#i’m trying to push past it though

[gregmarriage]

i may know it’s healthy to interact with people and be social, but that doesn’t mean i find it easy in any way

[floral-hex]

woke up at 4am feeling the weight of my life crushing me, so I’ve been sitting out in my car for the last couple of hours because I just need. to. be. somewhere else.

[starbuck]

having one of those Times where on one hand everything is completely fine but, on the other hand, i am drowning and there’s so much to do and i’m at my wit’s end and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[classyrbf]

IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...you and gojo get into a fight after realizing that he’s been hiding something about your relationship the entire time

INFO...gojo x fem!reader, angsty, arguing, breaking up(?), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

You slam the door to the penthouse, your heels clicking against the mahogany floors with each step. You toss your purse on the couch, hearing Gojo opening the front door and shutting it quickly. “Baby, please just listen to me.” He pleads, following after you.

“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuse, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, plopping down on the edge of the bed to relieve your sore feet of the heels you’ve been wearing all night to your boyfriends opening event he’s been planning for months now.

“I’m not trying to make excuses. Please.” He walks over towards you and toss your heel at him. “Stop throwing shit and just talk to me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You stand to your feet, glaring daggers at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? God, you’re a fucking asshole.” You seethe, narrowing your eyes. “I sat there all alone, while you let some woman feel up on you the entire night? Are you out your fucking mind?” You scoff.

“She’s just an old friend, y/n. I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He shakes his head at you, grabbing onto your arms tightly.

“Oh, yeah? So I when I came up and introduced myself as your girlfriend none of your friends were looking at me like I was crazy? I know we’ve been only together for a year, Satoru, but that’s fucking low.” You pull away from him. “They didn’t even know who I was. Then you got miss prissy bitch clearly flirting with you in front of me and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” You brush past him, stomping over towards the bathroom.

“Slow down, y/n! Baby—”

“I’m not your fucking ‘baby’, Satoru.” You gather all of your products from the bathroom, from your makeup and skincare to your clothes and shampoo.

“Stop for just one second.” He spins you around so you’re facing him. “Don’t leave. I swear you’re the only girl for me. I know I fucked up, I know I did. I embarrassed you, made you look stupid and I am so fucking sorry. But please do not leave.” He cups your face gently and his touch feels so inviting, but you can’t forgive him that easily. “I only want you. I only need you.”

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing thickly as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Should’ve thought about that when you let her kiss your cheek and you smiled at her. Right in front of me. Get the fuck off of me.” You push him, rushing to grab your bag from the closet.

Gojo lets out a tired sigh, following you. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. “I shouldn’t have let her near me.”

“Why was she so comfortable with being that close to you, huh?” You question, furrowing your brows as you turn to look at him. “Now that I think about it. Let me guess, you two were more than just friends.” You stand to your feet, snatching your clothes off the hangers and shoving them into your bag. He looks at you, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. And from the look in his eyes, you already knew the truth. A bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head in disappointment.

“It was before you! Before us! We never dated it was just a small thing between me and her!” He tried to explain. “Baby, I swear! Once I met you, everything changed. I cut her off and focused all my attention on you. You’re the only who has my heart.” He grabbed your wrist only for you to pull away.

“Clearly I ain’t the only who who’s got your dick, though.” You slam the closet door shut, turning your back towards him.

“Don’t say that, y/n. That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years!”

“Yeah? Well all your friends sure know about her. She must’ve been great in bed, Satoru. Me? Well, they looked at me like I was a fucking ghost!” You scoff. “Like I was some delusional bitch who came up to you and said I was your girlfriend!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You must take me for fucking joke. It must be written on my forehead or something!”

“I don’t take you for a joke! You’re my goddamn girlfriend. You live with me. You have my initial around your fucking neck! I love you and you know that!” He takes a step towards you.

“Do I know that?” You ask aloud, cocking your head to the side.

“What—of course I love you. What the fuck are you saying?” He looked at you with pure confusion.

“You’re a joke. One of your friends, Shoko, pulled me aside and told me the only reason you got with me is because your little fling ended up getting a boyfriend herself around the time we started dating. You’re a piece of shit.” You revealed the truth to him, watching him stare at you blankly, lost for words. “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You ripped off the necklace with his initial, tossing it at him.

“Yes, I was upset that she got a boyfriend but—”

“So you had feelings for her. And just to cover them up, you got with me as a distraction.” You step closer towards him. “Listen to me, Satoru, don’t ever try and contact me again, keep whatever fucking gifts you bought me and return them, sell them, do whatever because I am done,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“No, no, no, baby. You can’t leave me. Yea I liked her before, but so fucking what? I was never in love with her, not like I am with you. I was too fucking stupid. I still am! Just give me another chance to fix this. I don’t want us to end this way.” He grabs your packed bag from your hands and tosses it on the bed.

“Let me go, Satoru.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t. You’re everything to me. She’s nothing compared to you.” He sniffles, holding your hands in his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And I’m sorry for entertaining the idea that she could even come close to you. She can’t.” His hands cupped your face, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to hear any words from you.

You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. “Bye, Satoru.” You walked past him, grabbing your bag off of the bed. As much as it hurt to leave, you knew you had to respect yourself. Time and space was what you needed to think. With each step out the door, you could hear Gojo’s sobs, something you’ve never heard before in the year you’ve been with him. For the strong, flashily and confident man he is, you never once thought you’d see or him break down. Especially not for you.

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[luminni]

I have a feeling Johnny would try and set up Simon with one of his friends

like

“M’ tellin ya mate yer going tae like ‘er,” Johnny teased, bounding a couple steps in front of Simon, turning back to him and rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets to protect them from the cold. As Price often quipped, the 'scott can't stand still for the life of him.'

“Mhm,” Simon just grumbled in response.

“See mate, That’s the attitude that scares all the girls away.” Johnny commented, hands outstretched and exaggerated.

“Whatever.” Simon huffed, shaking his head. Johnny wasn’t wrong, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything with a girl that wasn’t a quick lay, and even then it had been months, not to mention going out on a proper date. Well, a date was a stretch, you were Johnny’s close friend for a couple years. He had heard of you, but never met you and now Johnny was insisting that he go on a date with you because he was convinced it was going to work well, Simon wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“She’s real nice though- so put away the tough guy act big man- girls don’t like that.” Simon couldn’t believe he was getting dating advice from his sergeant, so he just doubled down and kept scowling but Johnny kept pressing. “I'm telling you she's a real sweet girl, kinda lass who would try tae make a crying baby laugh on the tube or go and feed some mangy stray dog, perfect for a prickly bastard like yerself.”

“Okay okay, Jesus. ’s not like ’m going to scare ‘er off on purpose.” Simon relented 

“You better not, gettin' laid might do ya' some good man, calm yer ass down a wee bit” Johnny chuckled

Simon would have yelled at him for that comment but his friend cut him off, “‘Kay we’re ‘ere,” Johnny chirped, “Gaz and his girl should be inside already and she’ll be ‘ere soon,” Johnny said, pushing his Lt. through the pub door.

Johnny had invited Kyle and his girlfriend for a kind of double date situation because he thought having another girl there would help you feel more comfortable, something Simon couldn’t argue with. Why Johnny’s single ass would be attending was a mystery.

and he's been playing both sides

“Ya like serious guys right?” Johnny had asked you out of the blue, a week or so prior while hanging out at your flat.

“Uh yeah sure? I mean I guess so, more than immature assholes like you.” You had joked back across the small kitchen.

“Well,” He had began, unphased by your teasing, “There’s this guy I work with-”

“Don’t even.” you cut him off

“Wha'?!” he whined

“Don’t try and set me up with one of your military bros,” you warned, “I’m not interested.”

“Jus' 'cause yer last dates 'ave been busts doesnae mean you shouldn't keep tryin’,” He pleaded, catching the sponge you threw at him, “He’s a real good guy, kinda intimidating but you’d like him, promise!”

You glared at him before going back and forth, Johnny was really trying to sell this guy, and he wasn’t wrong, your last three dates had been nothing short of disasters. So, after lots of pleading -and a couple tasteful photos from them at the gym- you agreed. So as you walked closer and closer to the pub, your nerves were buzzing. Just gotta get past his tough exterior is all, Johnny’s words of advice rang through your head. Thankfully he had invited another one of his friends there along with his girlfriend, you would have been hyperventilating if it was just going to be you and some guys. As you reached for the door, you could only hope Johnny was right about this guy.

So, who would be surprised when it actually works out, when Simon actually falls in love with you and your sweet smile at first site. When you find his corny and sometimes morbid jokes genuinely funny, having to cough around your drink to prevent spitting it out.

Johnny's just happy Simon might finally chill out, and he won't have to listen to you complain about failed dates every other week.

[lexcys]

★ observing rafe cameron x reader

summary: you were trying everything to hide the fact that you couldn’t stop staring at rafe, unbeknownst to you - he was secretly hoping you were

a/n: this is a surfer!rafe x shy!reader btw!! also this is like pretty much my first ever fanfic so I have no idea what the fuck I am doing so sorry if this is literal ass 😭 no mention of a fem!reader besides the fact that the womans bathroom gets entered

you felt the heat of the sun on your skin as you stepped out of the twinkie. the soft crash of the distant waves barely audible over the hum of the pogues voices

stepping onto the beach, a surge of excitement hits you. the day you and the pogues have been counting down to all week has finally arrived

you take one final glance into your bag, double-checking for anything you might have forgotten—sunscreen, snacks, a book, and a few other trinkets, satisfied you make your way over to your usual spot ready to take off your tshirt and shorts which hid your swim wear underneath, until you spotted someone out of the corner of your eye

rafe cameron

somehow the kooks had managed to pick the exact same date, place and time to visit the beach as you and your friends

while the others were hastly running towards the water stripping on the way down, paying no attention to the kooks, kie stayed back waiting for you

she was already in her bikini while your clothes weren’t even close to leaving your body and landing on the ground

''you coming?'' she asked, hand on her forehead shielding her from the burning sun

''umm'', taking a quick glance around you searched the beach in a, hopefully, unsuspicious way trying to locate rafe again

glancing down you turned your gaze elsewhere, you hoped the sudden heat entering your body was from the sun and not from the sight of rafe taking his shirt off

''I’ll join you guys later, I’m a little dizzy right now'', you spoke swiftly looking up at her, hoping to not get caught in the little white lie

all though kie nodded, the flicker of confusion in her eyes and a quick look behind you told you all you needed to know

you had never verbally stated your attraction to the him but you were pretty sure almost anybody could’ve guessed with the way you tensed up or seemed quieter and clumsier whenever he was in close proximity

taking off your top and shorts you shot a look over to the pogues who were already splashing and practically drowning each other. you giggled while settling down onto your beach towel before applying sunscreen and laying down on your stomach with a book in hand

even though your book was very interesting, the sight in front of you was much more enticing

rafe was currently riding a pretty common wave, yet you found yourself unable to stop staring

you adjusted your book hoping to hide the fact that you were practically ogling at the cameron boy

he was far enough out that you couldn’t make out the details but you still caught the way his hair stuck to his face, the way his body twisted with the rythm of the wave and the way he… kept turning his head towards you?

it seemed like he was looking for you, looking to see if you were watching him

cheeks burning, you try to push your delusions aside trying to find the passage you were reading earlier

you take another peek at him and by the the time you do, he was already out of the water, walking towards his friends with the biggest fucking grin, beaming with pride and confidence, already seeming to rave about the wave he just rode

hearing jj’s laugh you swiftly adjust and pretend to be reading your book that was definitely more interesting than staring at rafe’s wet body and stupid grin

while jj kept whining about how john b, supposedly, almost drowned him they both settled down on your left, luckily on the side where the kooks were lounging

fortunately he also kept talking which meant you were able to peep right past his face and steal short glances towards rafe

it was almost impossible for you to keep your eyes off of him. it didn’t matter where you would see him, you were always stealing glances or simply staring at him from a distance. others could call this stalking but you liked to call it observing, you liked watching him, but not in a creepy way, more so you were admiring him, he was pretty

you liked his side profile, the way his bangs framed his face, the way his eyes looked in the sun, the way his shirts hung onto his fit body - you noticed the way he was very articulate with his hands, which were always adorned with the same two rings, the way the corner of his lips turned downwards whenever he tried not to smile

noticing him facing you, eyeing your group, the staring quickly stopped

at this point the distance between the two groups was too small for your liking because of course the kooks had to settle down as closely as possible to the pogues - it was somehow impossible for them to keep their distance

given the short distance, whenever you actually were brave enough to look again it seemed like he was meeting your gaze, trying to maintain eye contact

heart beating way too fast and cheeks burning, you turn away from jj trying to initiate a conversation with sarah, who was sitting on your right

after a while of, luckily, managing to keep your head from spinning towards him, to meet his gaze - aside from the occasional looks to jj or john b whenever they were contributing to the conversation - you were desperate to get up, to empty your bladder

you dreaded getting up, fully aware that the beach bar was situated just behind the kooks, it meant walking past rafe and the mere thought of that unnerved you - every step would make you acutely aware of your surroundings, mind racing, until the very thought of moving felt like it might turn your legs into jelly

examining the scene quickly you notice half of the kooks gone, including rafe, they must’ve left when you weren’t looking - you feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders while also immediately feeling a certain misery overtaking you

this unrequited crush was spiraling out of control

strutting over to the bar you take notice of ruthie with another girl sitting at one of the tables and kelce talking to the bartender seeming to be cracking jokes instead of ordering

walking past them you try to keep your gaze relatively low to avoid any sort of interaction. turning into the small hallway of the bar you exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding

the calmness doesn’t last long because as you round the corner to reach the toilets you spot him, standing in front of the mens bathroom, phone in hand and looking quite bored

before you get the chance to look away he lifts his head and notices you, he smiles - you smile back, a very awkward smile

relatively quickly you turn your head away and enter the women’s bathroom. your head becoming a blur, suddenly already washing your hands ready to leave the bathroom

he must’ve left already, right?

''topper are you fucking coming, man?!'', you catch rafe through the door

your plan of immediately leaving and paying him no mind, began to falter two seconds after stepping out of the bathroom

''hey, y/n'', you hear from behind you, shit

you freeze up for a second, caught off guard, before composing yourself and turning around

immediately drawn to him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hair had dried in quite a messy way, his slightly squinted eyes and the slight smirk splayed across his face

''how are you?'' he questions before you had the chance to greet him back

''I’m doing fine'', you manage to exclaim, nearly tripping over your words before adding the usual ''and you?''

you dig in your mind trying to recall the last time you’d exchanged words beyond the usual "hi" or "hey''

''ditto'',

apparently not completely satisified with your answer, he regards you for a moment, the stare causing a warmth to creep up your neck as you shifted uneasily

''why did your friends leave you all alone over there?'', rafe inquired with a raised brow - a hint of curiosity in his tone, ''they seemed to be enjoying themeselves''

letting out a soft exhale you answer him, attempting to maintain eye contact but faltering almost immediately, ''I wasn’t feeling so good'' was all you manage to muster before adding the word, ''dizzy'' in a rather whispered voice, as you lied through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t see through it

if he did, he didn’t let on ''are you feeling better now?’'

you nod quickly, meeting his gaze

looking up at him with those almost innocent eyes, he can’t help but offer, ''are you sure? I can get you a glass of water'', an unrecognisable sweetness laced his voice, softening his usual edge

taken aback by his unexpected offer you hesitate before denying his offer by simply shaking your head

he let out a quiet snort, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched you struggle to give a simple answer

''what book were you reading?'', he asked, his smirk widening as he leaned further back into the wall, clearly amused at the way the conversation was turning into a playful interrogation, as if he found some strange satisfaction in making you squirm just a little bit

you froze, your mind going blank, searching for the title before realising you genuinely couldn’t remember, maybe because you weren’t actually reading the book

like a savior, topper emerged from the bathroom, a flicker of confusion passing across his face as he scanned the scene before moving past you both, muttering a quiet "let’s go," clearly directed at rafe

for a split second, it looked like frustration crossed rafe’s face, fleeting before you could overthink it, flashing you a smile he pushed himself off the wall and made his way past you

but before he completely disappeared out of view, he turned back with a smirk and called over his shoulder,

''hope you enjoyed the show earlier''

oh

[mostly-imagines]

Hi!! If you're up to it do you think you could write something about the first time Jason brings his gf to the manor. Like maybe he brings her in but doesn't tell anyone and so everyone is trying to sneak a glimpse of her??

meet the family

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason has a girlfriend???

warnings: none

The manor sits full as ever—a cloud of mild boredom sweeping over the Wayne clan.

Dick sits perched on top of an armchair reading a catalog, Stephanie’s splayed out across the couch, Cass is bundled up in blankets atop the ottoman, and Damian leans up against the center table from the floor.

It’s a relatively slow afternoon, until Tim comes bursting into the room, out of breath.

“There’s a girl here!”

Everybody looks at him, disinterest scattered across the room. “There’s a couple of ‘em.” Dick says, flipping through the pages of the magazine.

Tim huffs, “No! In Jason’s room—he has a girl in there!” Eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Now I know you’re lying.” Damian mutters.

Tims head snaps over to Damian. “Dude, go see for yourself. I heard her!”

“You really think Jason would bring a girl here and not even introduce us?” Steph asks, unconvinced.

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously.”

Cassandra nods fervently.

“Okay, yeah. Maybe.” Stephanie mutters. “I bet he’ll introduce me before any of you guys, though.”

Dick barks out a laugh, “You’re nothing short of delusional if you think he’s introducing any of us.”

“We’ll have to take matters into our own hands, then.” Tim says, decidedly.

Damian audibly sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I’m meeting her first.” Steph confirms. “I’ll put money down right now.”

“Meet her or see her?” Cass signs.

“Same thing.” Stephanie shrugs.

Dick shoots up from his seat, “First person to see her gets to be the ring bearer!” He announces, racing out of the room.

Knock knock knock knock knock…

Knock knock.

It takes a good forty seconds, but Jason opens the door, an annoyed frown already on his face.

Dick gives him his brightest smile. It beams of deceit in Jason's eyes. “Hey man. What’cha doing?”

He crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Dick tries to peer around Jason into the room, but Jason made a point of barely opening the door and his large frame isn’t doing Dick any favors right now.

“Just wanted to say hey…You wanna hang out?”

“No.”

Dick lingers awkwardly. “…Are you sure?”

Jason shuts the door.

A couple minutes later, Tim comes running up the stairs. He opts to skip over the courtesy of knocking and go straight for barging through the door himself. Or he would’ve, if Jason hadn’t seen that coming from a mile away and locked it.

“Fuck off, Tim!” Jason calls from inside the room.

“You lost your right to privacy the second you walked in this house!” He shouts back, hitting his fist against the door.

And Tim swears he can hear a sweet laugh as he trudges away. The authenticity of that claim will be heavily debated downstairs for the next several minutes.

Not even a thirty seconds later, Stephanie comes a knockin’. Jason opens the door wordlessly, patience clearly dissipating more and more.

“Hey, Jason! I can’t find my comm, you wouldn’t happen to have it, would you?”

His face deadpans. “No, Steph.”

Stephanie clicks her tongue, “Can you check?”

He stares at her.

“Actually you’re right, it would be faster if I did.” Stephanie tries to push past him into the room, but Jason, unsurprisingly, doesn’t budge.

“Stephanie.”

“I just want to meet her!” She pleads. “I won’t even tell the others, I’ll just say you wouldn’t let me in either!”

“Bye.” He closes the door.

He doesn’t make it all the way back to the bed before the next knock, singular and short.

Jason snaps the door open again, looking down at Damian with a glare.

Never one to waste any time, “Is there a girl in here?” Damian asks, seeming thoroughly disinterested in the answer.

Jason shuts the door in his face.

Several minutes later, another, quieter knock. Jason’s groan can be heard from outside the room. He pulls open the door once again.

It’s Cass.

She stares at him.

He stares at her.

“Can I say hi to her?” She signs.

Jason sighs. “I’ll pass along the message.”

She smiles and turns back down the hall.

Jason closes and locks the door once again, trudging back over to the bed where you lay. He collapses onto your chest, your arms wrapping around each others bodies immediately.

“Cass says hi.” He mumbles, the sound obscured by his face-down position.

“That message would be a lot more meaningful if I actually knew Cass.”

He groans. “You don’t want to meet them.”

“I do.” You say, running your fingers through his hair. “And I think you do too, or you wouldn’t have brought me to the house where the world's best detectives live.”

“I’m starting to regret it now.”

“Come on. Please?” You plead.

He picks his head up to look at you.

“Are you sure?” He asks with a grimace.

“Absolutely.” You say, topping it off with a kiss on his cheek.

He sighs.

Well. It’s never been within Jason’s skill set to deny you, anyways.

You descend the stairs hand in hand with Jason, his energy mopier than usual. You can hear a gaggle of voices coming from a room ahead, all talking over one another.

“Okay, Tim, you climb up outside the window and—”

“—It’s your plan, you scale the side of the house.”

Jason drops his head and mutters a “Jesus Christ…” as you near the commotion.

You give him a reassuring smile and pat his back as you both move into the doorway.

Everyone’s heads snap to the doorway, eyes wide and waiting.

Jason takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for torture. “Guys…This is my girlfriend.”

“Hi.” You smile sweetly, waving to the room.

There’s a moment of still silence before the room erupts.

“Hold on—”

“—my god, she’s so pretty!”

“Oh wow—”

“Wait, what?”

”—You’re real?”

“—didn’t place that bet.”

Stephanie comes scurrying up to you and grabs both of your hands in hers. “Hi, I’m Steph!” She says with a beaming smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m—”

But the others are right on her tail, crowding around you.

“We didn’t even know Jason had a girlfriend.” Tim says.

“Still not convinced.” Damian mumbles from the back.

Cass waves and signs something to you.

“She says we’re really happy to meet you, which we are.” Dick tells you.

Damian moves closer within the huddle and inspects you closely. You have no idea what he’s inspecting you for. You don’t need to dwell on it for long because Jason pushes his head away from you with mild force making Damian scowl.

Stephanie chimes in, “Did he bring you here to meet us? The others said—”

Jason cuts her off, already knowing exactly where that sentence was going. “I brought her here to show her my old room.”

Dick snickers, “Oh, is that what you were off doing?”

“Watch it.” Your boyfriend warns.

You nudge him with your elbow, be nice.

Tim moves closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “So you’ve like, spent time with him and everything? And you still want to be around him?”

“Okay and you’re done.” Jason takes your hand and leads you out of the room and back down the hallway.

“No wait!”

You’re already out of the room and into another and then another before you can even realize that you’re headed for the front door.

You stop in your tracks, pulling him to a halt as well. “What about—”

Jason shakes his head. “You don’t want to meet him.”

You lower your chin at him, “Jay. Do you want me to meet him?”

He’s silent and doesn’t look like he particularly does.

You sigh, “Okay, do you want him to meet me?”

“I—yeah…” he trails, and you give him your best sweet eyes, the ones that he knows he has no business saying no to. “I…okay. Okay.”

He leads you down another hallway, the sounds of his siblings clambering echoing in the distance. You end up in a room that looks like a never used study, where Jason pushes on one of the walls. It slides open with a bit of force from him, revealing a door with a keypad next to it.

He types a series of numbers into it, and opens it up to a narrow passageway that looks remarkably like a cave.

The passageway leads down to a set of stairs, and you can hear the loud sound of water in the distance.

You’re quite nervous about walking into the Batcave, but you know Jason wouldn’t bring you anywhere near it unless he was sure it would be okay. Okay for you that is, more so than his father.

“Careful. It’s slippery.” Jason holds your hand the whole way down anyway, making sure to linger no more than a step and a half in front of you.

You see Bruce Wayne, sitting at a desk with a large array of computer screens in front of it, and case files scattered all throughout the surface.

He doesn’t acknowledge your entrance, though you have to imagine if Jason got his observation skills from anywhere, it would be him.

As you approach, Jason switches your hands so that his left is holding your left. The result has his figure half covering you, you can only assume partially limiting Bruce’s view of you.

“Bruce.”

Bruce turns his chair around, regarding Jason with a raised chin. The greeting is somehow even more formal than you’d expected.

“Jason.” He readdresses his gaze to you. “Who’s this?”

Jason has a hell of a feeling that Bruce already knows exactly who you are. He’s probably known about you since you started dating. He would’ve had to, to not be pissed as hell that Jason brought a civilian into the cave.

Jason introduces you, his hand reluctantly letting go as you step forward to shake Bruce’s.

Bruce looks surprised, though pleasantly so. He smiles and shakes it kindly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He says.

“You too, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You say, smiling.

He laughs, “Oh, I bet.” Looking to Jason, he says, “I can’t say I’ve had the same pleasure, unfortunately.”

Though Jason’s behind you now, you can practically feel him roll his eyes.

“No, I can’t imagine him sharing anything unprovoked.” Bruce smiles widely at that.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Jason, who’s probably on the brink of losing his mind down here, interrupts.

“Alright. Time to go.” Jason says, grabbing your hand again. He doesn’t give you much time to protest before he’s guiding you by the waist past him and towards the stairs.

You let him nudge you out and call over your shoulder, “It was nice meeting you!”

He’s halfway up the stairs as you exit, only to be stopped by Bruce addressing him again.

“Jason.”

Jason stalls his steps, turning around slowly. You’re out of the cave now, and Jason’s not excited to be alone with his Dad for even a minute. It doesn’t help that he has no idea what he’ll say.

“She’s kind.” Bruce says, simply.

“Yes.”

He tilts his head at Jason, observing him. “You love her?”

Jason looks at the ground. “Yes.”

Bruce nods. “Good.”

He returns to his work at the computers wordlessly, and Jason has to take a moment to realign himself before he climbs the rest of the stairs.

Jason doesn’t particularly seek his fathers approval, nor does he place any definable value on it. However, hearing him give his own version of his blessing to you struck something inside Jason. Something deep in his chest.

He re-enters the study, finding it empty. He walks out into the hallway, where you’re nowhere to be found. Despite being halfway across the house by this point, he can distinctly hear his siblings chattering in the living room. Chattering. And chattering. And chattering…

Oh god, you went back to the living room.

As Jason approaches the conversation becomes clearer.

“—long have you been together, anyways?”

“Well—”

Stephanie gasps suddenly, cutting you off. “Oh wait, you have to meet Alfred!”

“Oh, we’ve already met.” You tell her.

Dick’s head snaps up. “What? When?”

Jason enters the room, draping his arm around your shoulder. “About six months before you met her.”

A chorus of gasps and shouts ring out.

“What?”

[madthetruemad]

+18, smut, mdni, f!reader, etc.

pt 1

You weren’t used to the attention that John was giving you. Your past partners never caring or giving a damn. So to feel just how much careful attention he is giving your weeping pussy is making your core throb and ache. And when he started to pull his fingers out, it made you whine embarrassingly loud.

The sound made him chuckle as he got up and pulled you along.

“Where- where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

That was another thing that made you almost lose your footing. You were never important enough for a bed. The hard floor or the lumpy, uncomfortable couch was all your dates ever brought you to. In your mind, however, you wouldn’t have minded John’s couch as it was more comfortable than the others you had the displeasure of sitting on.

“Are you sure? What about the mess?”

You couldn’t hide the way your voice wobbled as he ushered you into his room, his foot kicking the door closed as his hands gently worked on your pants, helping you shrug them off along with your panties.

He quirked an eyebrow at you, amusement clear in his features. And when you felt your clothing start to pool at your feet, you found that you were only dressed in your shirt and bra. The cool air made your thighs clench together.

“If I’m going to fuck ya, sweet girl, then it’s going to be in my bed. But before that…,” his voice trailed off as he helped you out of your shirt and unclipped your bra, the articles of clothing joining your jeans and panties, “I said I was going to have you sit on my face next.”

Without getting undressed himself, he pulled you along towards his bed. His hand gently tugging you forward when he sat down on the edge of, you now wedged between his thighs as he rested his hands on your hips, his fingers tracing lazy circles as he kissed your stomach. The feeling of him peppering you with kisses made you squirm.

“Well?”

“H- huh?”

He chuckled at your cluelessness, but didn’t dare make fun of you for it, “though I said where I wanted you to sit, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He leaned back, pushed himself to where he was laying face down whilst pulling you with. Your chest pressed hard against his as he let one of his hands trail and gently squeeze at the fat of your ass.

A part of you always wanted to try, but with your past partners hating the idea of giving you oral while also giving you a clear display of disgust, you sort of dropped the idea entirely.

But John is offering, isn’t he?

He isn’t the type of man to do something he doesn’t want to after all.

“Only if… you really want to,” you manage to say.

“That’s what I am asking you. Do you want to?”

You found yourself gripping at the front of his shirt, the way his fingers worked you open was still imprinted in your cunt, you really want to feel his tongue too.

“Yes, please.”

The moment the words left your mouth, he had you sit up so you were straddling his waist. You tried not to whine out too much when your wet cunt pressed down against his hardening bulge, and he didn’t give you enough time to feel him as he already got a strong hold of your hips again and gently dragging you up.

“You’re so nervous.”

You didn’t know where to put your hands as your bare pussy hovered just over his mouth. None of your previous partners ever really looked to hard at your slick, but John made a point to just analyze all of you.

“I- I can’t help it, I never did something like this before.”

He chuckled softly, his breath gently hitting your cunt making you squirm in his hold, “then I best ruin you for everyone else, huh?”

Not giving you any time to give back a retort, he planted you down, his grip strong as he easily held you in place as his tongue licked a long stripe between your folds. The sudden contact made you squeal as started to lap at you, his tongue not missing a single inch even as he toys with your fluttering hole. The tip of his tongue gently prodding before delving in.

The heat and feeling of his tongue was way different, and even better as he let one of his hands let go of your waist to trail downwards.

Your moans and gasps filled up the quiet bedroom accompanied by the wet sounds your pussy made against his tongue and fingers.

And you think between each flick of his tongue and pump of his fingers that he was right.

He was ruining you for everyone else… that is, if you even want anyone else after this.

[nereidprinc3ss]

be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going. 

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word. 

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—” 

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot? 

“I need to see her.” 

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents. 

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?” 

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.” 

“Sir, unless she—” 

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”  

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard. 

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.” 

Spencer’s frown deepens. 

“She’s refusing pain management?” 

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle. 

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?” 

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face. 

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs. 

You sniff. 

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?” 

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying. 

“Sweetheart...” 

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks. 

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!” 

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.  

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.” 

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm. 

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.” 

You sniffle. 

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?” 

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.” 

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.” 

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair. 

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you. 

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.” 

“Not funny,” you whisper. 

He ignores this. 

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?” 

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs. 

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway. 

“Wait,” you plead.  

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t...” 

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.  

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.” 

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it. 

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did. 

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?” 

At least this time you don’t immediately say no. 

“Will you come right back?” 

“Of course.” 

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead. 

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes. 

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy. 

“Can you lie down with me?” 

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain. 

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.” 

“Spencer.” 

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair. 

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.” 

“Why? Do they still hurt?” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless. 

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?” 

“Clock starts now.” 

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?” 

“Mhm. Love breathing.” 

“Mhm. And your arm?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?” 

“Right. Spencer?” 

“What, my love?” 

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip. 

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?” 

He takes a silent, very deep breath.  

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.” 

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.” 

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.” 

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.” 

He stares at the ceiling and considers this. 

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.” 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.” 

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.” 

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.” 

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.” 

He sighs in mock annoyance. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.” 

You hum. 

“Sexy.” 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.” 

[jupiterpilgrim]

A+ Affair

Yunjin x Male Reader

word count: 11K

[commissioned fic]

The clock on your phone reads five minutes past the hour, and you’re already muttering under your breath as you jog down the hallway, adjusting your messenger bag over one shoulder. Of course, the one time you get assigned a one-on-one consultancy, you’re late. It’s not even your fault—you’d spent the last hour drowning in administrative work, filing reports no one was likely to read, all while wondering why someone thought a graduate student with no actual teaching experience would be the perfect fit to guide an undergrad. But here you are, running behind and feeling grossly underprepared.

When you finally reach the office, your hand hovers over the door handle as you suck in a breath, trying to pull yourself together. You’re supposed to look like you know what you’re doing. Confidence, right? Even if your experience as a teaching assistant has mostly involved stapling worksheets and running occasional errands. This is different—real academic guidance. A chance to prove yourself.

You push open the door, already apologizing before you’ve even looked up.

“Sorry, sorry, I lost track of time—oh.”

Your words catch, and you blink once, twice, to make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you.

She’s sitting sideways in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers lazily scrolling through her phone like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her hair gleams under the fluorescent lighting, every strand impossibly perfect, cascading over her shoulders. She’s wearing a bright, skintight top that clings to her frame, paired with a skirt so short you almost feel scandalized just looking at it. Her legs are bare, crossed just enough to hide anything too revealing, but her thighs look smooth and soft, the kind of thighs that command attention. Her lips—God, her lips are plump, painted in a glossy pink that makes them impossible to ignore.

She doesn’t even notice you’re there.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to proceed. The room feels smaller somehow, warmer, even though she hasn’t looked up from her phone. You straighten your back, pull your bag strap tighter over your shoulder, and clear your throat.

“Uh, hi. I’m, uh—” You stop, mentally berating yourself for sounding like a nervous freshman on their first day. You start again, your voice steadier. “Hi. I’m your teaching assistant, and I’ll be helping you with your exam prep.”

That gets her attention. She looks up, her lips curving into a slow smile as she sets her phone on the desk.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t see you come in.” Her voice is casual, breezy, like she’s greeting an old friend instead of her academic consultant.

“Right. Uh, sorry about being late. That’s on me.” You glance at the desk, trying to focus on the papers and not the way her eyes seem to linger on you for just a moment too long. “Let’s get started.”

“No worries.” She leans back in her chair, her posture relaxed, one leg bouncing slightly as if the whole situation is no big deal to her. “I’m Yunjin, by the way. But I guess you already knew that.”

You nod, forcing yourself to keep your tone professional. “Yeah, I reviewed your file. I'm here to help you prepare for the upcoming exam.”

“Sure, sure. Honestly, I’m just here ‘cause they said I had to be. You know how it is.”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Your grades suggest you might need more than just attendance to pass this exam. I was involved in developing the questions and the material isn’t exactly light.”

Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a glint of something playful in her eyes now, like she’s toying with you. “You don’t have to give me the hard sell, professor.” She says it with a teasing lilt, like she knows exactly how much the title doesn’t fit you. “Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

You stiffen slightly, trying not to let her casual attitude get under your skin. “I’m not a professor, but I take this seriously, and you should too. Business isn’t a subject you can bluff your way through.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that,” she murmurs, tilting her head as she watches you. Her gaze is uncomfortably direct, like she’s sizing you up. “A lot of it’s just networking, right? Who you know, how you present yourself. Pretty sure I’ve got that part down.”

You don’t respond immediately, your focus shifting to the materials in your bag. Her attitude is frustrating, but you remind yourself this is your job—to help, even if the student in question doesn’t seem particularly interested in being helped. You pull out a stack of notes and a syllabus, spreading them on the desk between you.

“All right,” you say, adopting a firmer tone. “This is the outline of what we’ll be covering. We’ll start with foundational concepts—market analysis, competitive strategy—and work our way up to application-based scenarios.”

She picks up one of the papers, glancing at it briefly before setting it back down. “Sounds… riveting,” she says dryly, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You really love this stuff, huh?”

“It’s important,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral. “And it’ll be on the exam, so—”

“Relax,” she interrupts, leaning forward slightly. Her top shifts just enough to reveal a hint of lace beneath, a flash of black that’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’ll pass. I always do.”

You don’t let your gaze linger, but your pulse quickens despite yourself. You force yourself to look at her face, to keep your tone professional. “I'm not here to magically make you pass. The goal is understanding the material. Mastering it.”

“Right,” she says, drawing out the word like she’s indulging you. She rests her chin on her hand, her gaze never leaving yours. “So, how old are you anyway? You don’t look much older than me.”

The question catches you off guard, you hesitate, but tell her your age.

“See?” She grins, leaning back again. “We’re practically the same age. Makes it easier to talk, don’t you think?”

You clear your throat, glancing at the clock. “We should get started. The sooner we dive into the material, the more ground we can cover.”

She shrugs, her smile never fading. “Whatever you say, prof. Lead the way.”

You try to ignore the way she’s looking at you, the playful edge in her tone.

The first ten minutes of the session feel like pulling teeth. You dive into market segmentation with the kind of energy you hope comes off as confident and not desperate. But Yunjin doesn’t seem remotely interested. She’s sprawled out in her chair, phone in hand, her fingers flying across the screen as if this is just a brief interlude in her far more important day.

“So, breaking down a market into segments allows businesses to—”

“Hold up,” she interrupts, barely looking up. “I just need to reply to this real quick.”

Your jaw tightens, but you take a breath, forcing patience. “Yunjin, we only have an hour. The more you focus, the more we can cover.”

“This is focusing,” she says, glancing up with a grin that’s as unapologetic as it is infuriating. “Social media is huge for business. You know that, right? I’ve got to stay active. Engagement is everything.”

You fold your arms, trying to keep your expression neutral. “I don’t think Instagram is going to help you pass your exam.”

“Not Instagram,” she says, her tone lightly mocking. “TikTok. Way bigger reach. I have, like, a hundred thousand followers, by the way. Do you follow me?”

“I don’t have TikTok,” you reply, too quickly.

She raises an eyebrow, like she doesn’t quite believe you. “Seriously? You’re missing out. I bet you’d love my stuff.” She leans forward, flipping her phone around to show you her profile. The screen lights up with videos of her dancing, lip-syncing, or simply posing in various trendy outfits. Her most recent one is captioned ‘CEO vibes only 💼✨’, and she’s twirling in what you think is supposed to be business attire, though it’s as tight and revealing as the clothes she is wearing now.

“That’s… impressive,” you say cautiously, unsure what else to offer.

“Right?” She beams, clearly pleased with herself. “This kind of thing is my future. Marketing, personal branding, the whole package.”

“That’s great, but right now, we’re focusing on your coursework. Market segmentation—”

“Oh, my God, you sound like a textbook,” she says with a laugh, leaning back again. Her skirt rides up just a little higher, and you force yourself to look at your notes instead. “Loosen up, professor. Ever heard of a work-life balance?”

“I’m not a professor,” you mutter under your breath, flipping through the syllabus for the next point.

She doesn’t hear you—or pretends not to. Instead, she picks up her phone again, her attention already elsewhere. You press your lips into a thin line, determined to steer the session back on track.

“All right,” you say, keeping your voice firm. “Let’s try a practical example. Imagine you’re launching a new product. How would you identify your target market?”

She hums thoughtfully, but her focus stays on her phone. “Depends. Am I selling something cute? Sexy? Or, like, functional?”

“Something practical,” you say, trying to engage her. “Let’s say a new line of eco-friendly water bottles.”

She finally looks up, her brow furrowing slightly. “Boring. Can’t we do, like, makeup or clothes or something?”

“Fine,” you relent. “A new line of cosmetics.”

“Now we’re talking.” She sits up straighter, crossing her legs. The movement draws your attention for half a second too long, your eyes flickering to her thighs before you realize what you’re doing. You snap your gaze back to the syllabus, your heart thudding in your chest.

But it’s too late.

“You looking at something, professor?” she teases, her voice light, almost singsong.

You glance up, heat flooding your face. She’s smirking now, her lips curving in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“I was just—” You scramble for an excuse, but she cuts you off.

“It’s fine,” she says, leaning her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You don’t have to be so uptight, you know. We’re both adults here.”

You clear your throat, determined to move past the moment. “Let’s stay on topic. Target markets. Who’s buying your cosmetics?”

She shrugs, clearly unfazed. “Everyone. Duh.”

“That’s too broad,” you counter, grateful for the distraction. “You need to narrow it down. Focus on specific demographics.”

“Okay, fine.” She pretends to think for a moment, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Women in their twenties, I guess. Maybe teens, if it’s affordable. Oh, and influencers, obviously.”

“Good,” you say, nodding. “And how do you reach them?”

“Social media,” she says instantly, her confidence returning. “Instagram, TikTok, YouTube—wherever they’re scrolling.”

“Exactly,” you say, hoping to keep the momentum going. “And what about pricing strategy?”

“Cheap enough to buy, but expensive enough to look fancy,” she says, her lips quirking into a grin. “See? I’m not totally clueless.”

You can’t help but smile, despite yourself. “No, you’re not. But there’s still a lot to cover, and the clock’s ticking.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” she says, though her tone is far from urgent. She picks up her phone again, glancing at the screen before setting it back down with a sigh. “Okay, professor. Teach me.”

You shake your head, already bracing for the next distraction. This session is going to test every ounce of your patience.

—

Your bachelor apartment is the definition of bare-bones living. A twin bed shoved against one wall, a battered desk holding your overworked laptop, a couple of mismatched chairs around a table that’s seen better days. The faint hum of traffic from the campus filters through the window you’ve cracked open to keep the place from feeling too stuffy. You kick your shoes off, tossing your bag onto the floor with a weary sigh. It’s been one of those days—endless errands, an exhausting afternoon of pretending you’re more qualified than you are, and, of course, Yunjin.

She’s been stuck in your head since you left the office. Not intentionally—God, no. But something about her lingers. Maybe it’s the way she never takes anything seriously, or the way she seems so effortlessly self-assured. Like nothing in the world could possibly rattle her. It’s frustrating and impressive all at once.

You collapse onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Yunjin. You know her type, the popular girls who glide through life on charm and good looks, who never have to try as hard as everyone else because people are just drawn to them. You’ve met girls like her before—confident, flirty, always with one eye on their phone. She’s not stupid, though. That much is clear. If anything, she’s sharp in a way that’s hard to pin down. She knows how to navigate people, situations. She knows exactly how much effort to put in to get what she wants and no more.

Your phone buzzes on the bedside table, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pick it up, scrolling aimlessly through emails, notifications, news articles—anything to distract yourself. But your mind keeps circling back. What was it she said earlier? About TikTok?

Before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers are typing the app into the search bar, downloading it in seconds. The interface is unfamiliar at first, a stream of random videos you don’t care about flashing across the screen. But it doesn’t take long to find her.

There she is. Yunjin.__official. The profile picture is exactly what you’d expect—her smiling, hair perfect, lips glossy. Her bio reads: Business student | DM for collabs. She has over a hundred thousand followers.

Your thumb hovers for a moment before you tap on her profile. The screen fills with a grid of her videos, each one a window into her carefully curated world. You tell yourself it’s just curiosity, harmless research. Nothing more.

The first video you watch is one of her dancing in her room, the camera propped up to capture every move. She’s good, you realize, her body moving fluidly, every motion precise and confident. She’s wearing workout gear—tight leggings, a cropped top—and the way the fabric clings to her curves is impossible to ignore.

You swipe to the next video. This one’s more playful, her lip-syncing to some trending audio while twirling in a skirt that flares out with every spin. The lighting is perfect, her makeup flawless, her smile dazzling.

Another video. This time she’s at a party, surrounded by friends, laughing and holding up a cocktail. The camera focuses on her as she leans in close, her expression mischievous, like she’s sharing a secret with the viewer.

You watch another. Then another.

Each one is different, but they all share the same energy—bright, vibrant, captivating. It’s no wonder she’s amassed such a following. She knows exactly how to play to the camera, how to draw people in.

Your gaze lingers a little too long on one video where she’s wearing a bikini, lounging by a pool. Her legs stretch out, her skin glistening in the sunlight. She flips her hair back, laughing at something offscreen, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.

You snap your phone shut like it’s burned you, your heart pounding. What the hell are you doing?

This is stupid. It’s late, and you’re tired, and wasting time on a student’s TikTok profile isn’t just unprofessional—it’s downright pathetic. You toss your phone onto the bedside table, rolling onto your back and running a hand over your face.

Your apartment is too quiet now, the silence pressing down on you. You close your eyes, willing yourself to think of something else. Anything else.

It takes longer than it should, but eventually, sleep claims you.

—

The next meeting starts much the same as the last—her sitting in the chair like she owns the room, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through her phone with that same carefree attitude. You, on the other hand, feel like a bundle of nerves disguised as authority. But this time, you’ve come prepared.

“Hey, professor,” she says without looking up, her voice dripping with casual familiarity.

You close the door behind you, shaking your head. “Still not a professor.”

She grins, finally putting her phone face-down on the desk. “What’s up? Ready for another thrilling lecture?”

“I hope you’re ready,” you reply, pulling out a folder and setting it on the desk between you. “Did you study the material we went over last time?”

“Of course,” she says, all bright confidence. “I’m a great multitasker. I was studying while managing my social media. Killed two birds with one stone.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, not buying it for a second. “Right. Let’s see how much of it stuck.”

She raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You pull out a single-page worksheet, sliding it across the desk toward her. “It means I put together a quick assignment to see where you’re at. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes if you really studied.”

The grin drops from her face, replaced by a look of mock outrage. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

She picks up the sheet, scanning it quickly. “This looks like… work. Like actual work.”

“That’s because it is.” You cross your arms, leaning against the desk. “If you want to pass the exam, you need to prove you understand the material. And this is a good way to do that.”

“Ugh, you’re such a hardass,” she groans, slumping back in her chair dramatically.

You bite back a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She sets the sheet down, giving you a long, appraising look. “You really aren’t gonna let me off the hook, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Not even if I—” She stops, her lips curving into a sly smile as if she’s considering something. But then she shrugs, brushing it off. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” You hand her a pen, feeling a small sense of victory.

She takes it with a sigh, tapping the end against the desk as she glances at the first question. “This is such a buzzkill, you know that? You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Lucky me,” you deadpan, pulling out your own notes to review while she works.

For the next few minutes, the room is quiet except for the scratch of her pen against the paper. You glance up occasionally, trying to gauge her progress. She looks focused enough—her brows furrowed slightly, lips pursed in concentration—but there’s still a glint of mischief in her eyes whenever she glances your way.

After about ten minutes, she sets the pen down with a flourish. “Done. Happy now?”

“Let’s find out.” You pick up the sheet, scanning her answers. They’re… not terrible. A little rushed, a little surface-level, but not the disaster you were expecting.

“Well?” she prompts, leaning her chin on her hand. “Did I pass the pop quiz?”

“You did… okay,” you admit. “There’s room for improvement, but it’s a start.”

She beams, like you just handed her an A. “See? Told you I was a multitasking queen.”

You roll your eyes, setting the sheet down. “This isn’t about just getting by, Yunjin. If you actually put in the effort, you could do really well in this course. Maybe even excel.”

“Mm, but where’s the fun in that?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze sharper than usual. “You’re so serious all the time. Don’t you ever just… I don’t know, relax?”

“This isn’t about me,” you reply, sidestepping the question. “This is about you passing your exam.”

She leans back, her smile widening. “You’re really committed to this whole responsible TA thing, huh? It’s kind of cute.”

You stiffen slightly at the word, but she doesn’t give you time to respond.

“Don’t worry,” she adds, grabbing her phone and flipping it over in her hands. “Like I said: I’ll pass. I always do.”

You let out a breath, half-exasperated, half-resigned. “You can’t just coast through everything, Yunjin.”

“Why not?” she asks, her tone light but her gaze steady. “It’s been working pretty well so far.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. For a moment, it feels like she’s challenging you, testing you, waiting to see how far you’ll push back.

You clear your throat, breaking the tension. “Next time, we’ll cover case studies. Real-world applications.”

She laughs, standing and stretching lazily. “Sure thing, professor. Can’t wait.”

As she walks out, phone already in hand, you sigh in relief that this session is over.

—

The apartment feels particularly quiet tonight, the faint hum of your desk lamp filling the space as you sift through a mountain of notes and research papers. It’s Friday, but for you, that doesn’t mean a night out or some kind of social escapade. It means working on your thesis, chipping away at the endless grind that defines grad school life. A cup of lukewarm coffee sits forgotten by your elbow, the words on the page starting to blur together.

Your phone buzzes against the table, a sudden break in the monotony. You glance at the screen, expecting some automated notification or maybe a text from one of your few friends. Instead, it’s from Yunjin.

Hey, I need your opinion on something.

You blink at the message, confused. It’s late—too late for anything academic, and even if it weren’t, why would she need your opinion? You tap out a quick reply, keeping it neutral.

I think you sent this to the wrong person.

Her response comes almost immediately.

Nope. It’s for you. You’re my TA, right? You’re supposed to help me with stuff.

You frown, staring at the screen. This has nothing to do with schoolwork. You type back, trying to keep your tone professional.

My number is for college purposes only. If you have a question about the material, we can go over it during our next session.

But she’s not backing down.

This is important. What should I wear to a party?

Before you can even think of how to respond, a picture pops up in the chat.

It’s her, of course. She’s standing in front of a mirror, holding her phone up to capture the shot. She’s wearing a tight, shimmery silver dress that clings to her body, hugging her curves in a way that makes it impossible to look away. Her hair falls perfectly over her shoulders, and the slit in the dress shows off one of her legs, long and toned.

Your mouth goes dry, and you look away from the screen, as if that might undo the fact that you’ve seen it. Another buzz.

Or this one?

You glance back despite yourself. The next picture shows her in a cropped black top and a leather mini skirt, her midriff on full display. Her lips are slightly parted in the photo, her eyes half-lidded, like she’s halfway into the party already.

You sit back in your chair, running a hand over your face. What the hell is she doing? This is completely inappropriate. You’re her teaching assistant, not her personal stylist. You type out another reply, this one more curt.

Yunjin, this isn’t appropriate. My role is strictly academic. I can’t help you with this.

But she’s relentless.

Relax, it’s no big deal. Just tell me which one’s better. It’s not like I’m asking you to come to the party.

Your phone buzzes again. A third picture.

This time, she’s in a red dress that’s somehow even more daring than the others. The neckline plunges low, the hemline barely brushing her thighs. She’s biting her lip in this one, a playful glint in her eyes that makes your stomach twist.

You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to focus. You’re not going to get dragged into whatever game she’s playing. You reply quickly, keeping your tone as detached as possible.

The black one is fine. Have fun.

Her response comes almost instantly.

I knew you’d like that one 😏

You exhale sharply, annoyed at yourself for even engaging with this. Your hands hover over the keyboard, trying to think of a way to end this conversation. But before you can, another message pops up.

I already miss our fun study sessions, you know. You’re so serious all the time—it’s cute.

You grip your phone tightly, trying to keep your temper in check. She’s toying with you, that much is obvious. You remind yourself she’s just a student—an infuriating, distracting student who doesn’t seem to understand boundaries.

Don’t party too hard. And remember to study.

Her reply is quick, as if she’s been waiting for it.

You’re such a buzzkill, professor. See you next week 😘

You set your phone down, staring at it like it might explode. Things are only getting worse, and you fear what's yet to come.

—

The moment you step into the office, you’re greeted by the familiar sight of Yunjin lounging in her chair like she’s waiting for a casual coffee date, not an academic session. Today, her outfit is as striking as ever—a snug, low-cut blouse paired with a skirt that rides just high enough to make you uncomfortable. She’s scrolling through her phone, as always, her attention miles away from the materials you’ve prepared.

“Good afternoon,” you say, trying to inject some authority into your tone as you set your bag down on the desk.

She glances up briefly, flashing you that disarming smile. “Hey, professor.”

“Not a professor,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Ready to get started?”

“Always,” she replies, but the way she lazily props her chin on her hand suggests otherwise.

You pull out the case study you’ve prepared, laying out the printed pages in front of you. “Today, we’re focusing on real-world applications. Case studies are a key part of the exam, so—”

Her phone buzzes, and she glances down, her fingers flying across the screen as she types out a reply. You stop mid-sentence, your patience already wearing thin.

“Yunjin,” you say sharply, and her eyes flick up to meet yours, wide and innocent.

“What? I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not. You’re on your phone. Again.”

She smirks, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, okay, you caught me. But in my defense, multitasking is a valuable skill in business, right?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. “You need to focus. This material is important, and if you don’t take it seriously, you’re going to fail.”

She pouts, tilting her head to the side. “Maybe it’s just hard to focus because you’re way over there. Don’t you think it’d be easier if you sat next to me?”

You hesitate, eyeing the empty chair beside her. There’s something about the way she’s looking at you—half-teasing, half-challenging—that makes your skin prickle. But you can’t think of a valid excuse to say no, so with a resigned sigh, you pick up your notes and move to the seat beside her.

“Happy now?” you ask, your tone clipped.

“Much,” she says, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

You try to steer the session back on track, pointing to the first section of the case study. “This example looks at how a small business expanded its market share by identifying underserved demographics—”

“Do I make you nervous?” she interrupts, her voice low and almost playful.

You freeze for a split second, caught off guard. “What?”

She leans in slightly, her hair brushing her shoulder as she studies you with an amused glint in her eyes. “You seem a little tense. Like I’m throwing you off your game.”

“I’m not nervous,” you reply stiffly, focusing on the papers in front of you.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, clearly unconvinced. Her hand shifts on the table, and for a moment, her fingers brush against yours—light, fleeting, but enough to send a jolt through you.

You pull your hand back, pretending to adjust the papers. “Can we focus, please?”

“I am focused,” she says, feigning innocence. “But you’re not making it easy. Maybe if you loosened up a little—”

“Yunjin,” you cut her off, your tone sharper than you intended. “This isn’t a game. Either you take this seriously, or we’re wasting both our time.”

She blinks at you, her lips parting in mock surprise. “Wow, look at you, laying down the law. That’s kind of hot.”

You ignore the comment, flipping to the next section of the case study. “This part covers the importance of pricing strategy in competitive markets. I want you to read through it and summarize the key points.”

“Ugh, homework, really?” she groans, slumping in her chair.

“It’s not homework. It’s research,” you correct. “I expect you to come back with a full summary by—”

“Can’t I have, like, a week?” she interrupts, her tone dripping with exaggerated pleading.

“No,” you say firmly. “Three days.”

“Three days? Are you serious?”

“Yes. And if you keep complaining, I’ll make it two.”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s a spark of amusement behind the irritation. “You’re ruthless, professor.”

“Not a professor,” you mutter again, gathering your things. “And I’m serious about the deadline. If you want to pass, you need to put in the effort.”

She sighs dramatically, but there’s a playful edge to it. “Fine. You win. Three days.”

“Good. We can end it here. Use your free time to start your research.” You stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll see you at the next session.”

“Can’t wait,” she says, her smile lingering as you walk to the door.

—

The apartment feels like a safe haven when you finally stumble inside, just tipsy enough to make your head feel light but not so much that you’re completely out of it. The air smells faintly of leftover takeout and stale coffee, the way it always does after a long week. Your shoes hit the floor near the door, and you don’t bother picking them up. Instead, you head straight for the couch, collapsing with a heavy sigh.

You needed that night out—needed the drinks, the music, the laughter with friends. It wasn’t anything wild; just a low-key bar near campus, a few rounds of beer, and some half-baked attempts at catching up with everyone’s lives. But it was still more social interaction than you’d had in weeks. Between your own academic deadlines and the increasingly complicated ordeal of tutoring Yunjin, you’d been feeling stretched thin.

Yunjin. Of course, she slips into your thoughts now, the alcohol softening the usual mental barriers you keep firmly in place. She’s been a handful—distracting, playful, unpredictable. And yet, despite every attempt to keep things professional, you can’t stop thinking about her.

Reaching for your phone, you unlock it almost without realizing, falling into the familiar trap of social media scrolling. You tell yourself you’re just unwinding, but before long, you’re typing her name into the TikTok search bar.

Her profile lights up the screen, her most recent video already autoplaying. It’s her dancing again, this time in a sleek black dress that hugs her figure in all the right places. She moves effortlessly to the beat, her smile teasing, her gaze aimed directly at the camera. She looks… stunning.

You swipe to the next video, then the next, each one somehow more captivating than the last. It’s like she knows exactly how to grab attention, how to hold it. Your head feels warm, your thoughts fuzzy as you watch her, your focus narrowing down to just her.

When you finally snap out of it, guilt crashes over you like a wave. What the hell are you doing? You close the app, shaking your head, but the image of her lingers, burned into your mind.

Maybe something else will clear your head. You open Instagram, her profile is the first suggestion, she's posted new stories, but you don't dare watch them. You refuse to give her the satisfaction of knowing you're checking up on her. So, you settle for mindlessly scrolling through her feed, trying not to linger on any one post for too long, until you remember Twitter—X, as you don't like to call it.

The one platform you still use regularly. You tell yourself it’s just to check the news or see what your friends are up to, but before you know it, you’re scrolling through Yunjin’s tweets.

“Some guys are so oblivious it’s cute 🙄💖”

Your heart skips a beat. You scroll down, only to find more.

“It’s kind of cute, though. Watching him pretend he’s not into me. Playing hard to get? Or just clueless?”

Another tweet.

“Bet he’s thinking about me right now. ;)”

You swallow hard, your thumb hovering over the screen. Is she… talking about you? No, that’s ridiculous. She’s a student. You’re her TA. But the way she’s been acting—the teasing, the flirting, the way she always seems to have you off-balance—it’s hard not to wonder. Still, you tell yourself it’s just a coincidence. There’s no way she’s—

And then it happens. Your thumb slips, tapping the heart icon before you even realize what you’ve done.

“Shit,” you mutter, staring at the bright red heart like it’s mocking you. Your pulse spikes as you fumble to undo it, the screen blurring for a second as you scramble to fix your mistake. You tap the heart again, the red disappearing, but the damage is done. But has she already seen it? Does Twitter even notify people that fast? Your heart is pounding, your brain racing through worst-case scenarios.

You toss your phone onto the couch, running a hand through your hair. Maybe she didn’t notice. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe, for once, luck will be on your side.

But as you sit there, the room spinning slightly, the thought nags at you. What if she knows? What if this is exactly the kind of confirmation she’s been waiting for?

The alcohol isn’t helping. It’s making everything feel bigger, heavier, more immediate. You grab your phone again, staring at the screen like it might offer you answers. But there’s nothing. No notifications, no messages.

You drop your head into your hands, groaning softly. You’re not helping yourself in this situation.

—

The door feels heavier than usual as you push it open, the familiar office waiting for you inside. You’re gripping your bag tightly, trying to shake off the nerves that have been building since last night. The tweets, the like, the un-like—it’s been on your mind nonstop. But you keep telling yourself she didn’t notice. She couldn’t have.

The air is warmer today, and as usual, Yunjin is already seated, legs crossed, phone in hand. She’s wearing a fitted blouse with the top buttons undone and a pleated skirt that rides high on her thighs, her usual flair for turning any setting into her personal stage.

“Good afternoon,” you say, your voice coming out strained despite your best effort to sound composed.

“Hey, professor,” she greets, glancing up with a lazy smile before setting her phone down. “Oh, wait. Not a professor. Just my very dedicated teaching assistant.”

You ignore the tease, sitting at your usual spot across the table. “I assume you’ve brought the research I asked for?”

Her expression shifts, and she gives you a sheepish smile, leaning back in her chair. “About that…”

“Yunjin. Don’t tell me—”

“I didn’t finish it,” she says quickly, holding up her hands as if to ward off your reaction. “The deadline was so short! And I had other stuff going on. It’s not like I didn’t try—I just couldn’t get it done in time.”

You lean back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You promised to take this seriously.”

“I am taking it seriously,” she insists, though her tone is more casual than apologetic. “It’s just… you didn’t give me much time.”

“That’s because this is supposed to be a priority,” you snap, unable to hide your frustration.

She pouts slightly, leaning forward. “Look, I’ll finish it. I’ll email it to you later tonight. Then we can talk about it during the next session. Deal?”

You exhale sharply, clearly irritated, but you nod. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to waste today.”

“Thanks, professor,” she says, her smile returning, bright and unbothered.

You pull out her last exam, sliding it across the table. “Let’s go over this instead. Your answers weren’t terrible, but they were surface-level. You’re missing depth, and that’s going to hurt you in the final.”

She groans softly but leans forward, propping her chin on her hand. “Okay, fine. Teach me.”

As you begin reviewing her answers, pointing out areas for improvement, she suddenly interrupts. “Can you sit next to me? It’s easier to see the paper that way.”

You hesitate for a moment before moving to the chair beside her, trying not to overthink it. She scoots closer, and you force yourself to focus on the exam in front of you, walking her through the corrections.

To your surprise, she’s paying attention for once, asking questions and even jotting down notes. But every so often, you catch her looking at you, her lips curving into a small smile when your eyes meet. It’s distracting—too distracting.

“Are you even listening?” you ask, your tone sharper than intended.

“Of course,” she replies, her smile widening. “I just like how serious you look when you’re explaining stuff. It’s cute.”

You ignore the comment, pushing through the rest of the review until, finally, the session is over. Relief washes over you as you start packing up, eager to put distance between you and the lingering tension in the room.

“Well, I’ll see you next time,” you say, standing and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

But just as you’re about to leave, Yunjin speaks up. “Oh, by the way…”

You pause, turning back to her. “What?”

Her smile turns sly, her gaze locking onto yours. “I know you’ve been stalking me.”

Your heart skips a beat, panic rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs casually. “Twitter, professor. You liked my tweet last night. Even if you un-liked it right after, I still got the notification.”

Your face flushes hot, and you stammer out a denial. “That was—it was an accident. I wasn’t stalking you.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, clearly amused. “Sure, it was an accident. But you’ve been watching my TikToks too, haven’t you? Don’t worry, I don’t mind. I mean, you must like what you see, right?”

“Yunjin,” you say sharply, trying to regain control of the situation. “This is inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” she echoes, feigning innocence. “You’re the one watching my videos. I’m just offering to help.”

She leans forward slightly, her voice dropping to a playful murmur. “There are some pictures I can’t post online, but if you’re interested, I could send them to you directly. Just say the word.”

Your throat feels tight, your heart pounding in your ears. “Enough,” you say, your voice firm despite your growing discomfort. “This conversation is over. Focus on finishing your research, and I’ll see you at the next session.”

Before she can respond, you turn and leave, the door clicking shut behind you. Your pulse is racing as you walk down the hallway, the weight of her words pressing heavily on your chest. Whatever game Yunjin is playing, you need to figure out how to stop her, because she's winning. And she knows it.

—

The meeting room is stuffy, filled with the low hum of conversation as teachers and teaching assistants shuffle through papers, laptops glowing on the table. Discussions blur together—deadlines, assignment structures, grading systems. It’s a routine part of the job, but today, the monotony feels heavier than usual. You’ve barely slept, and the endless logistics are starting to drag you down.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, a tiny lifeline in the sea of boredom. Pulling it out discreetly, you glance at the screen. The message is from Yunjin, which immediately gets your attention. Maybe she’s finally sent the research.

You unlock the screen, expecting a quick note about emailing the document. Instead, you freeze.

The photo stares back at you, and for a moment, your brain short-circuits. Yunjin is lying on a bed, her body draped in sheer lingerie that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Her lips are pouty, glossy, her eyes half-lidded as she gazes directly into the camera. The curve of her hips, the delicate lace barely covering her small breasts—you almost drop your phone on the floor.

Your stomach twists in a mix of shock and something far more raw.

You glance up quickly, scanning the room. No one’s looking at you—everyone’s absorbed in their own work. But the heat rising in your face makes you paranoid. You tilt your phone slightly, shielding the screen from view, and scroll down, hoping for clarification.

Another photo.

This time, the angle is wider, showing her sprawled on her bed with a laptop propped up in front of her. The message accompanying it reads:

Finishing my research. Thought you’d want proof I’m working hard 😉

The sheer lingerie is even more revealing in this shot, the delicate fabric hugging her curves, the way her breasts press against the lace, the faint outline of her nipples—it’s too much. Your dick stirs in your pants, completely out of your control, and you have to shift in your seat to keep yourself from reacting further.

You type back quickly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

You didn’t need to send pictures. Just the research would’ve been fine.

Her reply is almost instant.

But I wanted to show you I’m putting in the effort. Don’t you think I deserve a little reward?

Your pulse spikes, and you grip your phone tighter. What the hell is she doing? You take a slow breath, forcing yourself to focus.

Your reward will be getting an A on the exam. That’s the goal, right?

Her response is teasing, playful.

Oh, I’ve got another exam I want an A on. And I know I can ace it.

Your jaw clenches, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, trying to keep your expression neutral as you glance around the room again. No one seems to notice your distraction, but the heat creeping up your neck makes you feel exposed.

You type back, your fingers moving quickly.

Just focus on finishing the research. That’s all that matters right now.

She doesn’t back down.

Fine, but don’t forget about my reward, professor. I worked really hard on this, you know.

Before you can think it through, your fingers type a reply that surprises even you.

I’ll think about it later.

Her next message comes with a string of emojis—a cheer, a wink, a heart. Then:

Yay! You’re the best 🥰. Don’t stress too much, okay?

You set your phone down, turning it face-down on the table like that might somehow erase the conversation from existence. But the damage is done. Your heart is pounding, your mind racing, and the tension in your body is impossible to ignore.

What the hell are you doing? You’re losing control of the situation—of yourself—and Yunjin knows it. She’s toying with you, testing your boundaries, and the worst part is, you can’t seem to stop her.

—

The air feels charged the moment you step into the office. Yunjin’s sitting there, but there’s something different about her today—her confidence is practically radiating off her. She’s wearing a strapless crop top that clings to her figure, showing her toned stomach, and a skirt so short it rides high on her thighs when she crosses her legs. Her hair is styled to perfection, glossy and smooth, and her lips are painted a shade of red that’s just subtle enough to feel dangerous.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure. The memory of her last text conversation is still fresh, and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. But this is supposed to be a professional setting. You remind yourself of that as you set your bag down on the table and pull out her research paper that you printed.

“Well,” you begin, keeping your tone steady. “I have to say, I’m impressed. You really outdid yourself with this.”

Her smile widens, and she leans forward slightly in her chair. “You really think so?”

“I do,” you admit, holding up the paper. “You dug into the material, analyzed it well. It’s thorough. If you put this much effort into your exam, you’ll have no problem passing.”

She stands then, smooth and deliberate, and your chest tightens as she closes the distance between you. “When I thought about how proud you’d be,” she says, her voice soft and teasing, “I couldn’t help but try a little harder.”

You lean against the table, trying to create some distance, but it doesn’t help. She’s right there, standing just close enough for you to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

“This is our last session before the exam,” you say, your voice tight. “Let’s focus on going over your research. We’ll review the points you brought—”

Before you can finish, she reaches out and snatches the paper from your hand. Her eyes gleam with mischief as she steps even closer, tilting her head to look up at you.

“What about my reward?” she asks, her voice dropping into a lower, sultrier tone.

Your blood heats instantly, your pulse pounding in your ears. You take a sharp breath, trying to push the rising tide of desire back down. “Yunjin,” you say, your tone edged with warning. “We don’t have time for this. Your exam is right around the corner—”

“Forget about the damn exam,” she interrupts, her voice firm but still teasing. “I don’t care about that right now.”

Her finger presses lightly against your chest, trailing downward over your shirt. The touch is electric, sending sparks down your spine, and for a moment, you can’t move.

“Yunjin,” you whisper, her name catching in your throat.

She steps closer, her body brushing yours, her lips curving into that maddening smile. “Stop pretending you’re not into me,” she murmurs.

“This is unethical,” you say, your voice strained, but even you can hear the weakness in it.

“No one has to know,” she counters, her finger still moving slowly down your chest. Her voice drops again, turning into a near whisper. “What did you do with the pictures I sent you? Hm?”

You freeze, your breath catching.

“I bet you jerked off to them,” she continues, her words deliberate and slow. “I bet you imagined me on that bed, in that lingerie. I bet you imagined fucking me.”

It’s too much. The tension, the temptation, the way she’s looking at you with those half-lidded eyes—it all boils over. Before you can stop yourself, you grab her, your hands gripping her waist as you kiss her hard.

She gasps softly against your mouth, her body tensing in surprise, but she recovers quickly, her hands sliding up to your shoulders as she kisses you back with just as much heat. Her lips are soft and plush, tasting faintly of gloss, and the way she moves against you is intoxicating.

Your hands move instinctively, one sliding up her back while the other presses against her hip. Her skin is warm beneath the thin fabric of her top, and the closeness of her body only stokes the fire burning inside you.

Without breaking the kiss, you guide her toward the door, fumbling with the lock until you hear the satisfying click. It’s only then that you let yourself acknowledge what’s happening, fully giving in to the need that’s been building for weeks.

She pulls back slightly, her breath coming in quick gasps as she looks up at you, her eyes wide and dark with desire.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, your voice rough, your hands still holding her tightly.

She smiles, slow and wicked. “Yes,” she whispers.

Your grip tightens on her waist, and you push her back against the wall, your lips finding hers again with even more urgency. Her hands slide up into your hair, tugging lightly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine.

This girl—she’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, never felt this out of control. And for once, you don’t care.

Your hands fumble with the belt at your waist, the leather slipping through the loops as you tug it free with an urgency that borders on desperation. The metal buckle clinks loudly in the otherwise silent room, and Yunjin smiles, leaning back against the wall, looking so damn pleased with herself. Her lips are parted, her chest rising and falling in anticipation, and that smug expression on her face only makes the heat inside you burn hotter.

“You have no idea how much you’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” you growl, your voice low and rough, barely able to contain the frustration and desire that have been building for what feels like forever.

Her smile turns into a wicked grin, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Then show me,” she whispers, her voice soft but daring. “Show me how crazy I’ve made you.”

You shove your pants down, along with your boxers, kicking them off with your shoes in one quick motion. Your cock springs free, hard and aching, the weight of it hanging heavy between your legs. The cool air against your skin only heightens the tension crackling in the room.

Yunjin’s eyes drop immediately, her tongue flicking over her lips as she takes you in, and for once, she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. The look on her face says it all.

Your hands move to her hips, and you yank her skirt up roughly, the fabric bunching around her waist. That’s when you see it—she’s not wearing any panties. Nothing at all. The curve of her bare ass, the glistening heat between her thighs, it’s all there, shamelessly on display.

“You little whore,” you hiss, your fingers digging into her soft flesh.

“Yes,” she breathes, arching her back and pressing her ass against you. “I am. I’ve been waiting for you to finally notice.”

“Well, you’ve got my attention now,” you snap, your voice heavy with a mix of irritation and raw lust.

Without another word, you drop to your knees, grabbing her hips to steady her as you position yourself behind her. Her ass is sticking out, her body pressed against the wall, her legs slightly parted. The sight of her like this, so willing, so ready—it’s almost too much.

You spread her cheeks, exposing her fully to you, and you’re met with the sight of her pussy, already slick and glistening, her arousal shining in the dim light of the room. The smell of her hits you instantly—sweet and musky, intoxicating.

Leaning in, you drag your tongue over her folds, slow and deliberate, tasting her for the first time. She gasps, her body jerking slightly at the contact, and her hands press against the wall for support.

“Fuck,” she moans, her voice high and needy. “More.”

You don’t hesitate. You bury your face between her thighs, your tongue sliding through her wetness, exploring every inch of her. You flick your tongue over her clit, and she lets out a loud, breathy moan, her hips grinding back against your face.

Her taste is addictive, her slick heat coating your lips and tongue as you work her over. You grip her thighs, spreading her wider, giving yourself more access as you suck her clit into your mouth, rolling your tongue over the sensitive nub.

“Shit, that feels so good,” she whimpers, her voice breathless. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her gasp again, and you dive back in, fucking her with your tongue before moving back to her clit. She’s dripping now, her juices slicking your chin, but you don’t care. All you can think about is how good she tastes, how perfect she feels under your tongue.

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her fingers curling against the wall as she pushes her hips back, practically riding your face. “Yes, fuck, just like that,” she cries, her voice breaking. “More. I need more.”

And you give it to her. Your fingers dig into Yunjin’s soft, perfect ass, the same one you’ve seen flaunted all over Instagram and TikTok—dancing, teasing, making you want something you shouldn't. But now it's here, in your hands, trembling under your touch as your tongue drags through her soaked folds again. She's moaning, gasping, her body pressing harder into the wall, and you can feel the way she’s falling apart, unraveling under your mouth.

“Oh fuck, professor,” she gasps, her voice dripping with something between amusement and desperation. You know she’s doing it on purpose—calling you that even though you’re just the teaching assistant, pushing buttons, seeing how far she can take it now that you’ve finally snapped.

You don’t care anymore.

Your grip tightens, fingers sinking into her flesh possessively, your tongue working faster, harder. Yunjin’s hips jerk, her thighs quivering, and she whines, that high-pitched, needy sound that makes your cock throb painfully with desire. Her juices are all over your mouth, dripping down your chin, and you don’t stop, don’t let up, because you need her to know she’s not in control anymore.

“I knew you'd be good at this,” she breathes, pushing her hips back into your face, rocking against you shamelessly. “All that self-control... gone.”

You groan into her, the vibrations making her moan louder, her fingers clawing at the wall for support. She's a mess, squirming, panting, but you pull back suddenly.

She gasps, looking over her shoulder with a half-lidded, fucked-out expression. “W-why’d you stop?”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips glistening with her slick, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Because I need more.”

Before she can say anything, you're standing up, pressing your body against hers, the heat of her skin making everything more real, more alive. Your hands grab her hips roughly, and you feel her shiver when your cock, hard and aching, presses against the dripping heat between her thighs.

She lets out a sharp gasp when you slide the tip in, her pussy so tight, squeezing you instantly, and yet so slick from your mouth that you slide deeper without resistance. Her hands slam against the wall, her mouth falling open in shock. “Oh, fuck, you—you're so—”

You don’t let her finish. You grip her waist and thrust in deeper, stretching her inch by inch, and she melts against you, her breathy moans echoing in the small office. Her tight heat wraps around you perfectly, and it’s fucking perfect, the way she clenches down, her body welcoming you with every movement.

“You didn’t think I’d actually fuck you like this, did you?” you murmur against her ear, your voice rough, dark.

She whimpers, pushing back against you, her nails scratching the wall. “I hoped,” she gasps, her voice breaking when you thrust harder, slamming her hips against the wall. “I wanted you to, so fucking bad—”

Your grip on her tightens, your hands roaming over her body, gripping her hips, her waist, her ass—claiming her, branding her. She’s yours now, and she knows it.

“Then take it,” you growl, pounding into her harder, your hips slamming against hers. Yunjin cries out, her body arching, her head falling back against your shoulder as she surrenders completely.

She's giving herself to you, and you take everything.

Your hips snap forward, slamming into Yunjin’s tight, slick pussy with a rhythm that grows rougher, harder, more desperate by the second. Her moans are high and breathless, rising with each thrust.

But it’s not enough.

Your hands slide up her body, greedy and possessive, until they reach her small, almost-flat chest. The crop top she’s wearing clings to her like a second skin, and it’s been driving you insane since you entered the room. She had to do this—she had to tease you, prance around in those tiny fucking tops like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.

Gripping the hem, you yank it down roughly, baring her breasts in one swift motion. They’re small, just barely enough to fill your hands, but perfect. Perfect in a way that makes your head spin. Her nipples are already hard, tight little buds that beg for your attention, and you don’t hold back.

“God, I’ve been imagining this,” you growl, cupping her tits, rolling her nipples between your fingers. The soft gasp that leaves her lips only spurs you on, your voice dark and raw. “Ever since the first day I saw you in one of these slutty little tops. I wanted to do this. I wanted to see these tits—these fucking perfect tits you love to show off.”

Yunjin cries out, arching her back, pushing her chest into your hands. “Fuck,” she gasps, her voice trembling with pleasure. “I knew you wanted me, professor. I could feel it. And now you’ve got me. You’ve got me so fucking wet.”

Your cock twitches inside her at her words, and you thrust harder, making her yelp, her thighs shaking against you. “You’re the kind of girl who drives me insane,” you admit, your hands still kneading her breasts, tugging her nipples, making her moan louder.

“Yeah?” she pants, turning her head to look at you over her shoulder, her eyes dark with lust. “Am I your type? Is that it? You like slutty girls like me?”

You groan, your hands sliding down to her waist, gripping her tightly as you fuck her harder. “Yes,” you growl through clenched teeth. “That’s the fucking problem. Girls like you—slutty little teases who know exactly what they’re doing—drive me out of my goddamn mind.”

She lets out a choked laugh, her head dropping forward as you hammer into her, her body jolting against the wall. “Then go crazy,” she whispers, her voice dripping with challenge.

Something in you snaps. You pull out suddenly, ignoring her whimper of protest, and grab her roughly by the hips. Turning her around, you lift her onto the table in one swift motion, throwing her onto her back with no hesitation. Her skirt is still bunched around her waist, and her crop top is shoved down, her bare tits on full display as she sprawls out in front of you.

You lean over her, grabbing one of her breasts and taking the nipple into your mouth, sucking hard. Yunjin cries out, her back arching off the table, her hands flying to your hair as she holds you there.

“Oh my god,” she moans, her voice shaking. “Yes, yes, suck them. Fuck, that feels so good—”

You switch to the other nipple, your tongue flicking over the hardened peak before you suck it into your mouth, drawing another loud, breathless moan from her. She’s squirming under you, her thighs spreading wider as her hands tug at your hair, desperate for more.

When you finally pull back, her chest is heaving, her skin flushed, her lips parted in a way that makes your cock throb. You grip her hips, dragging her to the edge of the table, and position yourself between her legs.

The sight of her like this—her skirt pushed up, her top pulled down, her bare tits rising and falling with every shaky breath—is enough to make you lose what little control you have left. She looks like a slutty schoolgirl, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining her like that, teasing every teacher she’s ever had until she found one who finally gave in.

“You look like such a fucking slut,” you growl, lining yourself up and slamming into her in one hard thrust.

Yunjin cries out, her head falling back against the table, her hands flying to your arms as you grip her hips and start fucking her again. “I am,” she whimpers, her voice high and desperate. “I’m your slut.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

Your hips move like they have a mind of their own, pounding into Yunjin’s tight, soaking pussy with a relentless rhythm that leaves no space for hesitation. The way she moans—high, breathless, desperate—fuels you, makes you fuck her harder, deeper, chasing that feeling of being completely lost in her.

She’s gripping the edges of the table, her knuckles white, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes are hazy, lips parted, and the way pleasure takes over her face is fucking intoxicating.

“F-fuck,” she gasps, her voice trembling as you keep slamming into her, your cock stretching her perfectly. “If you keep—keep going like this, I’m gonna—”

“That’s the point,” you growl, leaning over her, your hands tightening on her thighs as you thrust even harder. “Cum on my cock, Yunjin. I want to feel it.”

“Fuck, professor,” she moans, rolling her hips up to meet your every thrust, and hearing that word spill from her lips so naturally drives you fucking crazy. She loves calling you that, loves the way it sounds when she’s this desperate and fucked out.

Your thumb finds her clit, still sensitive from the way your mouth had worked her over earlier, and the second you press down, she nearly jumps off the table.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, squirming under you, her body tensing. “Too much—fuck, that’s so—”

But you don’t stop. You rub tight circles over her clit, making her thighs tremble around your waist, and the louder she moans, the harder you fuck her. You forget everything—where you are, what you’re doing. You don’t care that you're in a office, on campus, where anyone could hear. All you care about is making her cum.

“Cum for me,” you demand, your voice rough, your cock throbbing inside her. “Come on, slut. Cum all over my cock.”

“I’m—I’m almost—” Her voice breaks, and her whole body tightens, her pussy clenching down around you so hard it makes your own pleasure spike.

Your thrusts grow even faster, each one hitting so deep it leaves her gasping, and her wetness makes everything filthy, each slap of your hips against her sounding louder, slicker. The obscene noise fills the room, but you’re too far gone to care.

And then she breaks.

Her entire body shudders, her back arching off the table as she covers her mouth with one trembling hand, muffling the scream that threatens to spill out. Her pussy clenches around you, pulsing with each wave of pleasure that rocks through her, and you keep fucking her through it, driving slow, deep thrusts into her shaking body.

Each slow pull out, each hard thrust back in, sends a jolt through her, making her whimper into her palm, her eyes squeezed shut as the aftershocks keep rolling through her.

You finally slow down, your cock still throbbing inside her, soaked in everything she’s given you. You pull out slowly, watching the way her pussy clings to you, reluctant to let go.

“On your knees,” you order, your voice thick and wrecked.

She’s still trembling, but she slides off the table, her legs shaky as she sinks down in front of you, eyes dark with lust, lips swollen from all her moaning. She looks up at you through heavy lashes, her skirt still bunched up, her top still tugged down, her tits out and flushed.

She grabs your cock with both hands, stroking it once, twice, and the sight of her, kneeling, covered in her own arousal, makes you think you should have fucked her sooner.

Then her lips part, and she wraps them around the head of your cock, sucking you in with that perfect, practiced mouth.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your hand tangling in her hair, guiding her as she takes more of you in. Her lips leave smudges of lipstick along your shaft, marking you, staining you with that perfect, slutty red.

She moans around you, her tongue swirling, and you watch as she bobs her head, her mouth stretching to accommodate you. It’s hot—so fucking hot—the way she’s so eager, so desperate to taste herself on your cock.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your grip tightening on her hair as you guide her pace. “Suck it all, baby.”

Yunjin hums in response, the vibrations making you groan, and you know you’re not going to last much longer.

Yunjin’s mouth is a fucking masterpiece. Her plump, wet lips glide over your cock with a skill that has you gripping the edge of the table for support. Drool drips down her chin, slick and messy, pooling at the corners of her mouth as she takes you deeper, her throat flexing around your length. The obscene, wet sounds echo in the quiet room, each suck, each moan sending shockwaves straight to your core.

She’s a mess, lipstick smeared, saliva glistening on her chin and trailing down her neck, but she doesn’t stop. If anything, she gets sloppier, filthier, letting spit dribble down your shaft as she strokes you with both hands, twisting, squeezing, making sure you're soaked in her mess.

“Fuck, Yunjin,” you groan, your hand tangled in her hair, guiding her movements. “Just like that. Keep going.”

She hums around you, the vibration making your thighs tense. Then, without warning, she moves lower, dragging her slick tongue down to your balls, sucking one into her mouth while still jerking your cock. The way her tongue swirls around them, wet and warm, sends you reeling, your cock twitching in her grip.

Your head falls back, a low, guttural groan slipping past your lips. She knows exactly what she’s doing, taking her time, teasing, drawing it out until you’re on the verge of losing control.

Then she’s back on your cock, focusing on the sensitive head, sucking hard, her tongue flicking over the slit, drawing out beads of pre-cum. Wet, obscene noises fill the air, her lips working you with relentless precision.

“I’m close,” you grit out, your muscles tensing, your whole body tightening in anticipation.

But just when you think you’re about to explode, she pulls off with a pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her lipstick smeared across her flushed skin, drool glistening on her chin. She looks up at you, eyes dark and needy, lips swollen and shining.

“Cum inside me,” she says, her voice dripping with sin. “I want it. I’m on the pill, so don’t hold back.”

That's all you need to hear. No hesitation. No second thoughts. You’re on her in an instant, hauling her up off her knees, your hands gripping her thighs as you carry her to the chair in the corner of the room. You drop into it, pulling her onto your lap, her legs straddling you.

She doesn’t waste a second. She reaches between you, grabbing your slick, throbbing cock and guiding it back inside her dripping pussy. The heat, the tightness, the way she sinks down onto you in one smooth motion makes your head spin.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your hands gripping her hips, feeling the way she clenches around you, wetter than before thanks to the sloppy blowjob she just gave you.

Yunjin smirks, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding down on you in a way that has you seeing stars. “Feel good, professor?” she purrs, her hands resting on your shoulders for balance. ���You like when your little slut rides you?”

You groan, your grip tightening, but she doesn’t let up. She starts moving, bouncing on your cock with an intoxicating rhythm, her tight pussy swallowing you over and over. The way her hips roll, the way she grinds down between thrusts—it’s hypnotic, like she was made for this. Like she’s done this a million times before.

“Fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing,” you pant, your head falling back against the chair.

“Of course I do,” she whispers, leaning in close, her lips brushing against your ear. “I know how to fuck. I know how to make you cum.”

Your whole body tightens, the pressure building to a breaking point as Yunjin rides you with that perfect, relentless rhythm. Her hips roll in slow, deep circles, grinding down on your cock like she owns it, like she knows exactly what you need. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding fill the room, her slick pussy squeezing you with every bounce, pulling you deeper, tighter.

She leans in, her breath hot against your ear, her voice a low, breathy whisper. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

Your grip on her hips tightens, fingers digging into her soft skin, trying to hold on as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside you. “Fuck, Yunjin,” you groan, your voice rough and strained, barely holding it together.

She bites her lip, looking down at you with dark, knowing eyes. “I can feel it,” she purrs, rocking her hips down hard, her wet heat swallowing you to the hilt. “You’re so fucking close.”

You nod, chest heaving, your breath ragged. “Yeah—shit, I’m—”

“Cum inside me,” she interrupts, grinding her hips down with a sinful twist that sends sparks shooting through your spine. “I want it, professor. Fill me up.”

Her words make you moan, tearing down whatever restraint you had left. Your cock throbs inside her, and you feel yourself teetering right on the edge, so close you can’t even think straight.

“Creampie this tight little pussy,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice dripping with need. “I want to feel your hot, thick cum deep inside me. Come on professor, give me my reward.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

A strangled groan rips from your throat as you finally let go, your cock pulsing inside her, thick, hot spurts of cum spilling deep into her. Your whole body shudders, muscles going tight, and you bury your face against her neck, holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Yunjin gasps, feeling every pulse, every drop of warmth filling her. Her body trembles against yours, her nails raking lightly down your back as she moans into your ear, soft and breathless. “Oh my god,” she whimpers, her hips still moving, riding out your release, grinding slow and deep to milk every last drop from you.

You grip her tighter, pushing her down onto you as deep as she can go, wanting to make sure she takes every bit of it. “Fuck, Yunjin,” you pant, feeling the way her pussy clenches around you, still so impossibly tight. “You feel so fucking good.”

She moans in response, rolling her hips lazily, a satisfied, dazed smile spreading across her lips. “Mmm, I can feel it,” she whispers, her hands sliding up your chest, her fingers tracing over your skin. “You came so much.”

You groan, your hands slipping to her ass, gripping her firmly as you thrust up into her one last time, pushing your cum deeper inside. She lets out a sharp gasp, her head falling forward against your shoulder.

A few long moments pass before she finally stills, collapsing against you, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. Your hands stay on her hips, holding her in place, keeping yourself buried inside her even as your cock twitches with oversensitivity. You can feel the warmth between her legs, the way your cum is starting to trickle out, leaking down onto your thighs, but she doesn’t move—doesn’t seem to care.

You don’t say anything for a moment, just holding her, feeling her heartbeat against yours. But then she lifts her head, that familiar, wicked grin spreading across her face.

“Guess I should call you professor more often,” she whispers, rolling her hips lazily.

You groan, your head falling back against the chair. “I can't believe I fucked a student.”

Yunjin laughs, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to your lips. “And you loved every second of it."

She stays perched on your, her bare thighs pressed against yours, her pussy still warm and slick around your softening cock. The lazy rise and fall of her chest, the way her messy hair frames her flushed face—it’s all so goddamn perfect. She looks at you with that smug little smile that’s both adorable and infuriating, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across your chest.

“So,” she purrs, tilting her head slightly, “what grade do I deserve for all my... hard work?”

You smirk, running your hands up her sides, feeling the heat of her skin beneath your fingertips. “An A,” you admit, your voice still ragged from everything she’s just put you through.

Her smile widens, and she leans in, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your lips. “I know,” she whispers, cocky as ever. She fucking knows exactly what she’s doing to you, and that little glint in her eyes makes your heart race again.

She shifts slightly, grinding down just enough to remind you that she’s still there, still wrapped around you, and then she lowers her voice. “So... can I get an A on the exam too?”

And just like that, reality comes crashing back.

You freeze, the post-orgasm haze clearing just enough for the weight of what she’s asking to settle in. This was bound to happen, wasn’t it? The teasing, the flirting, the fucking—it was all leading to this. A transactional undercurrent beneath every sultry look, every professor she moaned while you fucked her in the office.

You swallow, your hands hesitating on her waist. “Yunjin,” you start, shaking your head slightly, “I... I can’t do that. I mean, I—”

She cuts you off by pressing a finger against your lips, her eyes locking onto yours, dark and full of something dangerous. “Yes, you can,” she murmurs, leaning in just enough for her lips to brush against your cheek, teasing, distracting. “Because you like me.”

You feel your resolve wavering, your mind screaming at you to push her away, to get up, to say no—but your body? Your body’s already leaning into her, already craving more.

“And,” she continues, trailing her finger down your chest, her voice dripping with sweet, poisonous temptation, “because I know you’ll want to fuck me again. Don’t you?”

Fuck.

She’s right. Of course she’s right.

Your jaw clenches, the internal battle raging inside you—ethics, professionalism, responsibility. But what are those compared to the feel of her? The way she’s looking at you, promising so much more with just a glance? You’ve already crossed a line so thick and deep there’s no point pretending you can step back now.

She senses your hesitation, and like the predator she is, she pounces.

Her lips are back on yours, slow and sensual, tasting like sin and triumph. She rolls her hips against you, and your cock twitches, traitorous and eager. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she whispers, lips brushing against your ear. “You think today was wild? I’ll show you things that’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

Your grip tightens on her hips instinctively, and your mouth moves before your brain can catch up. “What... what kind of things?”

Yunjin grins, leaning back to meet your gaze, her fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. “Oh, professor,” she teases, eyes gleaming, “you’ll just have to say yes to find out.”

You exhale sharply, your moral compass spinning wildly, but the truth is, it’s already broken.

Fuck ethics.

Fuck responsibility.

You want her. You want her more than you care about some stupid fucking exam.

Surrendering, you nod, a shy whisper. “Fine.”

Her eyes light up, and she lets out a delighted little laugh, her arms wrapping around your neck as she rocks her hips against you. “I knew you’d come around,” she purrs, nipping at your bottom lip. “You’re too easy.”

“You’re fucking evil,” you mutter, your hands gripping her ass tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

She just grins. “And you fucking love it.”

You can’t argue. Not when she’s looking at you like that, like she owns you, because fuck—it sure feels like she does.

Yunjin shifts on your lap, moving in a slow, sensual grind that makes your head spin, and you groan, already hardening inside her again. “I guess I always manage to pass,” she murmurs, kissing along your jaw, “but in my own way.”

You shake your head, but there’s no fight left in you, only a deep, gnawing hunger for her. “You’re trouble,” you murmur, hands roaming her body again, already wanting more.

She smirks, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “I’m your trouble now.”

[seumyo]

the price to pay when you’re a passenger princess.

You knew that there had to be a catch when Bakugou said he’d pick you up after your 12-hour shift at the hospital. But the thing was, you were too exhausted to dwell on the thought.

Or so you thought.

“You look dead on your feet,” he commented as he opened the door for you.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you replied dryly, tossing your bag into the backseat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

The sleek, jet-black Porsche 911 Turbo S roared through the empty streets like a predator on the hunt, the low rumble of the engine vibrating through your very soul. Bakugou, of course, looked completely at ease, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, a calm expression seen on his face.

You’ve come to understand that your husband was relatively calm when not provoked.

“Katsuki,” you started as the car picked up speed, “you do realize this is still a hospital zone, right? Maybe don’t speed like you’re in a Fast and Furious movie.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Relax,” he drawled, shifting gears with precision. “You know I’ve got this.”

You, on the other hand, were internally reciting every safety procedure you could think of in case of an unfortunate circumstance to come.

“Should I call my assistant to make an appointment in advance?”

Bakugou snorts. “What? Don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. It’s the laws of physics I don’t trust,” you muttered under your breath, earning a low chuckle from him.

The worst part? There was barely any traffic this late at night, which only encouraged Bakugou to push the limits of what his new Porsche could do. You glanced at the speedometer and instantly regretted it.

“Katsuki, I swear to God—”

“What? It’s not like I’m breaking the speed limit,” he said with mock innocence, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The Prefectural Government’s Public Safety Commissions should really revoke his license one of these days. Or you might not live to see the next one.

“By less than two!”

You leaned your head back against the seat, staring at the darkened city skyline as it blurred past you. You were exhausted from your shift, your feet aching, bone tired, but all of that was being drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of your life flashing before your very eyes.

You double-checked your seatbelt again. It’s never too late to actually be safe.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to yell at me for being too hot and good at everything.”

“Wow? The audacity of my husband making such a bold claim,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Have I fed your ego too much that you’re about to float away like a hot-air balloon?”

“Didn’t deny my claim.” He got you there.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Just so you know,” you muttered, clutching the grab handle even tighter as he effortlessly weaved between two cars, “if I die tonight, I’m haunting you. And I’ll make sure to mess with you when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, finally glancing your way. “At least then you’d be with me all the time, huh?”

You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now? While you’re driving like a maniac?”

“Who says I can’t multitask?”

Before you could fire back with another retort, the car slowed as you neared your apartment complex. Your death grip on the handle loosened ever so slightly, though your heart was still racing.

When Bakugou finally parked, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your hands still trembling a little.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too or whatever.”

“I—wait, you actually said it.”

“What? Can’t a man just say he loves his wife?”

“Good point, but you rarely say it!”

“I pick you up after your every shift and make sure you don’t die of starvation or poor health. That’s enough than saying it, no?”

“But you said it! So it’s different.”

“Not.”

“It is!”

“Not.”

“Is!”

Terrifying car rides aside, there was no one else you’d rather be stuck with. Even if your husband drove you absolutely crazy—both on and off the road. This must be the price of being Bakugou Katsuki’s passenger princess.

SEUMYO © 2025, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[pathologicalreid]

defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

 There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

[rizzanon]

03 | EVERYTHING IS AWESOME…

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The night was calm, as far as Gotham standards went. Dick leapt across rooftops with practiced ease, the crisp night air cooling the sweat on his brow. Patrol had been fairly routine so far—an attempted mugging here, a couple of carjackers there. But even as he flipped and fought, his mind was elsewhere.

You.

Why was it that for the past few days, he couldn’t seem to catch you for even a moment? Every time he stopped by the manor, Alfred had the same response: Miss (Name) is out at the moment, Master Richard.

Out? Out where?

He’d pressed Alfred for more details the first time, but the butler’s polite smile and vague responses left him with more questions than answers.

He ducked under a clumsy swing from a thug, twisting his attacker’s wrist and disarming him in one fluid motion. Were you avoiding him? The idea gnawed at him, even though he tried to dismiss it. Surely you wouldn’t do that. Not to him. Right?

But the signs were starting to feel undeniable. You answer his texts hours later, and even those were short and simple. Most of his calls went straight to voicemail and when you do pick up, it was to say that you couldn’t talk right now. Whenever he asked anyone in the family about you, they either gave noncommittal answers or shrugged. Even Damian had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped when Dick had broached the topic with him. That, more than anything, felt like a red flag.

Had the two of you not reconciled yet?

What did you two even argue about to get to this point? Damian wouldn’t tell him anything no matter how much he bugged him.

The thought made his chest tighten uncomfortably. Did he do something? Say something? He ran through every interaction he’d had with you in recent memory, trying to pinpoint where things might’ve gone wrong. But nothing came to mind. You’d always seemed fine, maybe a little quieter than usual, but he’d chalked that up to you being tired. Gotham took its toll on everyone eventually.

Still, the nagging doubt lingered. The idea that you might be avoiding him on purpose—it didn’t sit right. You were family. He thought he’d always made that clear (he did right?), that you could come to him about anything. So why did it feel like you were slipping away? Did he not make it clear enough? (did he even make it clear?)

Dick pushed off the railing, his footsteps echoing as he started pacing again. He didn’t like this feeling. He needed to figure out what was going on. What had changed? And why did it feel like you were determined to keep him at arm’s length?

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

He knocked the thug out with a quick jab to the jaw and spun around to check on Jason, who was dealing with the last of the group. His voice, distorted slightly by the modulator in his helmet.

Jason, of course, was handling them with his usual… flair. A solid punch here, a sharp kick there, and the thugs were down for the count in no time. As Jason holstered his pistol, he glanced over at Dick, tilting his head slightly as though sizing him up.

Dick let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “Haha. Very funny.”

Jason lets out an audible scoff. Even though his face was obscured by his helmet, Dick could practically feel the eye roll.

“So?” Jason drawled, crossing his arms as he leaned against a lamppost. “Are you gonna speak up or what?”

Dick just sighs as he puts away his escrima sticks.

“It’s about (name).”

“What? She messed up again or something?”

Dick’s head snapped toward him, his brow furrowing. “What? No. Why would you even—”

Jason shrugged, kicking at the unconscious body of one of the thugs as if to test if he was really out cold. “I dunno. She’s always messing something up, isn’t she? And you have to clean up after her. At least, that’s the vibe I get.”

Dick’s shoulders tensed, a sharp frustration bubbling to the surface. “Jason, seriously?”

Jason raised his hands in mock surrender. “What? I’m just saying—”

“No, you’re not ‘just saying,’” Dick interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. “This is exactly why I’m worried. You guys act like she’s just… this screw-up, like she’s some annoyance you have to deal with, and it’s not fair.”

Jason tilted his head, clearly surprised by the outburst. “Okay, hold on. Where’s this coming from?”

Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He leaned against a nearby wall, staring out over the dimly lit alleyway. “(Name) quit being Batgirl.”

Jason visibly froze for a split second at Dick’s words, the tension in his stance betraying his surprise. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He let out a scoff, straightening up and crossing his arms. “Okay. And?”

Dick blinked at him, momentarily thrown off. “What do you mean, ‘Okay, and?’” he asked, incredulous. “(Name) quit, Jason. (Name). The girl who literally begged B and Babs to let her become Batgirl. She didn’t just want it; she fought for it. And now—”

“And now she’s finally done being a liability in a cape,” Jason interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Honestly, Grayson, shouldn’t you be happy about it?”

Dick’s breath hitched, the bluntness of the statement striking a nerve. He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He hated to admit it, but a part of him—the small, cruel voice he always tried to silence—had whispered something similar when he first heard the news.

Jason, noticing the brief flicker of hesitation on Dick’s face, took that as his cue to keep going. “I mean, come on. She’s not cut out for this life, and you know it. You’re just too polite to say it out loud. So, good for her. She’s finally realized what the rest of us already knew.”

Dick was silent, his jaw tightening as Jason’s words hung heavy in the air. He didn’t want to agree, not even a little. But the doubt had already been planted, and Jason’s callousness only made it worse.

“No,” Dick said finally, his voice firm. He shook his head, as though trying to rid himself of the thought entirely. “Don’t call her a liability, Jay. And that’s not the point. She quit, yeah, but she’s been distant ever since. When she had this huge fight with Damian—”

Jason snorted. “Probably demon spawn’s fault.”

“Don’t say that,” Dick snapped, frowning at him. “It’s no one’s fault, Jason. They probably weren’t in the right headspace and let their emotions get the better of them.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Dick ignored the jab, his focus still on you and the unanswered questions swirling in his mind. He wasn’t going to let Jason’s cynicism—or his own creeping doubts—stop him. Whatever was going on, he’d figure it out. And more importantly, he’d make sure you knew that he cared, no matter what anyone else thought.

Dick sighed, running a hand down his face. “Jay, come on.”

Jason turned to him, arms crossing defensively. “Seriously, what the hell do you want me to do, Dick?”

“I don’t know! Go talk to her or something!” Dick snapped, exasperation lacing his tone.

Jason gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “Oh, right. Like she’d talk to me of all people. Great plan, genius.”

Dick threw up his hands in frustration, his patience quickly wearing thin. “Come on. What’s your deal?”

Jason paused, the question clearly catching him off guard. “Excuse me?” His voice dropped a notch, low and warning.

But Dick didn’t care about the edge in Jason’s tone or the way his posture screamed “back off.” He was too fed up, too worried, and too frustrated to stop now. “No, seriously,” Dick pressed, stepping closer. “It’s like you don’t even care about (Name).”

Jason’s whole body tensed, his fists clenching at his sides. Dick could practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves.

“What?” Jason snapped, his voice rising. “So you want her to keep wearing a mask and fight battles she clearly can’t handle? You want her to keep throwing herself into situations where she’s gonna get herself killed? That’s what caring looks like to you?”

Dick stepped forward, his own frustration boiling over. “This isn’t about whether or not she’s wearing a mask! This is about you acting like you don’t give a damn about her!”

Jason let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, so now you’re the expert on what I feel? That’s rich coming from you.”

“I thought you two were close, Jason,” Dick shot back, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. “What happened? You used to care about her. You used to look out for her!”

Jason scoffed, the sound harsh and bitter. “What happened? Life happened, Dick. I’m not the same 15-year-old boy she knew back then. And I’ll never be that guy she knew again. So don’t stand there and act like you have any right to talk about my relationship with her when I don’t see you even having half of what me and her had before.”

That struck a nerve, and Dick’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t care about her?” he asked, his voice low and steady now, the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Jason’s helmet tilted slightly, as if he was sizing Dick up. “Oh, you care, alright. But not enough to actually see what’s in front of you. She tries too hard, she’s always second guessing herself, and honestly? It’s exhausting to watch. Whereas you’re too busy running around trying to ‘fix’ everything to even notice.”

Dick flinched, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Jason shot back, stepping closer, his voice dripping with bitterness. “But here’s the thing—you want her to keep being Batgirl because it makes you feel better. Like you’re holding this family together or something. But did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, she quit because she wants to?” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “And instead of giving her the space to do that, you’re chasing her down like she’s some mission you need to complete.”

Jason’s words hit Dick like a slap in the face, leaving him momentarily stunned.

“I’m just trying to help her,” Dick said softly, his voice losing some of its fire.

Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair, finally removing his helmet. His face was set in a hard expression, but there was something raw in his eyes. “Yeah, well, sometimes helping means knowing when to back the hell off.”

The two of them stood in tense silence, the night air heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Jason stepped back, shaking his head. “If you want to do something for her, stop acting like you know what’s best for her. I’d rather see her alive than rotting as a damn corpse, labelled as one of the old man’s fallen soldiers.”

With that, Jason turned and walked away, leaving Dick standing there, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on his shoulders.

The thugs were all rounded up and still unconscious, whereas Jason was out of sight. But his words lingered in Dick’s mind, playing on a loop.

I’d rather see her alive than rotting as a damn corpse.

Dick sighed, sitting on the edge of the rooftop. His escrima sticks rested loosely in his hands as he stared down at the empty streets below. Jason’s parting words had hit their mark, and he hated to admit it. The thought of you… dying—just the word alone made his stomach churn.

Jason had already died once, and Dick hadn’t been there to stop it. He hadn’t been there to save him. If the same thing happened to you, if you ended up another casualty in their endless war against Gotham’s darkness…

That’s on him.

He swallowed hard, gripping his escrima sticks tighter as guilt began to settle in his chest like a lead weight. Jason was right. It was probably a good thing you quit. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he let another one of his siblings die.

Siblings.

The word felt heavy now, laden with unspoken truths. Jason’s earlier jab suddenly clawed its way to the forefront of Dick’s mind:

Don’t stand there and act like you have any right to talk about my relationship with her when I don’t see you even having half of what me and her had before.

Did Jason really believe that? Did you?

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. Of course, he cared about you. Of course, he’d been there for you. Hadn’t he?

But as much as he wanted to dismiss Jason’s words, they stuck with him, gnawing at the edges of his conscience. Slowly, memories began to surface, unbidden and relentless.

He was Robin then—young, brash, and full of anger. The grief over his parents’ deaths was still fresh, a raw wound he didn’t know how to heal. And you… you were Bruce’s kid. That was all he saw you as. He watched you grow up, become this bubbly kid, who, for some reason, looked up to him a lot.

But what did he do with that? He bailed.

He could remember it so clearly now, those moments when you’d ask him to play with you, to just talk—and he’d brush you off. “Not now, (Name),” he’d say, and ruffle your hair. The Teen Titans needed him. Gotham needed him. But you didn’t know that. Bruce wanted to keep you out of this life, and frankly, he did too. Which was why there was always some excuse to explain why he was so busy, why he couldn’t play with you for as long as you wanted him to.

He winced as another memory came rushing back: one of the many times you’d waited up for him in the living room, hoping to show him some new arts and craft you did, or one of your tests that you did really well in. He’d walked in with Wally and Donna, laughing about something from their latest mission, barely sparing you a glance.

“Wow, this is nice!” He’d say absent-mindedly, before ruffling your hair like you were some kid tagging along.

“I’ll catch you later, alright?” he’d say, and then he’d leave you alone.

And what had you done? You’d nodded, forced a smile, even as disappointment flashed across your face. He hadn’t noticed it then—not really. He’d been too caught up in his own world, too focused on proving himself to the team, to Bruce, to everyone.

Dick let out a shaky breath, the weight of those memories settling over him like a suffocating blanket. God, Jason was right.

He hadn’t been there for you the way Jason had. Jason, for all his faults, had always been someone you could count on when he first came to the family—someone who didn’t bail, who didn’t make you feel lonely.

But that was before his death. Now things were different between you two. Neither of you were willing to repair the broken bond you two once shared. Why? He wasn’t sure.

Dick rubbed a hand over his face, the ache in his chest growing sharper. “Damnit,” he muttered under his breath.

What could he even do to make this right? To show you that you mattered to him—that you’d always mattered?

But deep down, he already knew the answer. He couldn’t fix this with mere words or gestures or even the best intentions. He had to show you, prove to you, that he was here for you now. That he wasn’t going to leave you alone this time.

Even if that meant letting you go for now, giving you the space you clearly needed. Even if that meant accepting that you no longer wanted to be Batgirl, that he’d fallen short. But he was willing to do better. Even if it meant he’d had to wait.

The thought hurt, but it was better than losing you for good.

“This is nice.”

The warm sunlight filtered through the trees at Gotham Park, casting dappled patterns across the picnic blanket. Caitlyn was leaned against you, her sketchpad balanced on her knees, pencil gliding smoothly as she doodled. Adrien sat cross-legged across from you both, stuffing another bite of a homemade pastry into his mouth with an exaggerated hum of delight.

Adrien nodded enthusiastically, agreeing with Caitlyn, as he pointed his fork at you. “You can say that again! (Name), I didn’t know you could make treats like this! They’re so good!”

Caitlyn grinned, glancing up from her sketch. “Literally! This is amazing. You’ve been holding out on us, chef.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down at your hands, a little bashful at their praise. “I… honestly didn’t think I could make anything this good,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“You’re kidding, right?” Adrien said, picking up another cookie. “These are, like, professional-level good. If you ever decide to stop… uh, doing whatever it is you do after school, you could totally open a bakery or something.”

You laughed, though the comment stung just a little—only because you didn’t know you were good at making pasteries.

To fill up your now free schedule after quiting as Batgirl, you had gone to Alfred and asked him to teach you how to bake.

Alfred, helpful and patient as always, agreed without hesitation. “Baking, my dear,” he had said with a faint smile, “is both a science and an art. It requires precision, but it is also a most rewarding endeavor.”

And so, your evenings became a blend of warmth, flour-dusted counters, and Alfred’s gentle guidance. He would show you how to knead dough, measure ingredients with precision, and even share some of his most guarded recipes—ones he claimed even your father was particularly fond of.

When you weren’t in the kitchen with Alfred, you spent your afternoons at the library with Caitlyn and Adrien. Studying with them, or rather, helping them study, had become another way to fill your time.

High school material was easy enough for you—thanks to your first life. You’d already tackled algebra, chemistry, and history years ago. So instead of cramming for tests yourself, you found yourself explaining concepts to Caitlyn and Adrien, who both leaned heavily on your ability to simplify even the most convoluted topics.

“Okay, so… if x is equal to 4, then y has to be…” Adrien tapped his pencil against his notebook, staring intently at the equation in front of him

“Eight,” Caitlyn supplied confidently, but her grin faltered when Adrien and you both gave her a look.

“Try again,” you said with a soft laugh, pointing to the part of the equation she’d miscalculated.

Caitlyn groaned dramatically, flopping back into her chair. “Math is dumb.”

“Math is logical,” you corrected, though your teasing tone made Adrien snort. “You just need to stop skipping steps.”

“Why does it feel like you’re giving us the cheat sheet to life?” Adrien said, glancing up from his notes. “You make this stuff seem so easy.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Caitlyn chimed in. “Are you secretly some kind of math genius or something?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’ve just… always been good at this kind of thing.”

They didn’t need to know the full truth—that you’d already gone through high school. They didn’t know the truth about you or your family before, and you weren’t planning to change that now. They didn’t need to know about the mask you’d taken off or the life you were trying to leave behind. For now, it was enough to help them, to enjoy their company, and to let this simpler version of your life unfold.

It was strange, almost surreal, how quickly you’d settled into this new routine. But you found that you didn’t mind it. For the first time in a long time, life felt… normal. And maybe that was what you needed most.

As Caitlyn returned to her doodling and Adrien polished off another pastry, you leaned back on your hands, letting the moment sink in. It felt… peaceful. A rare pocket of calm in the chaos that had been your life lately.

The park was lively but not overwhelming, the gentle hum of laughter and chatter from other families and friends creating a soothing backdrop. The late afternoon sun warmed your skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt grounded.

“Hey,” Adrien said suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “We should do this more often.”

Caitlyn nodded. “Agreed. This is probably the most relaxed I’ve seen you in weeks, (Name).”

You hesitated, glancing between your two friends. They weren’t wrong. But a part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You weren’t being truthful to them, yet they were still being so nice. You didn’t deserve them.

You opened your mouth to reply, ready to brush off Caitlyn’s and Adrien’s comments, when a sudden, sharp flash of green invaded your vision. It was jarring—so vivid and overwhelming that you winced, instinctively bringing a hand to your temple. For a moment, it felt like the world tilted on its axis, the vibrant sounds of the park muffled by the ringing in your ears.

And just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. The green was seared into your memory, the edges of it glowing like embers before fading entirely. The momentary pain in your head vanished, leaving behind nothing but confusion.

“What the hell…” you muttered under your breath, still dazed.

“(Name)!” Caitlyn’s voice was sharp with concern, snapping you out of your stupor. “Are you okay? What just happened?”

Adrien leaned closer, his eyes wide with worry. “You winced. Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

You glanced between the two of them, their faces etched with genuine concern. You didn’t want to worry them. You couldn’t worry them. So you forced a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, really. Just a headache. Probably didn’t drink enough water or something.”

But Caitlyn wasn’t buying it. She immediately pushed herself off you, her sketchbook forgotten as she leaned in close, her expression dead serious. “Nope. No way. If you’ve got a headache, you need to go home and rest. Sun’s probably not helping either.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Adrien chimed in, nodding emphatically. “Don’t push yourself too much. We can always continue this another time, okay?”

You tried to protest, but their stubbornness left no room for argument. Caitlyn was already packing up the picnic, her movements quick and decisive, while Adrien carefully wrapped up the leftover pastries.

“You guys are being dramatic—” you started to say, but Caitlyn cut you off with a pointed glare.

“Nope. Not hearing it. We’re not taking any chances,” she insisted, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Come on, we’ll walk you home.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you realized there was no point in fighting them on this. “Alright, alright. I’ll go.”

As the three of you made your way out of the park, Caitlyn clinging protectively to your arm, your thoughts drifted back to the green flashes. What the hell was that? It wasn’t just a headache—that much you knew.

You forced a smile as Caitlyn began chattering about her latest art project, Adrien throwing in jokes to lighten the mood. But in the back of your mind, the unsettling image of green light lingered, pulsing faintly like a warning you couldn’t ignore.

You finally managed to convince Caitlyn and Adrien to leave you at the gates of Wayne Manor, reassuring them for what felt like the hundredth time that you’d be fine. They only relented when you promised to text them once you’re feeling better, and with a wave and one last concerned glance, they finally left. You sighed in relief and turned toward the manor, making your way inside.

When you stepped inside, that’s when you saw him—a familiar, bubbly boy practically skipping towards the manor entrance. Jon Kent. Superman’s son. Damian’s best (and only) friend.

Wow. He looked so much younger than you remembered.

The moment Jon spotted you, his face lit up. Before you could even blink, he was flying over to you, his grin wide and infectious. “(Name)!” he called cheerfully as he landed in front of you, his feet barely making a sound on the gravel path.

You blinked, startled but unable to help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Hey, Jon.”

“How are you? Are you okay? You look okay! Wait—were you out? Where did you go? Do you need help carrying anything?!” He practically bounced on his heels as he bombarded you with questions, his usual excited energy radiating off him like sunlight.

You chuckled fondly, shaking your head as you answered. “I’m fine, Jon, really. And no, I don’t need help. I was just out with some friends.”

“Oh, okay!” he chirped, looking momentarily reassured. “I was just here hanging out with Damian, but—uh, well…” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I kinda didn’t tell my parents I was flying over here. So, you know, I should probably head back to Metropolis before they notice I’m gone.”

You snorted softly at that, a nostalgic warmth in your chest. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you.” You said, and winked.

Jon’s grin returned in full force, but it faltered slightly as he looked at you again. This time, his expression was hesitant, uncertain, like he was trying to figure out how to say something.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently, tilting your head at him.

Jon shuffled his feet, his voice quieter now. “Uh… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He hesitated again, looking down before blurting out, “Is everything okay between you and Damian?”

You froze. The question caught you completely off guard. Your mind stalled, your smile faltering as you stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned.

Jon must’ve noticed, because he immediately panicked, waving his hands frantically as he backtracked. “Oh! You don’t have to answer! Forget I asked! It’s just—” He fumbled over his words, his cheeks turning red. “I was asking Damian about you, and he… he kinda just glared at me. And then he changed the subject! Really fast! Like, super fast. And, uh… I’ve never really seen him act like that before.”

You blinked, his words sinking in slowly. Damian… avoiding the subject of you? Now that you thought about it, you hadn’t exactly seen Damian around the manor since that argument in your room. It was like he was going out of his way to avoid you entirely. Was he?

But you couldn’t let Jon worry about that. He was just a kid, and this wasn’t his problem. So, instead of letting your own thoughts spiral, you forced a laugh and reached out to ruffle his hair gently. “Don’t worry about it, Jon. Damian and I just got into an argument, that’s all. Nothing to lose sleep over.”

Jon blinked up at you, his expression still unsure, but he nodded slowly, leaning into the comforting touch of your hand. “Okay… if you say so.”

“Really. We’ll work it out,” you reassured him, giving his hair one last affectionate pat. Somehow.

He smiled again, though it was a little smaller this time. “Alright. I just wanted to make sure. You know… you’re important to Damian too, even if he doesn’t say it.”

You paused at that, something in your chest squeezing painfully, but before you could respond, Jon glanced at the time and jolted upright. “Oh no! I really gotta go now, or I’m so dead!”

With that, he gave you a hurried wave, his boyish grin returning. “Bye, (Name)! I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You smiled softly and waved back as he floated up into the sky, watching as he zipped off toward Metropolis in a blur of red and blue. Once he was gone, you let out a slow breath, your hand falling to your side as your thoughts drifted back to Damian.

Jon’s words lingered in your mind.

You’re important to Damian too.

It doesn’t really feel that way though….

Alfred Pennyworth, ever the watchful guardian of Wayne Manor, had always considered it his duty—not just as a butler, but as something far more profound—to care for the members of the Wayne family. For all their strength and tenacity, they were, at their core, human. Bruce and his children—each carrying burdens far heavier than any child or young adult should. And so, he noticed things. He always noticed.

Lately, what he noticed most was the way you carried yourself these past few days—lighter, freer. There was a spark in your eyes that had been absent for far too long, a small but significant ease in your posture. You looked happier. Relaxed, even. It was subtle, something anyone else might have overlooked, but not Alfred. No, he knew you. He knew what haunted you when you thought no one was looking. But now? Now you seemed… different.

Frankly, he hoped it stayed that way.

“Miss (Name), if I may,” Alfred began gently as he watched you measure flour into a bowl, a little puff of white powder escaping into the air. “You seem… at peace, lately...”

You paused, glancing up at him with a small, slightly sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Indeed.” He gave you a soft, knowing look as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. “Would it be terribly forward of me to inquire as to what—or who—has brought about this change?”

You shifted, focusing a little too hard on sifting the flour as you shrugged. “It’s my friends. Caitlyn and Adrien. They helped me realize there’s more to life than just…” You trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Than just the responsibilities placed upon your shoulders?” Alfred offered delicately.

You nodded, giving him a grateful glance. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Your friends. Alfred found himself deeply relieved to hear that you had people like Caitlyn and Adrien in your life—people who brought you happiness, people who helped lighten the weight you carried. “I see,” he said with a small smile. “It gladdens my heart to know you have such loyal companions. Though, might I suggest inviting them here, to the manor?”

You blinked, looking at him as though he’d suggested something preposterous. “Alfred…”

“Miss, it would seem only fair for me to meet the individuals who have been instrumental in helping you through your turmoil. They seem like lovely people.” His tone was kind, slight humourous even, as he mixed something in a nearby bowl.

You laughed softly, but there was a stubborn edge to it as you shook your head. “As much as I’d like for you to meet them, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Alfred. They don’t know about this family’s secrets, and I intend to keep it that way..”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, ever patient. “I’m certain Master Bruce and Master Richard can manage a polite exchange, at the very least.”

You gave him a pointed look, and Alfred sighed, though it was laced with fondness. “Very well, Miss (Name). If you insist.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, giving him a small smile.

Though Alfred was slightly disappointed at your reluctance, he respected your wishes. He always did. And if your friends made you happy—even if he wouldn’t be able to meet them—then he supposed that was enough for now.

“Now then,” Alfred said, turning back to the task at hand, “you’ll want to add the butter slowly while continuing to mix.”

You hummed as you followed his instruction, your brow furrowing in concentration. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, the kitchen filling with the soft sounds of utensils clinking, the hum of the oven warming, and your quiet conversation.

“So, Miss Caitlyn and Mister Adrien—are they excelling in their studies with your assistance?”

“Adrien, yes,” you said, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Caitlyn… well, she’s trying, but math isn’t really her thing.”

“And yet you continue to help them both. How noble of you,” Alfred replied as he handed you a whisk. “And what of school itself? Are you settling in well?”

You shrugged, starting to mix the ingredients. “Eh…It’s alright. A little boring sometimes, but I guess it’s better than…”

Dying.

You stopped yourself short, quickly correcting, “better than not being in school at all.”

Alfred didn’t miss the slip, but he didn’t press. “Indeed. A dull day can be a blessing in disguise.”

You gave him a thoughtful look, lips quirking into a soft smile. “You always know what to say, Alfred.”

“I try, Miss (Name). I try.”

And as Alfred watched you work—your expression relaxed, your mind seemingly at ease—he hoped, quietly, that this simpler version of your life, this peaceful respite, would last just a little longer.

The soft hum of the oven filled the kitchen as you pulled the last batch of treats onto the counter. The warm, golden pastries sat neatly on their tray, a small comfort in a life that had otherwise been anything but neat. Baking had become your escape—an anchor to hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

But the calm was short-lived.

Alfred’s comm buzzed quietly, and though his expression remained composed, you saw the subtle shift in his demeanor—a slight straightening of his back, the way his gaze sharpened. Something was happening.

“It seems Master Bruce and the others require my assistance,” he said, his tone steady as always.

You already knew what that meant. Gotham was in chaos again.

Alfred turned to you, his expression softening with the familiarity of his next question. “Are you sure you do not wish to assist? They could use an extra hand, Miss (Name).”

The offer hung in the air, and for a second, you hesitated. There was always a small part of you that wanted to say yes, to jump back into action and prove yourself—to prove you could help.

But then you suddenly got flashbacks of a memory that you had kept stored away. Oh right. You remembered what this attack was.

Another one of Riddler’s bombing attacks.

Riddler had been terrorizing Gotham with a string of coordinated explosions around this time, targeting key buildings across the city. Chaos had unfolded over the city as your father, along with other available vigilantes in Gotham, scrambled to contain the damage, evacuate civilians, and track down Riddler before he could set off another series of bombs.

You had been told to stay put back then. “It’s too dangerous,” Bruce had said. “We need you to sit this one out.”

But you hadn’t listened.

You’d tracked down one of Riddler’s supposed locations on your own, convinced you could help. The moment you arrived, you knew you’d made a mistake. The building had been rigged, and your sudden presence sent everything spiraling. The countdown on the bomb accelerated. The Riddler’s men panicked and scattered, slipping out before Bruce and the others could surround them.

Dick, Tim, Stephanie and Cassandra had to swoop in to clean up the mess—disarming the bomb, calming the chaos, and stopping any further destruction. They managed to save the day, to prevent any civilian casualties, but Riddler himself got away.

Bruce’s fury still echoed in your head.

“Do you have any idea what you nearly cost us tonight?”

You hadn’t been able to look him in the eye.

“They got the job done,” you’d mumbled, your voice small, but that hadn’t mattered to him.

“Because they had to clean up after you,” he’d snapped, his words sharp enough to sting. “You disobeyed a direct order, and you let Riddler slip away.”

It was one of those moments you wouldn’t forget. Not because of Bruce’s anger, but because he’d been right. You’d wanted to help, and all you’d done was make it harder for everyone else.

Back in the kitchen, you swallowed hard, snapping back to the present. Alfred was still watching you patiently, waiting for an answer.

“I’m sure,” you said finally, your voice tight but firm. You offered a small, forced smile. “They don’t need me. They can handle it themselves.”

For a moment, Alfred regarded you with that knowing look of his, like he could see through every wall you’d put up.

“Very well,” he said softly, though there was a faint note of disappointment in his voice. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in quickly, your voice quieter this time.

Alfred gave a small nod, seemingly accepting your answer, though you didn’t miss the flicker of concern in his gaze as he turned toward the door.

As he left to fulfill his duties, the kitchen fell silent once more. You leaned back against the counter, staring blankly at the pastries you’d worked so hard on.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

“They don’t need me,” you whispered to yourself, repeating the words like a mantra.

But it didn’t feel comforting. It felt hollow.

Because, deep down, the truth still hurts you even now.

You stood in the quiet kitchen for a moment after Alfred left, the hum of the Wayne Manor settling into the evening stillness. The smell of baked goods lingered in the air, but even that wasn’t enough to soothe the weight pressing down on you. With a tired sigh, you began packing everything away, carefully placing the treats into containers and wiping down the counters.

Once the kitchen was clean and silent, you dragged yourself upstairs to your room. It had been a long day—long week, really—and all you wanted to do was sleep. Kicking off your shoes and pulling the blankets over yourself, you let exhaustion take over. For once, you didn’t dream.

A sharp ringing jolted you awake.

Your eyes cracked open reluctantly, the faint glow of your phone lighting up your bedside table. The clock read 4:23 AM. Groaning, you fumbled for the phone, squinting at the screen to see an incoming call—and a series of missed notifications.

22 messages from Caitlyn.

The sight alone snapped you out of your drowsiness. Your stomach twisted, the urgency of it sinking in as you swiped to pick up.

“Caitlyn?” Your voice was groggy and thick with sleep, but there was an edge of concern as you sat up in bed. “What’s going on?”

“(Name)!” Caitlyn’s voice came through the line, panicked, frantic, and scared. It hit you like a punch to the gut. “Oh my god, I—It’s Adrien….He—He’s in the hospital…!”

What?

I think you guys should read the masterlist once more in case you missed out any key warnings…

taglist (1/2): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel @hotdinoankles @vebbiewuzhere @animegirlfromvietnam @estreiiuh @simply-lovely78 @twismare @ssak-i @g4bbi3xx @alor-thes | ask to be added <3 (idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[jinxificada]

stress to relieve, need to fulfill.

jinx x fem!reader

summary: what’s there to do when your friend keeps pushing your boundaries after a long, tiring week? only wrong answers.

notes: nsfw, modern au. jinx and reader smokes both nicotine and weed. stoner reader. high sex. u know mee, self indulgent asf. if you see first person pronouns, no you didn’t. 2,8k wc.

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

you see her leaning against the railing, shoulders pushed behind and back straight, smiling smugly and flirty as her head tilted to the side.

isn’t she stunning? breathtaking?

but all that attitude was directed to ekko, who had her almost trapped as both of his hands also rested on the railing, each one next to her waist.

“jinx, hurry!” you groaned from your spot on the sidewalk, throwing your head back in annoyance. you had finished your cigarette two minutes ago, growing impatient by the second.

the wind brushes against her hair and she tucks a piece behind her ear. god, the way ekko’s body towers over hers makes you want to be sick. it's a disgusting feeling, seeing her flirting so easily.

"I'm comiiiiing!" she calls out in annoyance, ekko lets out a light chuckled as she brushes past him with a playful roll of her eyes. she always knows how to make those boys crazy. "jesus, did I take that long? you’re so impatient." she teased, stopping right in front of you and resting a hand on her hip.

you rolled your eyes, lighting another cigarette. “yes, i wanna get home already.”

"geez, impatient and bitchy today." she muttered under her breath, smirking as you both started to walk, she kept in stride beside you, occasionally bumping your shoulders together. she could see the agitation in your eyes, even as you refused to look at her. It was honestly comical.

you were looking forward to today for two weeks now. finals were done, you had only another week of pointless classes before graduating and leaving this shitty town behind. the smoke session was very much needed, and luckily you had the house all to yourself.

"don’t worry." she teased after a moment. "no more ekko attention. i’m all yours today, you needy baby." she pinched your cheek, causing you to gently slap her hand away, huffing at her mocking. “i swear to god— i’ve had a stressful week, jinx, i don’t know where you get all that energy from.” you mumbled, handing her the cig. "stressful week, or you just need to get laid?" jinx joked, her eyes sparkled in a playful mischief as she took the cigarette and raised it to her lips, taking a short puff before exhaling the smoke through her lips.

she was clearly enjoying her teasing, and your grumpy face only encouraged her. "ohhh, your poor baby." she stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “knock it off,” you muttered, though you wrapped an arm around her shoulders as you grab the cig back, taking a long drag.

jinx chuckled, clearly pleased with herself as she leaned into you. the cigarette continued to pass between you, her body was soft against yours.

"you are adorable when you're all grumpy and pouty." she teased, running her other hand through your hair. she turned her head slightly to the side and nipped at your earlobe, an amused huff escaping her lips, her breath against your ear was driving me insane. “i want to see how far this pouty mood goes." she whispered before pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“jinx—“ you gasped, trying to hide your blush. “we’re passing by a playground.”

"and?" she laughed, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at her. she feigned an innocent pout, her bottom lip slightly jutting out. "no one is around. we’re the only ones walking."

you look down at her mouth, your own watering at the thought of nibbling her pouty lip. would she yelp? sigh? would she flinch away or kiss you back?

you and jinx were friends, strictly. for years now. she was flirty, always pushing boundaries but then she would play dumb, as if leading people on was her favorite hobby. and you had a big fat crush on her. that’s why you didn’t want to risk it.

so you ended up pinching her nose and continuing walking, finishing the cigarette.

she let out a small squeak, a pout returning to her lips. she gently punched your shoulder in retaliation before sticking out her tongue. “mean." she teased, her arm still wrapped around your waist as you continued to walk. "you’re no fun today."

“i’ll let you choose the movie.” you say as if to apologize, pulling her into that side hug you were locked in previously.

soon enough you reach to your house, she settles on the couch and scrolls through the streaming services to find something to watch as you get the snacks you bought days before, quickly going back to bump your hips against hers to make space for you to sit down.

she smirked at the pile of snacks you had set down on the coffee table. "geez, you really went all out for our movie night, didn't you?"

you shrugged, a small smile appearing on your face. you weren’t about to admit that you picked out her favorites purposefully. “mhm… did you choose something yet?”

jinx looked down from the screen and watched as you began to roll the blunt, the sight bringing a smirk to her face. "hmm, not yet," she said. "nothing looks interesting enough."

“don’t be picky, we’ll be way too out of it to care about it.” you chuckled. "you’re right, the plot won't even make sense to us anyway." she huffed a chuckle.

her eyes tracing the movements of your hands, continuing to watch you finish rolling the blunt, "hurry upppp," she whined, poking your thigh impatiently. "i wanna get high already."

a small chuckle left your mouth, amused by her eagerness. “here,” you hand her the blunt and light it up for her. "finally…" she groaned happily, bringing the joint to her lips and taking a deep inhale.

holding the smoke in her lungs for a few moments, she exhaled slowly before turning to smirk at me.

"your turn, slowpoke.”

"I was taking my time, you impatient brat." you brought the joint to your lips and inhaled a deep puff, the taste of herbs filling your mouth, you felt your entire body release tension already.

you exhaled slowly, the familiar feeling of relaxation settling in your bones. as you passed the joint back to her, your eyes flicked toward jinx, who was already looking at you, eyes already a little dazed, her smirk was lazy and her cheeks a hint of pink as the weed started to cloud your minds.

"you look wrecked already.” you teased, poking her shoulder. she let out a small huff and rolled her eyes before taking another deep drag of the blunt.

"says the one who practically moans every time they get high."

your face flushed with embarrassment at her words. "I do not moan every time." you protested, although you couldn't keep the chuckle out of your voice. jinx let out a scoff, amused by your denial. "please, i’ve seen you high enough times to know you're a total needy whiner when stoned." she teased, taking another drag of the joint as her eyes scanned up and down your body.

her gaze felt like a physical touch, you were growing warmer as you forced yourself to look away. "I am not a needy whiner when stoned."

half an hour later the weed had fully settled into your systems. you barely paid attention to the movie playing, the only thing on your mind was her body pressed against yours, the warmth of it making you want to melt against her.

she was leaning into you, her head resting on your shoulder as she laughed at the crappy jokes, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on you.

you felt dizzy, shifting to nuzzle your nose into the crook of her neck. “i love this perfume,” you slurred quietly, making her smile and huff amusedly. "i know, you say that every time I wear it." she said, lifting a hand to play with a strand of your hair. you hummed, taking in the sweet smell of her perfume, it was intoxicating.

"It's so good,” you mumbled, nuzzling further into her neck, inhaling deeply.

jinx chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. her fingers traced lightly down you jaw before they reached your chin and gently forced you to look at her.

"how high are you, pretty baby?" she teased, her voice lower now as her fingers continued to explore your face. you looked up at her, eyes glassy and unfocused. it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the way her fingers felt against your skin. “very," you mumbled, the words slurring in your mouth. "very high. i feel kinda floaty."

jinx’s eyes darkened, the gleam of mischief appearing in them. "you are so high." she teased, her thumb tracing your bottom lip. “just how i like you."

you hummed faintly, pretending to bite on her finger. jinx let out a low, dark chuckle, her thumb now pressing against your tongue. "naughty girl."

her words sent a shiver down your spine, your heart raced in your chest. the way she was looking at you sent waves of heat through your body.

your lips closed around her finger, a low whimper vibrating down your throat at the sensation, soon suctioning without breaking eye contact. her eyes darkened even further, the sound of your whimper making her breath hitch. a low, primal sound left her lips as her gaze fixated on your.

"you’re getting bold, baby," she purred, her thumb pushing further into your mouth. you hummed around her finger, the feeling making your head spin even further. the combination of the weed and her scent was overwhelming, it was turning your brain to mush. your eyes fluttered, your tongue swirling around her thumb. you didn’t know where this audacity was coming from, but it just felt so good.

jinx chuckled darkly, her eyes scanning your face as her thumb gently caressed your lips. "you just can't help yourself, can you?" her tone was low and teasing, but you could hear the hint of restraint in it. “so needy…"

you gently pulled away from her thumb, a trail of saliva connecting both of you. her gaze darkened even further at the sight, her eyes scanning over your face with a mix of hunger and restraint. her breath hitched as your lips touched her jaw. she tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her skin to your mouth.

“you’re being such a good girl for me right now." she whispered, her free hand finding the nape of your neck. her words causing a shiver run down your spine, eagerly pushing her down to lay on her back as you kept savoring her skin, her body laid beneath yours without resistance.

she hummed, her hand in your hair. she gently tugged on the strands. you were too focused to respond to her teasing. she tilted her head back as your lips traveled down her neck, hands roaming around her form shamelessly. she felt warm beneath your body, your fingertips sneaking down her shirt and feeling her smooth skin. her pulse quickened under your lips as your body pressed flush against her. a moan left her throat, her grip on your hair tightening. her hips bucked against yours, the movement was subtle but definitely deliberate. you were doing such a good job at working her up.

jinx’s breath hitched as your fingers moved to the buttons of her jeans, the action seeming to catch her off guard. she wasn’t complaining, but she wasn’t expecting it. “you’re getting awfully handsy,” she rasped.

“i just wanna taste you…” you almost whined into her neck, too drunk with desire to stop and question your own actions.

“taste me, huh?” jinx chuckled, her hand in your hair gripping harder. her voice was still teasing but now laced with a hint of lust. “can you even handle it, pretty baby?”

you looked up at her, eyes glassy and lips slightly swollen. you knew you looked wrecked right now, a needy mess of a girl yearning for more. but you didn’t care.

"i can handle it." you huffed, your fingers struggling a bit with the last button. "i need to taste you, please.”

you couldn’t handle it.

your fuzzy senses made you move sloppily, munching on her pussy like she was your last meal, muffling your whimpers and moans against her as you humped the edge of the couch like a dog in heat. the way you lapped her folds made her groan loudly, rocking her hips against your face and pulling your hair aggressively.

“so pathetic,” she chuckled hoarsely, the view of you between her legs was making it hard for her to keep her composure. “you’re so desperate for me, such a needy—“ pathetic girl she was about to say, but the words dissolved in her throat as a loud moan escaped her lips when you sucked hard on her clit. she tightened her grip on your hair, guiding your movements. “hmmyeah…that’s it. good girl.”

your heart raced at the praise, she was intoxicating. a goddess you’d want to live and die for, to go against your own convictions just for a little bit of her.

her thighs closed around your head, holding you in place as you continued to slurp her fluids. the sounds and smell of sex will definitely linger in the fabric of the sofa, yet again, that was the last of your concerns. in fact, who says you won’t be sniffing on it days later just hoping to catch a taste of her again.

her moans rasped her throat, getting impossibly louder as she edged her high. her legs around my head was making you feel dizzy, the taste of her on your tongue, her noises in your ear, her scent in your nose. it was like your own version of heaven.

she was gripping your hair so hard it was almost painful, but you didn't mind. you wanted to hear her come undone, “please," you whimpered, barely able to get the word out. you kept begging between sloppy kisses on her folds. “please, please, please..let me make you cum, please.” you whined desperately.

she pulled at your hair to meet your eyes, both of you had them glossy, red and wide pupils. jinx bit her lip so hard that it drew blood at some point, staining her cracked lips in a dark red shade.

“you’re really gonna make me lose it.” she choked out.

your tongue was relentless, switching between pressing and swirling around her clit and pumping inside her hole, her creamy juices dripping down your chin. “please come for me, i wanna taste you, hm, jinx,” the words fell out of your mouth like a prayer, you hands gripping her thighs to the point of leaving marks on her pale skin.

“can’t— don’t stop!” she trembled, babbling and babbling incoherences, “i-i’m—“ a loud, guttural moan broke her sentence. her slim body tensed up before quivering and eyes shut as she rode out her peak. she was mesmerizing, you couldn’t stop even when your jaw was aching so bad. “f-fuck, stop, stop.” she pleaded, flinching away from your greedy mouth.

the intensity left you both panting heavily, she covered her face with her forearm and you shifted to rest on her stomach, fingertip drawing random patterns over her cloudy tattoos. jinx was wrecked, trying to even her breath.

“c’mere.” she mumbled, petting your head with her free hand. she doesn’t have to ask twice for you to crawl up to her, resting your head on her chest. youf mind was still dizzy from everything that just happened.

she was running her hand through your hair, when she broke the silence "you’re such a good girl," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

heat rushed to your face at her words. even just her voice sounded wrecked, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at knowing you were the one who did that to her.

you nuzzled yourself further into her chest, your body was starting to feel heavy. she chuckled faintly, her hand still running through your hair. "and now you're a sleepy, stoned mess."

after a beat, she added, "not that that's any differently from how you usually are, though."

“stop babbling,” you mumbled, pecking the top of her breast. “let’s nap.” she groaned softly, shifting slightly to fix her underwear and lay comfortably. “you’re still no fun.” she murmured, cuddling you back.

bonus !

having jinx on your lap as you hung out with the group wasn’t something new. but only a fool wouldn’t realize the change of dynamic between you and her. as one of your hands was busy holding your drink, the other gripped possessively to her hip, pulling her back in place whenever she slipped for squirming too much, babygirl couldn’t sit still as she told her fabulous stories.

“jinx,” ekko’s voice interrupted as he approached with a confident smile. “i have a blunt to share, ya wanna head upstairs?”

“oop— nah, thanks man.” she chuckled, leaning back against your chest as she held your hand to her stomach. “i only smoke my girlfriend’s weed.”