#mean!reader

"You don't own me, Rafe."

The entire bonfire goes quiet.

The music is still blasting somewhere behind you, Kelce is standing there with a beer halfway to his mouth, and Topper looks like he's suddenly developed a very deep interest in the sand beneath his feet.

Rafe Cameron, on the other hand, looks furious.

"You gonna keep disrespecting me in front of everyone?" he snaps.

You laugh.

Actually laugh.

"Disrespecting you?" you repeat, crossing your arms. "Rafe, you just told me to 'shut the fuck up' because I disagreed with you."

"You were making a scene."

"No, sweetheart," you say sweetly. "You made a scene. I corrected you."

Kelce mutters, "Jesus Christ."

Topper elbows him.

Rafe glares at both of them.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

"No."

His jaw clenches.

"What the fuck do you mean, no?"

"I mean exactly what I said."

You take a step closer.

"You don't get to embarrass me publicly and then expect privacy when I respond."

His nostrils flare.

"You think you're always right."

"No."

Your voice remains calm.

"I think you don't get to treat me like shit."

"You're blowing this out of proportion."

"Oh, fuck off."

Kelce chokes on his drink.

Rafe's eyes widen.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Your gaze doesn't waver.

"You're not going to stand there and pretend I'm being dramatic because you don't like consequences."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"And you don't know how to communicate without acting like a complete asshole."

Silence.

Topper physically takes a step back.

Rafe runs a hand through his hair.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"No, don't 'Jesus Christ' me."

You point a finger at him.

"You don't get to raise your voice at me because you're having a bad day."

"I didn't—"

"You absolutely did."

"You were pushing my buttons."

"Then grow the fuck up."

He stares at you.

People stare at both of you.

Normally, people back down around Rafe Cameron.

You never have.

You never will.

"You done?" he asks bitterly.

"No."

His eyes close briefly.

"Of course not."

You straighten.

"If you want to date me, then act like it."

His expression hardens.

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm your girlfriend."

You pause.

"Not your therapist."

Another pause.

"Not your emotional punching bag."

You look him dead in the eye.

"And I'm sure as hell not your fucking hoe."

The words hit him like a truck.

"That's not what I—"

"Really?" you cut in. "Because ordering me around and expecting me to smile through your bullshit says otherwise."

Topper quietly disappears.

Kelce follows.

Cowards.

Rafe's voice drops.

"You know that's not how I see you."

"Then stop acting like it."

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Then opens it again.

"I fucked up."

"Congratulations," you reply flatly. "You discovered accountability."

You turn around.

"Where the fuck are you going?"

"Home."

"We're not done talking."

You spin back toward him.

"I am."

He grabs your wrist.

You freeze.

Slowly, you look down.

Then back up.

"Let go."

His expression changes instantly.

"Shit."

"Let go."

He releases you immediately.

But the damage is done.

"Don't ever do that again."

"I know."

"No."

Your voice shakes slightly.

"I don't think you do."

Rafe looks sick.

"I didn't mean—"

"I don't care what you meant."

You take a step back.

"I said no."

He swallows.

"You don't get to decide when my boundaries stop mattering because you're upset."

"You're right."

You laugh bitterly.

"Wow."

He flinches.

"You know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"You actually are capable of understanding."

Your eyes shine with frustration.

"You just don't do it until it affects you."

"That's not fair."

"No?"

You scoff.

"Then tell me, Rafe Cameron."

Your voice cracks.

"How many people have you hurt because you expected them to tolerate behavior you wouldn't accept from anyone else?"

Silence.

The answer is written all over his face.

Too many.

"I'm going home."

"Wait."

"No."

"Please."

You blink.

Rafe Cameron doesn't say please.

Not often.

"I said no."

"You can't just leave."

"You don't get to tell me what I can do."

He reaches for you again.

Stops himself.

His hands clench at his sides.

"Fuck."

"Exactly."

He looks miserable.

"Just tell me how to fix it."

Your expression hardens.

"You don't get a fucking instruction manual."

"Then what do I do?"

"You apologize."

"I am apologizing."

"No."

You shake your head.

"You're panicking."

His face falls.

"You apologize because you understand what you did."

He stares at you.

"You crossed a line."

"You humiliated me."

"You ignored my boundaries."

"And then you expected me to comfort you because you felt bad about it."

Each sentence hits harder than the last.

"That's not love, Rafe."

His eyes fill with tears.

"I know."

You blink.

"What?"

"I know."

His voice breaks.

"I'm trying."

Your anger stutters.

Because Rafe Cameron rarely lets people see him crack.

"I'm trying so fucking hard."

He laughs bitterly.

"But every time I think someone actually gives a shit about me, I ruin it."

You don't answer.

"I don't know how to do this."

He gestures helplessly.

"Whatever the fuck this is."

His breathing becomes uneven.

"But I know I don't want to lose you."

The silence stretches.

Then:

"You don't get to keep me through guilt."

His head snaps up.

"What?"

"You don't get to make me responsible for your healing."

His shoulders slump.

"I know."

"You have to choose to be better because it's the right thing to do."

He nods.

"Not because you're scared I'll leave."

Another nod.

You study him.

Then sigh.

"You really are an idiot."

A wet laugh escapes him.

"Yeah."

"You know what the problem is?"

"What?"

"You think love means unconditional tolerance."

His brow furrows.

"It doesn't."

You step closer.

"Love has standards."

Your gaze softens slightly.

"And if you cross those standards, there are consequences."

He wipes at his eyes angrily.

"I hate when you're right."

"You must be exhausted, then."

A laugh bursts out of him.

Real.

Small.

Broken.

Then he says something so quiet you almost miss it.

"I don't think anyone's ever loved me enough to tell me no."

Your chest tightens.

"Well."

You glance up at him.

"You should probably get used to it."

He smiles weakly.

Then ruins it.

"So we're okay?"

You stare at him.

"Did you learn absolutely nothing?"

His face drops.

"Fuck."

You sigh.

"We're rebuilding."

"Oh."

"You don't get automatic forgiveness."

"Right."

"You earn trust."

He nods quickly.

"Okay."

"Consistency."

"Okay."

"Respect."

"Okay."

"Communication."

"Okay."

"No grabbing me when I'm trying to leave."

His expression crumbles.

"Okay."

"And if you pull that shit again—"

"I know."

He hesitates.

"You'll leave."

You look at him.

"No."

His eyebrows rise.

"I'll slap the stupid out of you first."

Rafe blinks.

Then, despite himself, laughs.

"Jesus Christ."

"You think I'm joking?"

His smile widens slightly.

"I know you're not."

You point at him.

"Good."

Then you begin walking away.

"Wait."

You stop.

"What now?"

Rafe swallows.

Then, right there in the driveway outside Tannyhill,

he drops to his knees.

"Rafe—"

"No."

His voice shakes.

"I need you to hear this."

You freeze.

He looks up at you.

Hair messy.

Eyes red.

Pride completely abandoned.

"I'm sorry."

You don't answer.

"For every time I made you feel small."

His throat bobs.

"For every time I expected you to put up with shit you never should've had to."

Tears gather in his eyes.

"For every fucking time I treated you like loving me meant accepting the worst parts of me."

Your heart aches.

"I know I don't deserve another chance."

His voice cracks.

"But if you give me one..."

He takes a shaky breath.

"I'll spend every day proving that I can be better."

The world feels very quiet.

Then you crouch in front of him.

"Get up."

He hesitates.

"Get up, Rafe."

Slowly, he obeys.

You place your hands on either side of his face.

"I love you."

Hope flashes across his features.

"But loving you doesn't mean abandoning myself."

His eyes shine.

"And if you disrespect me again—"

"You'll leave."

"No."

You raise an eyebrow.

"I'll remind you exactly who the fuck you're talking to."

He laughs through tears.

"Terrifying."

"Damn right."

He wraps his arms around you carefully.

Like he's asking permission.

You hug him back.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

Then:

"You know," Rafe murmurs into your hair.

"What?"

"Topper owes me fifty bucks."

You pull back.

"What?"

"He bet you'd dump me."

You blink.

Then:

"Tell him to pay up."

Rafe grins.

"Fuck, I love you."

You roll your eyes.

"I know."

Then, after a beat:

"But don't let it get to your head, Cameron."

His smile softens.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And for once,

he means it.

_____________________________________________

Hope y'all enjoyed it, see you in the next chapter,

golden retriever!yuji who never ever calls you mean. not even when all you do is call him names and push him around. he is always making excuses for you and gets especially annoyed when people assume things about you when they clearly know nothing.

golden retriever!yuji who just smiles when you insult him, like your giving him a compliment. you literally call him insufferable and he is grinning at you from ear to ear, mumbling, "she knows who i am :D !" you have to physically walk away from that situation.

golden retriever!yuji who really just doesn't take your meanness personally, especially when he can tell your overwhelmed. he knows the difference between you using it as a coping mechanism and you lashing out because your trying to hurt him. he refuses to punish you if he thinks you might actually be hurting.

golden retriever!yuji who is so bf coded that he learns your habits without even noticing it. little things that are so mundane it makes your heart race. like how you take your coffee, what foods you pretend not to like, what tone means you're actually upset vs your normal tone.

golden retriever!yuji who is the only person not intimidated by you being satoru gojo's little sister. everyone walks on egg shells around you. this is yet another reason you refuse to make connections, most of the girls at jjk are so in love with your brother that they think if they are some how nice to you, gojo will let them in to him pants ( a game you are definitely not interested in playing! ).

golden retriever!yuji who actually gets worried and weirdly soft when you go quiet. if you're not snapping or rolling your eyes, he immediately assumes something is wrong and is instantly trying to find a way to remedy the problem, even before he knows what the problem is.

golden retriever!yuji who absolutely melts the first time you do something gentle without thinking like fixing his collar, brushing something off his face, or handing him something without the usual level of snark. he will literally freeze. sure, your insults make his dick hard but your gentleness make his heart race.

golden retriever!yuji who as a bf is constantly bragging about you in the most serious ways. ━ "she's really strong, like stronger than me." ━ "she's lowkey scary, but it's soooo hot." ━ "i once heard her tell a curse to shut up, like what??" you definitely overhear all of it, yuji is not exactly a quiet person. you really string his neck once your alone, not that it does much good because as we established, he's into that!

You didn’t exert yourself to the point of passing out for no reason, all those scraped knees, all the sweat, the blood, the tears, it’s all part of your purpose. You were meant to be number one, no doubt about it.

It started on the court, like any sort of interaction you’ve ever had, and it wasn’t even your opponent.

Nope, just the two dolts standing in the corner staring at you. Two sets of eyes. One calculated, watching every swing of your arm and every single tilt of your head. The other? Flicking between you and the racket in his own hand with an almost dumbfounded grin.

On the left, is Jason Todd. His eyes narrowed with every single step you take. Ice they called him, his expression calculating, unwavering. How fucking cliche, huh? You’ve played against him before in practice matches, even though you two never really got conversational, you had a silent understanding of each other. No bullshit, no chitchat, just some good tennis. It’s not like you’ve got a high opinion of Jason or anything, sure he can play but he’s a goddamn Wayne at the end of the day, whether his Daddy’s money has anything to do with his place in Stanford or not.

On the right? The opposite. Roy Harper. He’s all dumb little grins and wandering eyes. Fire, cause of that stupid red mane of his, slightly swooped to the side behind his sunglasses. He’s quick though, you have to admit. Quick with his serves, quicker with his conquests, and a never-ending roster it seems. You don’t get it, truly. He can hardly have his head in the game if it’s constantly between someone’s legs.

“I’d let her fuck me with that racket.” Roy hums into his can of Coke, his eyes flickering from you on the court to Jason beside him.

“You’d let anyone fuck you with anything, Harper.” Is Jason’s only response, seemingly indifferent as his hand goes to snatch the can out of Roy’s hand, finishing what’s left of it in a quick swig.

“Hey,” Roy’s lips curl into the beginning of a stupid little pout, but he’s quickly distracted by the whistle blowing, Jason tossing the now crumpled-up can into his lap, already on his feet.

Wiping the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand, you’re crouched down on the court, staring at your laces as you catch your breath. You won again, of course you did. A wound to your own ego would bear greater pain than any physical injury you could ever imagine.

“You’re good,” Jason observes, his shadow blocking out the beating sun. Yeah, fork found in kitchen.

“I know.”

It’s been abundantly clear since you three started whatever the fuck this even is, there are no friends in your game. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with drinking socially to quell your loneliness, but this isn’t meant to mean anything, why would it? Tennis is your life, anything and everything else is secondary.

You blink, staring at the joint in Roy’s hand. You’re usually strict about this kind of shit, for your own good. You’d honestly rather tear every ligament in your shoulder before failing a fucking drug test before a game. But you’ve got all your stuff shoved into a suitcase anyway, tossed under your bed and ready for spring break. All of your practice games are done and dusted until the real thing this summer. You’ll be fine, it’s just one laid-back evening, besides Roy and his stupid puppy eyes kinda got you into it.

“Hey.” Jason sighs, unceremoniously tossing the case of beer he had to drag here from his own dorm onto the carpet, the bottles clinking against each other.

“Seriously, not an ounce of alcohol to your name, what’re ya, a nun?” -with a sigh he slumps himself down on the floor beside Roy, letting his head thump back against the dresser.

“No, it fucks with my focus.” You correct him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you reach for a bottle, cracking it open against your side table, leaving a small scratch in the wood.

“Do you shit diamonds or something? Loosen up a little.” Roy hums as he stares up at the ceiling, the joint hanging between his lips. You’re not uptight, really! You’re just committed, okay? There’s a difference.

Though still, in an effort to shut him up, you take a drag, sticking your tongue out as if to prove a point.

Jason just watches in silence, sipping at his beer until his gaze narrows just by a fraction, his eyes flickering down to your mouth until he receives a huff of smoke in his face, snapping him out of it.

“So,” you sigh, passing the joint over to Jason, your head tilting over to Roy, “How long have you two been-”

“Oh, we’re not really-” Roy begins with a sheepish chuckle before he’s swiftly cut off by Jason sweating like a sinner in a church,

“No, it’s uh, it’s not like that,” -his voice more than a half-dead drawl for what seems like the first time ever.

You’re in no position to be judging their homoerotic friendship by any means, but you have a functioning pair of pupils in your eyes and at least two brain cells to rub together, and judging by their reactions you aren’t that far from the truth.

“You don’t sound too sure there, Jay,” Roy mumbles into his bottle, chewing on his tongue piercing under the dim light of your dorm room. Within the last couple of seconds you’ve definitely felt a shift in the atmosphere, the air heavier and you swear it ain’t the weed. The glances shared aren’t so subtle anymore, especially with how Roy’s lying back with his head against your side table. He’s got that same grin on his face that he always wears but his eyes ain’t boyishly wide like usual, they’re half-lidded, his t-shirt riding up his torso just a little bit.

“We’re just close.” Jason clarifies as he clears his throat, downing another sip of beer. He hates how unsure he sounds, He’s Jason fucking Todd, he’s ice.

“We met when we were like ten at a tennis camp or something.. and he just stuck around like gum on my shoe.”

Roy shoots him a saccharine little pout at that, his tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet of beer that slowly drips down the neck of his bottle.

You almost feel like you’re walking in on something here, and honestly? Maybe you are.

“Redheads aren’t my type,” Jason grumbles, passing the joint over to you. He’s gripping that glass so hard that he’s got the condensation dripping down his fingers. He’s also sulking like a moody toddler, you’d laugh if you weren’t so weirdly intrigued. You’re not entirely sure just who he’s tying to convince here.

Roy just grins, tucking a stand of his messy hair out of his eyes before going for another drag, “You’re full of shit, Jay. What about-“

“Enough. C’mere.” You suddenly pipe up, rising to your feet, only to promptly slump back on your bed, your fingers drumming against the mattress.

Dumb and dumber just stare at you, Roy tilting his head to the side like a puppy seeing snow for the first time in his life, Jason’s expression faltering for just a moment before he washes the knot in his throat down with another swig of beer.

“Huh? Me or him-”

Before you even think to answer Jason’s question, both of them are perched on the edge of the mattress beside you, Jason still gripping onto his beer bottle for dear life, while the other offers a sheepish grin, dragging his blunt nails over the fabric of his shorts.

“Hi,” Roy breathes, slumping his head against your shoulder like one of those great danes who thinks it’s a lapdog. You can feel his eyes on you under his messy red bangs, unfortunately it’s almost cute.

“Hey,” Without thinking, your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb moving in little circles against his flushed cheeks. You can’t even laugh at him right now, his eyes as half lidded and teary as yours. He’s absolutely baked, all three of you are.

Tilting your head to your left, Jason isn’t much better at the moment, awkwardly drumming his fingers against the neck of the cold bottle, holding it to his face. He’s staring down at the floor mostly, but occasionally over at you two, how Roy leans into you like a plant chasing the sun. You can tell he’s a little tense, his chin on his knee as his free hand twirls the white streak at the front of his hairline around between his thumb and forefinger.

“S’all fuckin’ spinnin.’” He mutters, his voice oddly soft for once. The room, his brain, his feelings, everything.

Slowly, he feels a a hand tugging on his wrist, his fingers curling up slowly before his hand falls back down against the covers with a small thump. He’s not sure why your touch grounds him, truly. It’s like he’s smoked away all his pride, nudging at your palm with his head.

“Close your eyes.”

You’re not sure why you even said that, you’re not in the right state of mind either. Perhaps you’re subconsciously testing these two, seeing if they’ll actually listen to you.

Sure enough, they do. Of course they do.

You chew on your tongue, glancing between the two of them. Roy caved in first, but that’s only cause he’s barely able to focus on anything anyway, anything other than your thumb tracing under his jawline. After a blink, Jason followed, setting his bottle down on the floor with a small clink against the metal leg of your bed frame, his lashes fluttering shut until like Roy, his head lands against your shoulder, subconsciously nosing at your neck.

It’s spring 2006, you smell like weed, sun cream and that little perfume that lives on your bathroom counter, that pink one with little green diamonds. Jason isn’t sure what it’s called, he doesn’t particularly care. But every time he smells it, he just knows he’s going home with a busted up ego and an equally busted up racket.

You’re gnawing on the insides of your cheeks now, thinking. You were tempted to call bullshit on Jason’s defensiveness earlier, but that would’ve only ended in an earful and him not speaking a word to either you or Roy for the rest of the night.

You test them once more, tilting your head back to Roy, letting your lips brush against his. Despite his slow and sluggish movements otherwise, his hand finds your knee, crawling up your thigh and curling into the fabric of your shorts. His response is immediate, bumping his forehead against yours in a clumsy attempt to tilt his head and let his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He’d whine about it under any other circumstances but it’s just muffled by your own teeth tugging at the bar of his tongue piercing.

Jason barely has the chance to even let his eyes open before your hand moves to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the dark curls at his nape and giving them a firm yank, just to fuck with him, of course.

Roy being loud is a given, literally look at him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer whine of filth to leave Jason like that, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his hands move with urgency equal to the one of his lips against yours, he’s pawing at you at this point, pulling your shirt in every which way.

Roy is busy mouthing at your neck, biting at your skin and soothing it with the cold ball of his tongue piercing as if to apologise.

The second you pull your mouth off if Jason to as much as breathe, he looks like he’s about to sob, near going cross eyed when he sees that thin string of spit break.

“No, no, no, come back,” He’s shaking his head like you’ve denied him his one and salvation, tugging at your shirt, the fabric closed tightly in his fists.

You’re quick to shut him up once more, briefly brushing your mouth against his before you tilt your head back, letting him trail his kisses down the other side of your neck.

Shit, your heads spinning now. Like really spinning, staring between them both as you feel hands wandering up your shirt, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, everything, everywhere.

As you’re watching this all unfold, something hits you. You’re tempted to mess with them again, like you so often are. Maybe it’s your own inebriation talking right now, but you just wanna test them a little bit more.

Your grip on Roy’s jaw tightens by a fraction, crossing your legs as you lean back a little bit, your hand in Jason’s hair giving him another little yank upwards. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you in that moment, nor are you in any kind of rational headspace, but you can’t help it.

Slowly, you tilt your head back, either hand still on Jason and Roy, cradling their faces in your palms.

Just as Jason tilts his head down to press a kiss to your inner wrist, you yank Roy’s jaw forward, ultimately resulting in the two of them bumping teeth, then lips, then tongue, and then holy fuck, they’re just fully going at it in front of you, Roy lazily cracking one eye open to help you tug your shorts down your thighs, just enough so he can snap the waistband of your panties against your hip.

Bastard.

It’s like making your Barbie’s kiss, just in this case, it’s two grown ass men.

Roy’s been around the block, he knows what you’re doing, leaning back on your elbows like you’ve got front row seats. You’re shameless about it too, which is actually one of the very few things you two happen to have in common.

Jason well and truly cannot formulate a coherent thought other than the raging boner he’s shifting his legs to hide, his eyes shut tight, feeling the ball of a piercing drag against the corner of his mouth.

He knows you don’t have one, you don’t kiss like that.

But he knows exactly who does.

You were right earlier.

That feeling like you’re walking in on something here, and now? You definitely are.

Jason’s so unbothered normally, they call him Ice for a fucking reason. But right now? He couldn’t hold your gaze in a conversation for longer than about two seconds before he was ducking his head with reddened cheeks and staring down into his lap, trying to ignore the throb between his legs.

Though apparently, he’s warmed up to everyone in Stanford but you. He certainly gets on with your Roy just fine, better than just fine. You wouldn’t even bat an eye if you heard those two fucking in the changing rooms.

The weed is just fucking Jason up right now, he knows, but he can’t—he can’t even do anything about it, he’s got his hands clutching his knees so hard they’re almost shaky, It’s weird and embarrassing and he’s been doing so well trying to act like this means nothing, like this is just a causal smoke.

Only Roy knows about his dilemma, and his only wonderful advice all year long has been to get his head out of his ass and a whack to the back of his head, followed by a delighted snicker of, “Fuck, you need to get laid more,” to Jason’s inconsolable grumbles.

Roy is honestly finding this shit more amusing than he has any right to, his words coming in a drawn out pant as he reaches a hand up to ruffle Jason’s hair a little, his grin unwavering.

“You embarrassed, Jay?” Roy hums, all too proud as he glances between you and Jason, his pupils blown like saucers.

You’re not sure whether to speak or not.

“Off,” Jason shifts slightly, letting his fingers uncurl from a fist as he tugs lightly at your shirt.

Roy only scoffs at that, his chin resting atop your shoulder as he eyes his friend, bumping his head against yours with a small huff.

“C’mon, you’re gonna freak out n’forget your manners and everything?”

That makes Jason avert his eyes, though only briefly before he’s staring at you again, tugging at the cotton.

“Off,” he repeats, “Please, take it off.”

You’re not a fan of people telling you what to do, especially guys who think they’re the shit cause they’ve got a couple good matches under their belts. You try to convince yourself that it’s just out of curiosity, that it’s another one of your stupid little tests - just to see how they react.

Your shirt is soon pulled off over your head as you move to lean back against your headboard, staring at them with a slight arch of your brows.

Oh. You’re so dismissive of them almost, just like you would be on the court. Of course you are. God, Jason feels stupid even sitting here. He spends enough time trying to prove himself as a player against you, but this is incomparable.

Roy on the other hand, is well.. Roy, letting out an obnoxious whistle before he’s silenced by your balled up shirt hitting him square in the face, catching it in his teeth.

“I’ll pay you twenty dollars if you lemme keep that.” He mumbles, twirling it around on his finger. He’s staring at you. Yeah, he knows where your eyes are.. but why would he be looking there if you’ve got a perfectly fine pair of tits be could be staring at instead?

“And you call Jason the freak?”

You’re doing that thing with your voice, again. The one that makes his brain sort of go fuzzy, you talk to him like he’s an idiot. He is.

God, there’s something seriously wrong with him.

Jason isn’t distracted by your stupid chitchat, he doesn’t care if Roy pokes fun at him or not, all he cares about is the pretty girl laid out in front of him. His lips trail down your neck, kissing and biting but not too hard, he doesn’t wanna freak you out yet.

You keep staring at him, with those pretty eyes, with that unreadable expression, and he’s not going to survive this. God. He feels like he’s dying. Maybe from embarrassment, or lack of oxygen, or a hard-on; but he feels like he’s dying. Like he’ll pass away any moment, and then never have to live through this moment again.

Roy shifts quietly, thumbing over the drawstring of his shorts as he moves to sit up beside you, the bed creaking slightly under the weight of three people.

Jason glances up at you through his eyelashes, holding the silver pendant of your necklace in his teeth.

He looks sweet for once, the white streak in his tousled hair falling into his eyes as he shifts down the bed, the top of his nose dragging between between your tits, down to your stomach before he pauses, fingers lightly tracing the waistband of your underwear.

“Can I?”

When you nod, Jason’s other hand wanders up your thigh, tracing little circles over your skin before he lifts your leg over his shoulder, anything in an effort to be closer to you as he catches the little bow at the front of your panties between his teeth.

Roy finds it funny actually, how a bitch like you shatters people’s tennis careers with a drawer full of pretty, lacy things.

He definitely wasn’t snooping in your drawer while you were looking for a lighter earlier.

Roy raises an eyebrow for a moment, his lips curling up into another one of his stupid smirks when his eyes drift down to the slight wet patch in your panties, he noticed it earlier when he pulled at your shorts while him and Jason made out.

“And I’m the freak? I mean you’re literally-”

He’s very swiftly shut up by your hand smacking the underside of his jaw, your hot breath ghosting against his lips.

“Nobody’s talking to you, Harper.”

There you go again, treating him like an idiot. Fuck, he needs to get his brain checked out cause that shouldn’t make his dick throb the way it does.

In efforts to muffle another utterly embarrassing sound, Jason pushes his face further into the lacy fabric of your panties, his blunt nails digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave little crescents on your skin.

You’re having none of it though, unimpressed with how he’s trying to keep himself quiet for the sake of his fucking pride. Men and their egos, huh?

Your hand goes down to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging at the long dark strands at the base of his neck, the action that resulted in that precious little whine earlier.

This time, it’s paired with an unintelligible ramble into your clothed cunt about how pretty you are, his hips pushing into the mattress beneath him.

Jason doesn’t even care if Roy laughs at him for being whipped for you at this point. He’s mouthing at you through the fabric almost desperately. He’s all over the fucking place, one second he’s got his nose bumping against your clothed clit, and then his lips are at your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach, any way he can be close to you.

“Please,”

Kisses all over your thighs, shaky pants as he tries not to grind against the mattress too pathetically, his eyes half lidded as he uses the last of his common sense to try string together a sentence.

“Please let me fuck you.”

Roy can feel his heartbeat in his ears as he palms himself, unable to stop his hand sliding under his waistband.

You’re cradling Jason’s face again as he keeps mumbling into your thigh, tilting your head up to glance at Roy.

“You just gonna sit there and watch, freak?”

a/n: part 1, possibly????

yes I totally wrote this for myself.. yes I may or may not be cooking up part 2 if anyone’s interested..

asks and requests currently open ;)

Okay, I’m gonna go lay down, love you bye bye x

Jason Todd m.list

you smirked at your screen when you saw that rafe opened the pictures of your pretty tits that sat perfectly, pushed up in your lacy bra. he didn’t type anything for a few minutes so you decided to text him again.

YOU 5:46 PM // not even a thank you? ungrateful brat.

after that he replied, but not with a text.

RAFE 5:48 PM // *1 attachment*

your eyebrows furrowed, confused why he sent a video instead of a text back, you opened it, to see rafe slowly stroking his unexpectedly big cock. you could hear him moaning softly in the background, no not moaning, whimpering. for some reason you couldn’t stop staring at the screen, playing the video 3 times. and because it took you a long time to reply back, rafe texted again.

RAFE 5:54 PM // sorry was that too much?… i shouldn’t have sent that..

you snap out of your thoughts, so many things running through your mind as you looked at the video.

YOU 5:55 PM // no keep going.

RAFE 5:56 PM // okay..

as he took his time taking a good video, you couldn’t help but take a video of yourself squeezing your tits through your bra to send to the nerdy boy who was shamelessly sending you videos of himself stroking his cock.

YOU 5:58 PM // *1 attachment*

RAFE 5:58 PM // *1 attachment*

you and rafe send the videos at the same time, you open his and he was stroking his cock way faster than before, you could see it twitching in his hand, and you could hear him breathe out “m so close.. m so close” faintly in the background, so cute

YOU 6:01 PM // you only get to cum if you make our next assignment for science for me

RAFE 6:02 // ill mke it

his texting was messy as he was typing with one hand

YOU 6:03 // you better, now cum.

i got super tired sorry so no whiny rafe at the end 💔