moans and whimpers escaping his lips in soft breaths against your own as you both relish in the feeling of being so close to one another.

he pushes his cock into you again, sending his cum deeper into you with the movement and earning a muffled squelch from between your legs as you let out a soft moan. he let's his cock soften inside you, using it as a plug as he leans back just enough to look into your eyes.

"i'm never fucking you with a condom again," he breathlessly tells you.

you can't help but nod in agreement as you gently laugh.

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slasherscream · 7 months ago

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She Likes a Boy (And I’m Not Just a Boy)

pairing: jordan li x fem!reader

summary: You and Jordan are friends with benefits, and Jordan is trying so hard to be okay with that. Somehow, they still fell in love with you despite their best efforts to not fucking do that. But you've only ever fucked them when they're a guy, so they assume you're only interested in them one way. Just like everyone else. You've never said anything to make them think any different so it's obvious, right? So they take what they can get. Which is only half. And they keep you at a distance, because anything else will kill them.

A/N: flashbacks are in all Italics. some smut.

gif credit: artemidosgifs and stannyramirez

“Oh shit, Jordie, wait-” You can’t catch your breath, legs shaking where they’re thrown over Jordan’s shoulders.

“Stop fucking squirming.” Jordan huffs, licking some of your wetness off your thigh.

Your vision is swimming a little. How long have you been in this position? Or in Jordan’s room? It’s hard to keep track of anything, when you’re with them. His tongue finds your clit again. Insistent, rough swipes. You’re too overworked now for anything gentle to even register. How many times have you cum now?

“You always taste so fucking good.” Jordan moans, voice hoarse and low.

He puts a hand under your back to press you further into his mouth. With only your shoulders pushed into the mattress you can’t move. Jordan’s eyes are always glued to your face when you fuck. As if he’s daring you to shy away from whatever he’ll do to you next.

Considering that his favorite thing to do is overstimulate you, you’re not sure the irritation is fair. What are you supposed to do when he’s made you cum four times and is still going? According to Jordan, the answer is simple: lie there and take it.

Lifting you up. Pinning you down. These are the solutions he’s arrived at. Jordan hates having to chase you just to give you the orgasm you begged him for in the first place.

“You ready for my fingers again?” Jordan asks, but it’s not a real question, because you don’t get to so much as gasp before he’s plunging three fingers into you again.

He’s rough as he rocks his fingers into that soft spot inside of you that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. He knows the angle you like him to use by heart.

“Fucking shit, Jordan!” Your hands fall into his hair, grip like a vice, and Jordan half moans and half laughs against you.

It’s the vibrations that send you over the edge again. The breath leaving your lungs in one rush as that coil inside releases and makes the world go white and your ears ring.

You come back to yourself slowly. Jordan hovering over you, pressing kisses into the side of your neck. You grasp at his shoulders, pulling him down so that he's laying on top of you. The weight is comforting after the overwhelming head rush. You still feel shaky. He goes down easily, wrapping one arm underneath you.

“I can feel you smirking, jerk.” You laugh weakly, hitting his arm.

“You soaked my fucking fingers. Think I'm allowed a smirk.” Jordan says.

He lifts his head from your neck and there's that smug look you love to see him wear. It's enough to make you ready to have him all over again. You settle on gently massaging his scalp.

“I'll tell you what you're allowed.” You tease, grinning at him.

“Hah! Always have enough energy to be a fucking brat, huh?” Jordan rolls his eyes.

You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer. “I've got enough energy to make out too! Gimme a kiss.”

“Fucking insatiable.” Jordan scoffs, but gives in. Because he always does.

It's hard to think when Jordan kisses you. He kisses like he doesn't need to breathe. Or be anywhere else but with you. One of his hands finds yours, locking your fingers together. You squeeze tight. Try not to imagine holding his hand like this outside each other's dorms. Because that only ever makes you feel empty afterwards when all the hormones from the orgasms should leave you floating.

You get a third wind when Jordan rocks his hips against yours and you feel he's hard again. You reach a hand between the two of you, grasping his dick to angle him back inside. Thank God for Supe refractory periods. You sigh when his tip pushes into you.

“Yeah princess? You want me again?” He tries to sound teasing, nonchalant, but he only sounds like he wants you just as bad.

You rock your hips so that he slides inside fully. Watch him tilt his head back and moan for you as you move. Hungrily taking in the way every sound shapes his mouth. You lean up to kiss at the underside of his jaw. You can't leave any hickies on him but you always kiss him like you want to. God you fucking wish you could. Maybe if you could leave marks people wouldn't chase after them so much. If everyone knew Jordan was yours. But Jordan isn't yours.

You bite him a little harder.

Jordan's hand finds your throat. You whine, the noise strangled against his palm. You go lax as he pushes you back into the bed. Gently. His fingers flex, a little tighter, and your eyes flutter shut.

“Gonna be good for me?” Jordan asks.

You nod your head frantically, legs dragging him closer. It's never close enough. No matter what you do.

“Yeah, I'll be good, Jordie.” You say the words he wants to hear, feeling your head go soft and thoughtless again.

“Fucking liar.” He grinds his hips into yours and chokes you harder when you clench around him.

You’d been fast friends, best friends, since the moment you stepped on campus and met one another as freshman. Talking to Jordan. Spending time with them. Everything that first year didn’t even feel like getting to know one another. It just felt like coming home.

You didn’t say as much to Jordan. They would have rolled their eyes and scoffed at how sensitive you were, if you had. But you knew they felt the same way. You were the one Jordan went to whenever they were sad. When they were excited. When they were coming into themselves, learning to love who they were after a lifetime of everyone else telling them not to.

You were the first person to see them. Before Brink, even, you saw them. All their potential. All their greatness. All of them, and Jordan had never forgotten that.

Jordan saw you too, in turn. You’d never felt like much more than a pretty face, before Jordan.

You were the type of beautiful that made people look twice when they walked past you. When you were a little girl you soaked in all the praise like a flower. Every: ‘she’s so pretty’, and ‘well look at her!’, or ‘oh wow!’ was nourishment to your little soul.

It would be impossible to pinpoint the moment you realized that was all anyone saw. Even once your powers manifested. Advanced healing, advanced reflexes, limited invulnerability, energy manipulation. You were the whole nine yards. Your parents, when you were thirteen, had sent a video of you using your powers off to Vought.

A man and woman showed up a day later in suits, wanting to meet you personally.

“She sure is a little looker, isn’t she?” The man had said, and he’d held your hand for too long before he let go.

They’d come prepared. With ideas for costumes. Which team of teenage Supes you should be placed with. If you should just go straight for television. The adults talked around you. Not paying you any mind as you stared at the costume that would reveal so much skin. You’d never worn a skirt that short before. You hadn’t been allowed, hadn’t even wanted to, really. If you’d come home from the mall having bought anything like that on your own, your parents would have blown a fuse. Now they just sat on either side of you, mile wide grins plastered on their faces.

All the voices faded to background noise. You realized maybe you were too young to be a superhero. You thought it would involve more... saving people. Running into burning buildings. Getting the bad guys. Saving the day. The people from Vought were only talking about magazine spreads. About what persona would fit your look.

“What about school?” You’d asked, quietly, and everyone in the room had turned to look at you baffled.

“What about school, sweetheart?” The woman laughed. “You’ll get a private tutor, of course. But your future is big. You won’t even have to worry about stuff like that anymore. Goodbye lame homework. Hello red carpets!”

You sat very quietly until they left. Your parents were more angry than you’d ever seen them, when you told them you wanted to wait until after high-school to pursue being a hero.

You knew telling them you weren’t sure you wanted to do it at all was off the table.

During high-school you noticed people didn’t listen to you. You would be telling someone about your favorite book; or talking about a movie that changed your whole worldview, only to realize the other person had been staring at your lips the entire time.

You stopped talking so much about things you cared about. No one listened anyways.

‘Bimbo.’

‘Airhead.’

‘Slut.’

Were all things you’d heard before you’d ever gone on your first date. Gotten so much as your first kiss on the cheek. High-school was lonely, and you couldn’t talk about it being lonely without sounding like an asshole, you quickly realized. The few friends you had would roll their eyes when you’d try and vent. You thought it was just playful ribbing. Friends tease each other. It made you feel included! Until you caught them mocking you behind your back to one another.

‘Look at me, I’m Y/N, and life’s so hard because I’m so pretty and popular. Is she fucking serious? Stuck up bitch.’

You stopped venting.

When you got to God-U, you weren’t sure what to expect. College was a chance to reinvent yourself. Even if you weren’t sure you wanted to be a Superhero you knew this could be a chance to find your people. Lifelong friends.

People who you could get coffees with between classes. Who would go to all your birthdays and want to be there. People you would spend hours on the phone with. Fall asleep studying together. Girls who might like you enough to make you their maid of honor. Guys who would high five you when you did something cool and not try to sneak a glance at your chest.

You were imagining it all as you unpacked your boxes. Your stomach twisting itself into knots. Living in a half world between excitement and dread.

Then you met your roommate and she gave you the look. The look you’d gotten all your life from girls, and you knew you’d never be real friends. Girls who looked at you like that kept their boyfriends away from you at parties. And they never shared the secrets that friends share because they thought you’d put them in a fucking burn book. The look alone almost made you give up and just go home.

You went for a walk instead, fighting back tears. That’s when you ran into Jordan. Literally, ran into Jordan. You knocked the both of you to the ground.

When they’d snapped, “What the fuck dude?” at you, harsh and angry and very them, you’d burst into tears.

It wasn’t the perfect way to meet your person. But you were glad you met them at all.

“Stop moving your eyes away from the screen.” Jordan says.

“I’m not allowed to move my eyes away from the screen?” You laugh.

“No, this part is really important. You have to pay attention. I wanna see if you catch it.”

You try your best to keep your eyes glued to the screen, as instructed. But you can’t help the way you keep glancing towards Jordan. She looks good. She always looks good, but right now you don’t even want to look away from her. The colors of the movie flashing across her face, blues and golds, make her look like a painting.

“Are you watching?” Jordan asks, and you smile at the excitement in her voice.

You look back towards the movie, wondering what she wants you to see so badly. You look just in time. A small detail catches your eyes and you gasp, reaching out a hand blindly to shake her in your own excitement.

“Did you see that in the background?” You shake her again, for good measure.

“I saw it.” Jordan laughs.

“That means that he killed the wife!”

“How do you figure?”

You pause the movie, ready to explain where you think the plot is heading. When you turn to face Jordan you have to take a deep breath. You don’t know whether you love or hate that look. Your feelings on the matter change day to day.

Jordan is leaned up into the arm of the couch, relaxed, and she’s staring at you with The Smile she wears sometimes. She started doing it a few months into your friendship. Back when you used to talk and then slowly stop. So completely sure that nobody wanted to hear what you had to say.

Jordan had asked you, back then, why you always stopped telling stories halfway through, or stopped talking about your day, or the latest book you’d read.

You wanted to lie, at first. Eventually you told a half truth, “I never have anything interesting to say.”

Jordan had looked at you for a long time. You were worried that somehow, up until that moment, they hadn’t realized how boring you were. But you acknowledging it out loud had made them think about it, and now they were going to ditch you for a friend who was interesting, funny, and smart.

Instead, Jordan had told you that she loved the way your mind worked, and she’d smiled The Smile at you, for the first time. You hadn’t known how to respond, to the words, or the smile. You turned the conversation back towards Brink’s latest class assignment.

Later that night you’d gone back to your dorm room and cried, but you’d felt happier than you’d ever felt.

It made you feel warm and soft that three years later Jordan still smiled at you like that. It felt like your cue to say anything on your mind, no matter how dumb. Green light means go. The Smile means talk.

“Well?” Jordan nudges you with her foot, still smiling, and waiting for you.

You shake your head to break free of the spell she puts you in, “Well, look at his sense of style for the entire movie. All his stuff is modern and sleek and then the first time we see his bedroom all the rest of the decor is in line with the rest of the house, except that one thing. All the camera shots are so purposeful and they lingered a little, after he walked away. They wanted us to see he was keeping a trophy. He totally killed her, didn’t he?”

Jordan pauses for a second and then laughs. “I don’t know how you always guess right. I didn’t see the twist coming at all the first time I watched it.”

“Secondary super power.”

“Connecting all the dots?”

“Connecting all the dots, yeah.”

“Y/N! Y/N, thank fucking god, you gotta come with me.” Cate grabbed you by the arm, rougher than she’d ever touched you before.

“I was on my way to class.” You tripped over your feet as Cate pulled you the opposite way you needed to go.

“Forget class! Jordan’s gonna get themself expelled.” Cate snapped.

“What?!”

“They’re beating the shit out of Peter in the locker room. Luke’s not on campus. I can’t get close enough to stop them-”

You’d broken into a sprint towards the fighting arena. You didn’t know what the hell was happening. Peter and Jordan had spoken maybe ten times to each other in all the years of attending the same university.

You’d never gotten anywhere so fast in your life. Andre was standing steadfast in front of the entrance to the boy’s locker room, a small group of other students standing outside. You could hear the sounds of fighting pouring out from the door.

“Back it up you fucking vultures.” Andre snipped. He might not have super strength but he was still Number 4, and could look intimidating when he needed to.

“Andre, what’s going on?” You pushed to the front of the crowd.

“Thank fuck Cate found you. You gotta get in there. Jordan’s gonna fucking mur-” Andre glanced at the phones pointed at the both of you, trying to record even a drip of gossip about top students trying to seriously hurt each other and lowered his voice, “Jordan is actually gonna fucking kill Peter. I’ll keep the crowds back. Get in there.”

You moved past him into the locker room and your jaw dropped at the state of the place.

You thought these lockers were bolted down. Apparently not. At least four rows of them were knocked to the ground, heavily dented. A water bottle refilling station had been crumpled to nothing, exposed pipe spraying water across the floor.

“Get off of me you fucking animal.” You heard Peter cry from further in the room and ran.

Jordan had shoved Peter up against the wall. You were surprised Peter was still conscious. He was lucky he healed so fast. You could see his black eye fading even as Jordan broke his nose.

“You fucking stay away from her. You understand? I hear you fucking talking like that again and I take the tongue out of your fucking mouth, you asshole.”

Peter laughs through a mouth full of blood,“Not my fault she gave it up so easy, Li-”

Jordan throws him into one of the last standing lockers and you see that they are indeed bolted into the ground. Evidently, Jordan throws stronger than Supe resistant steel can take. When Jordan moves to lift Peter out of the crater his body made in the downed locker you rush in between them, putting a shield up.

“Y/N?” You can see some of the anger fade from Jordan’s face, just a little, at the sight of you.

“Hey, Jordie. Think Peter has had enough.”

Jordan scoffs, “No, he really fucking hasn’t,” he leans around you to yell at Peter, who’s trying to push himself onto his knees, “He’s still running his fucking mouth!”

“Pussy whipped asshole-” Peter groans.

You glance at Peter on the floor, aghast, “Peter! Stop antagonizing, Jordan. What’s wrong with you?”

“Unbelievable, honestly. You walk in on Jordan kicking my ass and you tell me to stop antagonizing the fucker?” Peter huffs, pushing his nose back into place so it won’t heal wrong.

“Name calling isn’t gonna make him stop kicking your ass. I’m trying to help.” You shoot back.

“Well, no one needs your help, you dumb-”

“Hey.” Jordan interrupts. He’s not yelling anymore, but his voice is the loudest thing in the room. “Watch your mouth, Peter. I fucking mean it.”

You look back and forth between them. They watch each other for a long moment. Jordan looking eerily calm. Peter looks away first.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. Come on, Y/N.” Jordan grabs your hand and marches you out of the locker room. Past Andre and Cate, who try to stop you both but Jordan waves them off and muscles his way past the crowd too.

He doesn’t stop until you’re back in his dorm room and he’s shut the door behind the two of you.

“You were fucking that loser?” He asks, clicking the lock into place.

“You’re lucky Andre and Cate kept people out of the locker room so there’s no video of everything! You could get expelled, Jordan! What the fuck happened?”

“He hit me first and he’s not even in the top ten. What’s he at? Number 14? No one’ll give a shit what happens to him. When did you start fucking him?”

“I’m not fucking him! Or… I’m not just, fucking him. I’m… I was dating him. Why were you two fighting?”

“Dating? For how fucking long? You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.” Jordan’s hair is already a disheveled mess. He yanks his fingers through the strands and makes it worse.

“We’ve been going on dates for like… three months? Kinda? Maybe.” You say quietly.

“Three months?! Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck?”

“Why are you so mad?”

“Friends talk to each other about shit like this! And if you’d talked to me, I would have told you that Peter is a clout chasing piece of shit that’ll never amount to anything. You should’ve heard the shit he was saying today. Fucking piece of shit!”

“That’s why you were fighting?” You wring your hands together, a knot tying itself over and over in your stomach. “What did he say?”

Jordan stops pacing the room, goes still and turns away from you.

“Well? What did he say? It was bad enough to make you two beat the shit out of each other! So what was it?”

“He just… You don’t have to worry about it, okay? He won’t go near you again.” Jordan says firmly.

“Whatever he said he’s gonna keep saying. Just behind my back. I should know.”

Jordan sighs and moves to sit beside you on his couch, knee bouncing with anxiety. “He was… bragging to his shitty friends. About being the first guy on campus to fuck you. About how it didn’t even take that long and… how… he was thinking of recording you. So he could show them how slutty you are. It was…. fucking disgusting.”

“Oh.” You say.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. You’d done everything you could to avoid something like this happening. Had kept your dates off campus, to make sure he actually wanted to date you and not just the hot girl ranked Number 3. You’d spent nights staying up on the phone laughing and talking. You’d put off sleeping with Peter for a whole two months, even though you liked him, because you wanted to make sure he liked you.

You hadn’t even let him call you his girlfriend until a few days ago. You thought he really liked you. But no matter how hard you try… you guess this is it. You’re just something pretty to look at. Even Vought doesn’t take you seriously, despite your powers. You’re the top ranked student in everything. Right behind Jordan. Forensic analysis. Combat. Battle strategy. Still, you only ever get asked about makeup routines and how to maintain your figure in interviews.

You wipe at your burning eyes and try not to cry about something you’ve already accepted.

“Fuck that guy. Fuck him. He’s so far beneath your level I’m surprised you can perceive his plane of fucking existence, okay? He’s a fucking single cell organism. He doesn’t even know what a brain is.” Jordan gets up from the couch to kneel in front of you, tries to look you in the eyes.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

“No, you fucking are not. Don’t say that about yourself. He’s fucking stupid. It’s genuinely insane you even wasted your time with him. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing anyone?” Jordan asks, voice quiet.

“I just…. I wanted to make sure he was actually gonna stick around before I even brought him up to you. You’re so … important, why tell you about someone who isn’t? It’s not like you write home to me about any of the people you mess around with! We’ve never really talked about this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, but it’s different. I’m not serious about anyone! You were actually dating, Peter. And I would have told you not to.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Well, I wanted to make sure it was serious. Before I even said anything.”

“It wouldn’t have gotten serious if you’d told me about it in the first place. I wouldn’t have let Peter within ten feet of you!”

“We’re talking in circles.” You huff in frustration, pressing your palms into your eyes to stop the stinging.

“Sorry, I just…. Fucking still wish I was beating the shit out of him, honestly.” Jordan says.

“You are not leaving this room for the rest of the day, Li. Even if he is Number 14, you can’t walk away from a fight then go back for seconds cause you didn’t get it all out the first time. That won’t hold up too well in court.”

“He heals too fast for there to be any marks left on him. It’ll all be hearsay.” Jordan smirks.

You let out a weak laugh. Jordan reaches out, touching the corner of your lips. “Can we shoot for something a little bigger? If I don’t see you smile soon I’ll actually go kill him.”

You roll your eyes and slide to the edge of the couch, so you’re resting your head on Jordan’s shoulder, leaning all your weight against him. He wraps his arms around you, rubbing circles into your spine.

“I really wanted it to work out, Jordan.” You mumble into the skin of his collarbone.

“With fucking Peter?”

“With… anyone.” Your voice wavers and Jordan’s grip gets tighter. “It’s so fucking lonely. I just want to be someone’s favorite person. Not because of how I look, but because they like me. Really like me. And no one fucking does, no matter how hard I try.” The tears start falling now and Jordan pulls back and makes you look up at him, one hand on your cheek.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I fucking… I like you. I’ve always liked you.” Jordan says, frantic as he wipes away the tears as they come.

“It’s not the same, Jordan!” You shake your head, and bite your lip. You’d almost said it’s not enough. Because it isn’t. But you can't think about that for too long. It makes the hole in you ache a little worse.

“Yeah….guess it’s not.” Jordan says quietly. He keeps wiping away the tears, dutiful and gentle as he goes.

“You said he hit you first?” You ask, after a long moment of him quietly soothing you.

“Come on, I’m not stupid. Had to let him get the first swing in.” Jordan smirked.

“What did you say to make him hit you?” You ask.

“Told him he was lucky you believe in charity work and giving back to the fucking needy.”

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of you. You smack his arm weakly before pulling him into another hug. He kisses the top of your head so softly you don’t notice it, too busy laughing.

“Y/N, good to see you dear. You keeping our Jordan out of trouble?” Brink asks as he comes out of his office, not surprised to see you perched on Jordan’s desk.

“Professor, we both know that I’m the one getting Jordan into trouble.” You flash the older man your most mischievous grin.

“Ah, my apologies. I assume that means you’re distracting her from doing her work, as well?” Brink raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“Yes.” You say.

“No.” Jordan protests, at the same time.

You throw your head back with a laugh. “It’s a goal I hold most dear to my heart, to distract Jordan from grading these papers. I think I’m succeeding wonderfully, you’ll be happy to know, Professor.”

“She’s joking, Professor.” Jordan smacks your thigh and you glance down just in time to burn the image of her hand on your thigh into your brain. She almost never touches you, when she’s like this.

“You know, Jordan, I didn’t happen to lose my sense of humor after I hit sixty.” Brink waves off Jordan’s concern and leans towards the two of you, whispering conspiratorially, “I know the gray hair gives the illusion of being a boring old fart, but I do like to laugh every now and then.”

Jordan shakes her head with a small laugh and you can’t help but watch, entranced, at the way her hair brushes the olive skin of her cheeks. When you look back towards Brink you find him already watching you, a knowing smile on his lips. You laugh nervously, and look down at the wood grain texture of Jordan’s desk. It’s suddenly fascinating. Is it real oak? Cherry?

“You close to being done, Jordan?” Brink asks casually.

“Uh-” Jordan’s face blanches and you suddenly feel genuinely sorry for distracting her from her work.

“-relax, kiddo. You’re not in trouble. Geez, what am I, a work nazi? Those papers don’t need to be graded for another four days, right? You work too hard. I was just asking cause’ I was getting a little hungry myself and wanted to know if you could use a break? There’s a great new Indian place nearby, apparently. Professor. Karp was telling me about it yesterday. It’s only a twenty minute ride away. Wanna tag along?”

“I should probably finish up a few more papers-”

“She would love to take a break, Professor.” You reach over, saving the work Jordan’s done and shutting down her laptop at lightning speed.

“Brat.” Jordan mouths the word at you quickly, so Brink won’t see.

You stick your tongue out at her, not caring if anyone sees.

“You should come along too, Y/N. Been awhile since we last caught up.” Brink has a twinkle in his eye that you can’t quite place.

You slide off Jordan’s desk anyways, not willing to pass up any valuable Time Spent With Jordan, “I’m not sure if I trust Professor Karp’s recommendation on restaurants, but I’ll try and be very brave about it if the food is awful.”

“Jordan, have I ever told you how much I love this girl?” Professor Brink shrugs on his coat with a laugh.

“Yeah.” Jordan watches Brink help you into your own coat with a small smile. “Yeah, Professor you have.”

“Fucking fuck me!” Jordan throws her phone onto the coffee table in front of her.

“Are the parental units being emotional terrorists again?” You ask from your spot on her bed, turning the page of your textbook, mindlessly highlighting another sentence that could be important for the upcoming final.

“No, it’s just the whole fucking roster is busy.” Jordan roughly runs a hand through her hair, disheveling her bob.

“Huh?” You look up from your notes.

“The whole roster is locked in for finals but I really need to let off some fucking steam!” Jordan sighs.

“How big is the roster?” You try to sound curious, like a best friend would be, and not irritated, like someone in love with their best friend would be.

“Too big for me to not be fucking someone right now.” Jordan snips.

“We are studying right now. Or I’m studying, and you should be studying too, instead of thinking about needing to get your rocks off.” You say coolly, flipping to the next page.

“I can’t fucking focus.” Jordan groans, but comes back over to the bed and flops down beside you, throwing her arm over her eyes. “What concept are we on now?”

“Theories on limiting public and private property damage in fights with other Supes.”

“There is no fucking way I can focus on something that fucking boring without having an orgasm first.”Jordan groans, again, “It’s not even about limiting loss of human life or injury?”

“Nope. Property damage.”

“Fuck me!”

You both fall into silence. You studying. Jordan, you assume, weighing the pros and cons of downloading Tinder. The thought makes your stomach drop.

Then you get an idea. An awful, horrible, no good, rotten fucking idea.

Your mouth is opening before you can stop yourself, “You could fuck me.”

“Huh?” You’ve never seen Jordan sit up so fast.

“I just mean- … we really gotta focus and I... I mean if you just need to let off some steam we could always…” You try your best to fumble your way into proper usage of the English language but even the thought of fucking Jordan makes that impossible.

“Are you serious right now?” Jordan shifts halfway through the sentence, eyes glued to your every nervous, jittery movement as you sit in front of him.

“Wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t a real offer.” You say quietly, not looking up from the book.

Jordan snatches said book from your lap and tosses it away, ignoring your noise of protest. “You don’t think it’d make things weird?”

“Weird was when I had to take you to get your wisdom teeth removed and you kept saying the green man was gonna get us while you were still high off the good stuff. Sex is just sex, right?” You try to say it casually.

“Would… would it be a one time thing?” Jordan asks slowly.

“It could be more… we could be-” You say, equally as slow.

“- could be?” Jordan echoes, voice sounding oddly tight and expression carefully blank.

The look is so strange it makes you panic, and if you’d thought of saying something stupid and desperate for one second like ‘a couple’, well, that look on his face is more than enough to send you straight back to reality on the ‘my-life-fucking-sucks’ express in no time flat.

“We could be like friends with benefits!” You blurt out in one breath.

“Oh.” Jordan says.

“It was just an idea.” You reach for the textbook again, which landed near Jordan’s thigh. You’re careful not to touch him when you grab it, or sound too disappointed, or heartbroken at the completely lackluster reaction Jordan has to the thought of having sex with you. “A stupid idea, forget it.”

“Why’s it stupid?” Jordan’s brow furrows, tone teetering on the edge of defensive.

“I mean…” You can’t think of a reason fast enough. “We’re probably sexually incompatible.”

“Why do you assume that?” Jordan goes from staring at you, to glaring at you.

You’ve always hated how once Jordan latches on to a line of questioning, you can’t get them to drop that interrogation for shit. A dog with a bone has nothing on a Jordan who wants an answer.

“I don’t… know?” You say, but it sounds like a question.

“I think we’d be compatible.” Jordan states this like he’d state the sky is blue or water is wet.

“Have you thought about it before?” You ask, bewildered.

“What, are you into something really kinky?” Jordan answers your previous question not at all.

“No!” There goes that nervous body language of yours again.

“Only way to really know if we’re sexually compatible is to actually try it out.” Suddenly, Jordan is within your personal space bubble.

You don’t really know how to react, your body freezes up on instinct. Jordan’s hand comes up to rub soothing circles into the crook of your elbow. Your shoulders fall away from your ears.

“Can I kiss you?” Jordan’s voice is quiet, soft as he tilts his head to knock his nose against yours. Playful, teasing. But the look on his face is something you can’t place at all.

You feel his breath on your lips and nod absentmindedly.

“Don’t want you to nod when I ask you a question like this. Yes or no, Y/N?”

“Ye-” The words not fully out of your mouth before Jordan is kissing you, a heavy hand pulling you closer by the nape of your neck.

You pull yourself into Jordan’s lap and try to focus on how good it feels when he nips at your bottom lip, instead of how much you wished you’d asked him to be your boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner. Everything. Even if he’d said no, at least then you would have had an answer. Now you’ve only made your life harder.

You stop thinking so much when Jordan puts a hand on your hip and guides you to grind yourself against him.

“Y/N’s right.” Jordan mutters, not looking up from his phone.

“No, she is not. You’re just agreeing with her because that’s your default factory setting. Listen to the context of the argument please.” Andre snaps, drowning his Vought Triple meat burger in ketchup.

“I did. Your grim dark theory on children’s media is lame, and Y/N knows more about the Monster’s Inc universe than you ever will.” Jordan shrugs.

“Hah!” You laugh in Andre’s face.

“Is it really such a flex to be an expert on the lore of a Pixar movie universe?” Cate asks teasingly.

“Yes.” You say.

“No.” Andre says, like a sore loser.

“I agree with Y/N, it’s literally in the explicit text of the movie, Monsters Inc isn’t a post-apocalyptic world. It’s a separate dimension from ours. The monsters come to our dimension to harvest screams of children to get clean, scream energy. God, Andre, pay attention during movie night.” Luke jumps in on the tormenting Andre train, grinning wildly at the other man from across the table. He gets a middle finger for his troubles.

“I’m glad someone pays attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You sniff haughtily.

“I literally agreed with you first.” Jordan looks at you from over the top of her phone in a way that makes you blush.

“I’m glad two people are paying attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You clear your throat.

“Thank you.” Jordan’s intense brown eyes fall away from you and you take a gulp of your drink.

“Bathroom alert, Y/N. A stall just opened up.” Cate tells you pointing to the bathroom door right as another girl exits.

“I am kissing you on the lips, telepathically.” You say, sliding from the booth you’re all sharing.

“Don’t you telepathically lip lock with my girlfriend.” Luke calls after you, laughing.

“Get some powers of telepathy yourself and make me, fire boy.” You enter the bathroom, shutting out the sounds of laughter from your table with a smile.

You take the biggest stall at the back and try to go about your business quickly. You hear two faucets turn on, someone washing their hands, and try not to get pee shy.

“So how was it?” A monotone voice asks, you assume one of the hand washers.

“You know I don’t usually kiss and tell, but it was insane.” A higher, more giggly voice answers.

“So they really are good in bed then, huh?” The monotone voice sounds a little more curious.

“Incredible. All the rumors are true. They’re a little… uh, brusque, about the after sex part, if I’m putting it lightly, but the sex itself was great!” The high voice chirps.

“What? Did they throw you a towel and tell you to kick rocks?” The monotone voice asks.

“Pretty much.” The high voice sighs. “But they made me cum so many times I think I’d still pick up if they called me again. You think they might?”

“I say this with all the love in the world: girl stand up.” Monotone voice drawls.

“You wouldn’t be telling me that if you knew how good it felt to sit on her face.” High voice says.

You stifle a laugh, trying not to get caught eavesdropping, but with Supe hearing it really is hard to mind your own business. Besides, they’re not being that quiet about the conversation anyways.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Or you could experience it for yourself. They were just as good as a boy as they were as a girl. Maybe better. I dunno. She was more aggressive as a girl, which was kinda hot.”

“Jordan Li, pussy eating extraordinaire. Can we go now? Our food is probably ready.” Monotone voice sighs.

“Fine, but I’m telling you, the things they can do with a strap are-”

The voices fade away with the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing.

You find you don’t really want to finish eating your food, when you get back to the table. You spend the rest of lunch trying your best not to look at Jordan, and also ignoring Cate’s concerned gaze boring into the side of your skull.

You pretend to be sick to avoid having to face the reality of Jordan being more than happy to touch other girls as a girl. They just don’t want to touch you when they’re a girl. You wonder what about you is so uniquely off putting. You wonder why it can’t be you. Why can’t it ever fucking be you?

Jordan barges into your room on day three of the silent treatment that you told the group chat was due to a raging fever.

Luckily your eyes, swollen shut from all the crying, and the red nose to match, corroborate the story.

“We got it all. We’ve got tissues. We got soup. We got pain meds. We got liquid meds. We also have all the ingredients for a hot toddy, if you want to mix your poisons a little.” Jordan begins to unpack everything onto your counter.

“I don’t want to take anything.” You say morosely, and a little mean, kind of wanting to hate them but just feeling sad. Jordan’s your best friend before anything else, and you could never hate your first real friend.

“Come on, just a little something. You sound fucked up.” Jordan practically coos, touching your forehead. “Feels like your fever’s gone down a little. Sit up for me.” He says, and pulls you to sit up when you don’t do it on your own.

“I don’t want to fucking-” Jordan puts two pills in your mouth as soon as you open it to bitch at him. He hands you water to help you swallow it down.

“Thanks for that. That was really fun for me.” You snap once you’re done.

“It’s for pain and should bring down the rest of your fever.” Jordan lays you back down, tucking the covers all the way up to your chin. You marvel at the way he doesn’t rise to the bait of your very clear attitude. Jordan, catching the look on your face offers you a small glare. “I’m worried. You usually don’t get sick. I’ll check that attitude when you’re better. Now, do you want the damn hot toddy or not?” He rubs your head soothingly.

“Yes, please.” You try not to pout as you watch Jordan make the drink for you. You really hate how hard it is to hate them. “Sorry, Jordie.”

“Oh, you can go ahead and save that apology for when I make you cry into your pillow, yeah?” Jordan doesn’t even look up from measuring the ingredients.

You pull the covers over your head and leave them there until Jordan pulls them back down.

You almost hadn’t come to the party.

You weren’t in a partying mood, as of late. You were in more of a Shakespearean pining era than a City Girls one. But the group had bullied you in the group chat for a week straight until you’d promised to come. The group bullying hadn’t worked so much as Jordan asking you one single time to go had.

So here you were.

You’d been nursing one drink for the better part of an hour and hadn’t done a single line of cocaine. Jordan had offered you some, but the line had already been placed on the back of his hand. You politely declined, much to his confusion. You only ever did hard drugs with Jordan, and only at big rager parties like this one.

At the moment you’re nearly sober. Because you didn’t so much as want to touch Jordan right now. Let alone do something like snort a line off of him. Then you’d have to do something like lick the residue off his skin. Which would lead to kissing him. Which would lead to making out with him. Which would lead to fucking him.

And you think, for the sake of your sanity, you need to be done fucking Jordan Li.

It’s been about three weeks since you were “sick” and you’d dodged every attempt at getting physical that Jordan tried to initiate since. At first you were able to pass it off as still feeling icky. That excuse worked for a week. Now, you didn’t hang out alone with them and pretended not to see Jordan’s ‘you up?’ texts until morning.

Your friendship just needs a hard reset. This time spent not having sex will do it.

Besides, it’s not like Jordan isn’t swimming in fucking choices. What does it matter if you’re one less body off the menu? There are plenty of hot girls at this school. Jordan’s probably already fucked half of them.

You throw back the rest of the drink you’ve been nursing all at once.

“Are you okay?” Cate puts a hand on your arm and you offer her a blinding, completely fake smile.

“Yeah!” You say, as chipper as possible.

“Jesus christ.” Cate replies, face going all sad and concerned. “What did Jordan do?”

“Huh?” You blink, confused.

“You are the most pissed off I’ve ever seen you. What did Jordan do? You’ve been avoiding them for like two weeks. What gives?” Cate pulls you closer by the arm so that she doesn’t have to shout over the music.

“Nothing!”

“Can you try to lie again but do it better, this time?” Cate frowns.

“Jesus Christ, does everything have to be about Jordan? Must my whole entire goddamn life revolve around Jordan Li?” You snap, the way someone who isn’t mad about anything does.

“Okay.” Cate says slowly. Like she’s trying to placate a wild animal.

The tone alone makes you roll your eyes and move to disappear back in the crowd of drunk twenty-somethings. But she firms her grip on you, the leather of her glove digging into your skin.

“Y/N-”

“I’m fine, Cate. I just have to get over it.”

“Get over what?” Cate narrows her eyes at you. That shrewd look she sometimes wears when she knows something before someone else falls onto her face.

You wonder if you’re completely transparent about your pining or if Cate missed a dose of her medication. Is she starting to hear the buzzing of your frantic, angry, miserable thoughts? Or is she just naturally perceptive?

“So, this is where the real party is hiding!” An arm is thrown around your shoulders suddenly and you are careful not to sigh, because Jordan may not be as perceptive as Cate, but they’re pretty damn close. Especially when it comes to you.

You’ve never moved away from them holding you close like this before, so you can’t do it now. You try to just be still. Don’t lean into his warmth, but don’t cringe away either. You probably used to melt against him, when he touched you. Pathetically. Desperately. A sunflower following rays of light across the sky.

“-Princess?” Jordan gives you a gentle shake and your head snaps to the side to look at him. “You okay?”

“Yup!” Apparently, you didn’t say that convincingly because he starts to scowl at you. Surprisingly enough, the thought of withstanding a Jordan interrogation does not make you want to be at this party for much longer. “I’m gonna head out, though.”

“What?!” Twin exclamations of confusion form Jordan and Cate both.

“Not feeling it. I think I need to get some more sleep. I got a headache, or… something.” You shrug.

“Or something?” Jordan echoes.

“You are not going anywhere, yet, dear friend.” Andre throws his own arm around you, appearing from thin air, and tugging you away from Jordan. You’ve never been more grateful to him.

“How do you figure that?” You laugh.

“We’re about to play truth or dare in the other room and you dodged playing last time. You can leave after you’ve played. You can’t get known as the truth or dare dodger.” Andre says.

“You say that as if being a party game dodger is like being known for dodging the Vietnam draft.” You snort.

“No, it’s worse. People that dodged the Vietnam drafts are heroes. Truth or dare dodgers are cowards. Come on.” Andre begins to drag you towards the other room and you go along with minimal dragging of your feet across the floor.

The room is crowded, but all the faces are familiar. They’re all within the top twenty, or the groupies that hang around everyone in the top twenty. You pull Andre across the room to a spot on a raggedy couch you have to squeeze the both of you into. No room for Jordan, who you want to avoid. Or Cate, who is too fucking perceptive.

You wish you’d grabbed another drink for yourself. Jordan winds up across the room from you, in an optimal position for trying to catch your eye and give you a concerned look every ten seconds.

This does not make Truth or Dare more fun to watch.

Vulgar dare from one classmate to another. Forcing someone else to admit an uncomfortable truth. One humiliation after the other. Pick your poison on whether you want to debase yourself through the damnation of your own words or a physical act. All challenges of self-mortification being doled out by people who secretly don’t like each other very much, but all call each other friends anyways.

“Earth to Y/N the space cadet.” The girl sitting next to you gives you a playful shove. You try not to glare at her. Her name escapes you. You think she hangs around with number 6. Or something.

“What?”

“Cate picked you. Truth or dare.” She says the words ominously, causing teasing jeering to rise from the entire group.

“Well, Y/N, what’s it gonna be?” Cate raises her eyebrow at you challengingly.

“She doesn’t have to play if she doesn’t want to, guys.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Dare.” You say, wanting to get this over with.

The room erupts into excited noise. You don’t know why. Cate, of all people, would never force you to do anything humiliating. Or truly scandalous. It’s why you trust her enough to say dare, instead of truth. But you never pick dare, because anyone else would abuse the power. Everyone looks too eager to see Number 3 do something embarrassing.

As if Cate isn’t your closest friend beside Jordan. As if she’d abuse the trust you place in her. It makes you sick. You don’t wanna be here. At this party, or at this stupid fucking school.

“I dare you…. to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

“What?!” Jordan turns to give Cate the nastiest, most disgusted glare you’ve ever seen.

“She doesn’t have to do it if she doesn’t want to. You know I’m all about consent.” Cate shrugs innocently, crossing her legs together and giving you a smirk.

You sit for a second, contemplating your next move. There are plenty of pretty girls at this party. In this room. If nothing else, the top twenty and their groupies are photogenic (hell, some of them are only in the top twenty because of their looks to begin with. You hope you’re not one of those.) But there’s only one girl you want to kiss at this party.

There’s only one person in the world you want to kiss at all.

You take a shaky breath, feeling like the walls are closing in. Andre nudges you subtly, catches your eye, as if to say: ‘you okay?’ but there’s something else in the look too. Something that says it’s not just Cate, who knows. Probably your whole friend group knows how you feel. Probably the whole school. Probably anyone but Jordan sees it. And Jordan probably does see it, because they’re too fucking smart not to, and they’re choosing to ignore it. Because it’s easier that way. Because your feelings are probably too inconvenient. Because you’re not their type. Because you’re clingy, and stupid, and not good enough-

You stand up. The room is a wall of noise, and smell and sound pressing in on you. You see Cate smirk. You see Jordan looking away. You see every girl in the room sit up straight. Delusional, if they think any of them could ever be anything, compared to Jordan.

You walk past every other girl in the room, and stand in front of Jordan, who still isn’t looking.

You kick his ankle with the toe of your heel, to get him to look at you. His head snaps around, the curls of his hair sticking to his forehead, and he looks comically confused. And it’s really too fucking much, for someone as smart as Jordan to look so confused. So fucking baffled, about what’s happening here. But it’s a pretty convincing act. That only makes you more angry.

You make an impatient motion with your hand. A ‘do it already’ movement of your wrist. The same way you’d crossly signal for another driver to go first at a fucking four way stop.

He just blinks up at you, owlish.

"Well? Are you gonna let me kiss the prettiest girl at this fucking school or what, Li?" The room has gone a little quiet, or maybe the blood is rushing in your ears so bad everything is quiet in comparison.

Jordan stares up at you for a moment longer than is comfortable. And you really start to feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you. You don’t let yourself shy away from the attention. Not Jordan’s, not anyone else’s. You straighten your spine and look down your nose at him, and tap your foot. Try to look like the mean girl everyone expects you to be because no one cares who you actually are.

As if you could care less if Jordan leaves you stranded right now. As if it will be their loss, if they don’t kiss you, instead of the worst moment of your entire life.

Jordan shifts.

You try not to think of how desperate you must look, when you reach out at a speed that isn’t human to hold her face and angle it up, so you can finally fucking kiss the girl you love.

You wish you could kiss her like it didn’t mean anything. Like she’s nothing. Like you hate her. But you don’t know if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Jordan when she’s your girl, and not your boy. This might be the last time you kiss Jordan ever.

It has to be.

You close your eyes tight. Try to ignore the way they’re stinging. You kiss Jordan slow and tender. The way you’ve always wanted to. You tangle a hand in her hair, to bring her closer. You try not to marvel at the way the longer strands tangle in your fingertips. She gasps against you, and her hands find your waist and you are too sober to cry over Jordan touching your waist above your clothes. Like a fucking middle-schooler.

But the tears start falling anyways. You let out a quiet sob against her lips that you try your hardest to stifle, and Jordan may not have kissed you like this before. But she’s kissed you plenty. She pulls back, startled, like an animal. Big brown eyes full of concern.

And the spell is broken, and you are standing in front of about thirty of the world’s worst, most unsympathetic human beings, crying, because you kissed your best friend who doesn’t want you back.

You’ve got ten seconds to leave before someone pulls out their phone and records you. If they haven’t already started.

So you run.

Through your tears the layout of the house becomes unfamiliar. You try to hide your face a little, and hope people don’t recognize you as you pass them by, sobbing openly.

Years of pent up feelings are bubbling out of you. The relief. The grief. The way you hate yourself for falling in love with the only person who has ever loved you. Wondering why you couldn’t just be grateful for the kindest, most understanding friendship you never even thought yourself worthy of. Why couldn’t that have been enough?

Why did you fall in love with them?

A hand closes around your wrist and you try to yank yourself away but you’re pulled into a bathroom and the door slams shut behind you.

You wipe your eyes so you can see who’s tried to save you from embarrassing yourself any further.

It’s Jordan. Because of course it is.

You burst into tears again.

“Are you fucking drunk? What the fuck was that? Y/N what the fuck is happening right now?” Jordan sounds on the verge of a mental break.

She’s probably wondering what type of things people are gonna start saying about the two of you on social media. She’s probably mad at you for giving her a PR mess to clean up.

“I’m not drunk!” You protest, sounding a little like someone who might be drunk.

“Are you high? What did you take? Lemme see your pupils.” Jordan reaches out to grab your face and you swat her hand away.

“No one fucking drugged me, Jordan. I’m just a stupid fucking idiot who’s in love with you! There! Are you happy?! Why don’t you go laugh at me with one of your stupid fucking girlfriends. You’ve got so fucking many of them.” You wail, sinking down to the floor, and hiding your face in your arms.

The room goes quiet, besides the sound of you crying. Loudly. You think you might be having an anxiety attack. You can’t breathe right. But maybe that’s just from the heaving, toddler-like sobs.

“You’re in love with me?” Jordan asks, quietly.

“As if you don’t know!” You snap your head up to glare at her. She kneels down in front of you, and puts her hand on your knee and you try not to get distracted by how pretty she is. “I follow you around like a puppy dog. Like your little shadow. And everyone notices except for you, because you don’t want to notice, because you don’t fucking want me. I got the message, Jordan. I got it!”

“What message?!” Jordan grabs you by the shoulders, voice fraying at the edges, and looks like she wants to shake you.

“You don’t touch me!” Your voice raises to the edge of a yell, and the sound of it echoes in the small room.

“What are you fucking talking about-”

“-don’t be cute, Jordan. You don’t touch me when you’re a girl! I thought… I thought it was maybe just that you didn’t touch girls when you’re a girl but it isn’t. Apparently you have plenty of fucking girls that you touch and fuck, when you’re a girl. It’s just me, that you don’t! What’s so fucking bad about me? Huh? What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you want me?” You demand.

You think you might sound like an insane person, and you wish you could pull the words back in but the hurt is bubbling out. A river relishing that first burst of freedom when a dam breaks, no matter how much damage it causes.

Jordan is staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. Mouth agape. You wish you were dead, a little.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jordie.” Your voice goes small, and you sniffle. “I really tried to stop. But I can’t, I love you. I’ve probably loved you from that very first day. Because you’re wonderful, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met and I don’t know how anyone…” You trail off, fanning at your eyes to try and pull yourself together. “...I don’t know how everyone else knows you without being in love with you. I wish I wasn’t in love with you, please don’t be mad, please don’t fucking-” You sob, again.

You find yourself pulled into Jordan’s lap this time. It’s a foreign feeling, to be touching so much of Jordan when she’s like this. You bury your face into her neck and cry, and let her black hair block out the fluorescent lighting. She shushes you, cheek pressing against the side of your head, and that’s familiar. The way she soothes you. Your hands wrinkle the fabric of her jacket, clinging to her tightly.

“I’m sorry. I can get over it, I promise. I just needed to tell you. I’ve never kept anything from you before. It was killing me, but I can get over it, Jordie, I promise-”

“Hey, hey, hey, no-” Jordan’s turning you to look at her suddenly. “Don’t fucking… I’m not… I’m not mad at you or fucking… gonna leave you, Y/N. What the fuck? I love you.”

You could start crying from the relief of hearing those words come from her lips again. You thought she wouldn’t ever speak to you again. She grabs you by the chin and kisses you, hard, your teeth clink together and your noses mush and you go completely still and frozen, like a scared deer.

“I could see the words not fucking register in your brain the way I meant them. I am in love with you. Romantically.” Jordan barely pulls away, you feel her lips brush against yours, every other word.

“What?”

Jordan laughs, “Good, now you’re just as confused as I fucking was. Why the fuck wouldn’t I want you? I’ve always wanted you. You’re…you.”

“I’m me?” You echo.

“I didn’t…. I didn’t want to make you feel… like everyone else has. Like I was just fucking waiting around for a chance to date you. Or fuck you. As if your friendship doesn’t fucking matter. Or was a consolation prize, if I couldn’t get you to date me. It isn’t a consolation prize. It’s the most important thing to me in the fucking world.” Jordan laughs, and the sound is suspiciously choked up.

“Oh.” You say, and are crying. Again. Jordan laughs and wipes the tears away with her thumb.

“But what about when we started having sex? You still… never touched me when you’re like this.”

“You’ve never said anything about liking girls.” Jordan says quietly.

“You’re not just a girl. You’re the girl. And guy. ” You say, holding her hand against your face and kissing her palm fiercely. She laughs again, and puts her forehead against yours.

“So what? I’m the one girl you’re into?” Jordan raises a brow and doesn’t look very happy saying the words, oddly enough.

You tilt your head trying to puzzle out why, slowly, you arrive at a conclusion. “I literally talk about girls all the time.”

“When?!”

“I’m constantly pointing out pretty ones!” You snap.

“I thought you were just being sweet!” Jordan snaps back.

You close your eyes and breathe in the smell of her cologne.

“You make me so angry I don’t know how to think.” You say, and kiss her bottom lip softly. “You’re not an… experiment, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re the…” You trail off, realizing this is not one of your romantic daydreams where you’ve thought of the words you’d tell Jordan over and over again.

In real life you can’t tell people that they’re the love of your life if you aren’t their girlfriend. Unless you want to look crazy.

Jordan, who is your best friend, before she’s anything else, melts. Because she knows you well enough to know what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah.” Jordan nods, sniffling once and trying to look very tough even though her lip is quivering a little. “I… I love you too. Or whatever.”

“If it makes you feel better I’ve slept with other women before, to make sure I wasn’t just in love with you.”

“Weird fucking thing to tell me after I say I love you, but go off.” She glares at you.

“I think you could do with feeling a little jealous. Why am I hearing stories about how good you are at fucking other women while I’m trying to piss at Vought Burger in peace?”

“What?” Jordan’s brow furrows.

“Three weeks ago I heard-”

“-I fucking knew you’ve been mad at me!” Jordan grabs your waist, pulling you closer.

“You would have been pissed too, if you heard the shit I was hearing!”

“If I hear anyone talking about fucking you ever again I’m going to go to prison.”

“Hot.”

“Shut up and be my girlfriend.”

“Shut up and be my everything.”

“You’re gross.” But she kisses you, and it’s gentle, and no one else is there to see it.

And it’s perfect.

A/N: this is my first time doing full on smut for a fic! it beat me the fuck up. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. and this fic took too damn long to write. xoxoxo

#jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #black!reader #hey bee are you ever gonna do a non force field power having reader?? great question! answer is no adjkl #forcefields are THE coolest thing you can have #aside from the song she likes a boy i was thinking of hate that i love you rihanna and neyo while writing #if you see a fucking grammer error point it out i need to get this posted so i can MOVE ON adjkl this one has been kicking my ASS

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