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leclsrc · 7 months

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wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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angelhound · 1 year

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found out today worms can climb walls. even wet walls. i found this information because there are. worms in my shower. climbing the walls

#my first thought was im going to kms if its parasitic worms because i cannot handle living thru this #my second thought after confirming they r not in ur body worms was huh i wonder what worms symbolize spiritually #he is mentally unwell folks. avert your eyes #pretending i like this. i have .. shower buddies now #bugs tw #or? idk #mention of #parasites tw #worms count as bugs i think

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ellemj · 5 months

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What Am I To You?

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Summary: You pissed your fuck buddy off and now he only has one question, but it takes a few orgasms to get the right answer out of you.

Warnings: profanity, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, facesitting, light choking, light breeding kink, no use of y/n, praise, spanking, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings. Thank you to @littlemiss-yeehaw for the ones listed above, she's a gem.

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: This filth came from a random 4am thought that created the dialogue in the first paragraph. I had to use it. Everyone should totally beg @littlemiss-yeehaw to post the horny lil sketch she started for this one-shot. Side note, should I start a tag list for people who want to be tagged in all fics I post? Idk, I'm still way too new to Tumblr to be running a blog like this lmfao. I need a team of advisors.

“Do you know who the fuck you’re talking to? Get on the bed, I’ll show you.” You stay where you are, standing in the doorway of his bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest in a show of defiance. “Get on the fucking bed, right now.” He repeats, pointing a finger at his bed. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s seconds away from dishing out a punishment, one that he’ll enjoy far more than you, so you shuffle forward and crawl onto the bed as he watches. Good girl.

You’ve been here before. You know what he wants from you. He wants you on your hands and knees, with no looking back over your shoulder to see what’s coming. So that’s how you settle yourself, on your hands and knees, staring down at the soft, ruffled up bedding beneath you.

“What am I to you?” He asks, his tone scarily calm and even. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. What kind of answer is he looking for? You’re just fuck buddies. You use each other to de-stress after missions. It’s never been anything more, not once in the past two months that it’s been going on has there ever been so much as a hint that it could be something more.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. You listen intently as the familiar sound of Bucky’s belt buckle coming undone fills the silence in the room. A chill races through your body, dancing across the surface of your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“You don’t know…” Bucky tsks. You can’t see him, but he’s standing a couple of feet away from the foot of the bed, letting his eyes rake over your nearly exposed ass as he unbuttons his shirt. The little black dress that you’re wearing barely covers anything with the position you’re in, and he’s fucking thankful for it. In fact, if you hadn’t pissed him off tonight, he probably would’ve found some way to fuck you during the mission just because of that dress. But you pissed him off. “I’ll help you figure it out.” Bucky steps forward now, his warm right hand and cool, metal left hand both gracing the skin of your right ankle as he begins taking off your heels. He drops one to the floor before moving on to the other, and then he strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side as well.

“I thought we were just—”

“You don’t want to finish that sentence.” Bucky warns, effectively cutting you off and giving you a chance to save yourself. It’s beyond clear now that this isn’t just a fuck buddies situation to him anymore. It did start out that way though. Two months ago when you two stumbled into bed together, he proposed a friends-with-benefits type of relationship so casually that you would’ve thought he’d had plenty of them in his lifetime. It worked so well, with the two of you meeting up once or twice a week at either your place or his to blow off steam with good sex. It wasn’t until you were a month in that Bucky started to realize he hated the way you’d leave within half an hour of finishing each other off. He hated that you never slept over. He hated that you still had the freedom to talk to other guys, hell, you could even go out on dates with other guys if you wanted and he wouldn’t be able to say shit about it. Because this was nothing. It was just a casual agreement between friends.

Bucky trails his fingers along your calves slowly, taking his time as he decides what he’s going to do with you. Every other time that you’ve been together, he’s let it be a mutually beneficial thing. There was never a time where only one of you pleased the other, because that would’ve defeated the purpose of the arrangement. He would’ve been perfectly content with solely pleasuring you here and there, giving you everything while taking nothing for himself, but you always reciprocated and he never stopped you. But now, he’s going to do exactly what he wants. He’s going to show you what he is to you in the best way that he knows how: by making you come undone for him, by reminding you that no one else has ever or will ever make you feel the way that he can.

As Bucky pulls his hands away from your calves, you hear the sound of his pants dropping to the floor, the sound of his dog tags shifting around his neck and tapping against his bare chest with his movements, and then the sound of a deep sigh leaving his lips. Anticipation courses through your veins and mixes with adrenaline, creating a dangerous compound that only seems to encourage the wetness seeping into your panties. You shift on the bed, wiggling your hips and wishing you could clench your thighs together for even the smallest amount of friction. Bucky, of course, notices you moving and quickly gains control of the situation.

“Impatient, huh? Do you need something?” He questions slyly, letting his hands connect with your calves once again. You’re fooled by his gentle touch, your body not at all expecting his flesh hand to suddenly smack against your ass. “Answer me.” Holy shit. He’s never been quite like this with you before.

“I need you.” You answer, hoping he’ll give you anything in return.

“You don’t even know what I am to you, yet you need me?”

“Bucky…” Your voice trails off as his hands glide further up your legs, past the crooks of your knees and along the sides of your thighs. When both of his hands reach the curve of your ass, he begins pushing the hem of your dress up around your waist. The silence is deafening.

He wasn’t planning to be so rough with you, but as soon as his eyes land on the tiny black thong that was previously hidden beneath your tiny black dress, his hands start functioning on autopilot. A low groan rumbles past his lips as he pulls your panties to the side with his vibranium hand and shoves two fingers into your cunt, without a single breath of a warning.

“BUCKY!” You cry out, arching your back and trying to pull away from him. He moves his vibranium hand to grip your left hip, holding you firmly in place while his fingers are still buried knuckle-deep within you. Giving you little time to adjust, he begins sliding them in and out, in and out, giving himself a chance to feel how wet and tight you are for him. Fuck. It’s going to test every bit of his resolve and self-discipline to get through what he plans to do to you tonight.

“That’s it, say my name.” He encourages you, pumping his fingers in and out at a steady pace. When he leans in and attaches his lips to your clit, you fist the bedding in both hands and squeeze your eyes shut. Breathy moans and curses fall from your lips as his tongue circles over the most sensitive part of your body, all while his two fingers are curling inside of you. You’ve never been one to go careening toward an orgasm with little-to-no effort, but Bucky is skilled. That familiar knot is twisting tighter and tighter in your lower stomach as he relentlessly toys with your pussy. He can tell you’re already close to your first orgasm of the night, and as much as he wants to withhold it until you admit that he means something to you, he wants to see you come undone for him even more.

“Bucky, I’m close.” Your voice is breathless, all of your energy is focused on actively denying yourself of your release. For the briefest second, you wonder why your body won’t just go ahead and cum, but then you realize that you want his permission. You want him to tell you to let go, to cum on his fingers and lips. Bucky fucks his fingers into you a little harder and deeper, reaching a spot that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your toes curling. Another loud moan from you has Bucky digging his vibranium fingers into your hip with enough force to leave bruises. He knows you’re right on the edge, and it takes him only a second to figure out why you’re not letting go. He pulls his head back for a moment but lets his fingers continue their work.

“Do you want to cum for me, baby?” He asks. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that sends heat rushing to your cheeks. You nod your head fervently and he chuckles at your neediness. “Who gets you this wet? This desperate for release?” Fuck.

“You, Bucky.” You moan out your response as he pulls his fingers nearly all the way out and slides them back in at the slowest pace yet.

“Who else?” He demands to know, picking up the pace once again.

“No one, only you.” Your answer is honest and it earns you his mouth back on your clit. He sucks and licks at it like his life depends on your impending orgasm. He gets you right back to the edge within seconds, before breaking away from your clit momentarily just to say cum for me. Your orgasm washes over you in an instant, your pussy clenching down on his two fingers as you unintentionally grind against his mouth. He flattens his tongue against your clit and lets you take everything you need. After a few more seconds of immense pleasure, the legs and arms that have been so dutifully holding you up are threatening to collapse.

“What am I to you?” Bucky repeats his question from earlier, but still, your answer is the same.

“I don’t know.” Your voice is quieter now, weaker since the first orgasm took so much energy out of you. Bucky shakes his head, though you can’t see him from your current position. He didn’t think you’d have a better answer after just one orgasm, but he’s going to give you a chance after each one anyway.

“Lay on your back.” Bucky commands. You do as you’re told. As you finally make eye contact with him, he can see the thankfulness in your gaze. You were getting tired of holding the same position. Bucky steps forward and places one knee on the bed, his hands sliding up your thighs. His fingers snag along the waistband of your thong before he begins pulling it down your legs. You bend your knees to make it easier, and he slips it off gently before dropping it on the floor with your heels and his clothes. He climbs onto the bed now, your legs instantly spreading to let him between them. He crawls over your body and the new sensation of his warm skin against yours is delicious. You wish he would’ve taken your dress off already. When you feel the outline of his hard cock, still covered by his boxers, pressing against your wet, sensitive cunt, your eyes flutter closed and your legs instinctively wrap around his hips. You’ve always been a sucker for this, for having him pressed against you so close yet not close enough. It’s always made you a bit feral and Bucky’s fully aware of that. A knowing smirk spreads across his features as he puts a little more weight into your position, pressing his cock against you a little harder. When you open your eyes and look up at him, he has to remind himself that he can’t just give in a fuck the shit out of you right now. He has an end goal.

“Why do we still have clothes on?” You ask, referring to your dress and his boxers. Bucky chuckles lowly starts circling his hips against you, drawing a soft hum from your pretty lips. He dips his head down and starts leaving light kisses along the side of your neck. He knows that’s a weakness of yours too, his mouth anywhere on your skin. It’s one of the first tactics he deploys when he wants to fuck but he isn’t sure if you’re up for it or not.

“Do you want our clothes off?” Bucky breathes the question against the skin just below your earlobe and you find yourself having trouble concentrating. He can feel you nod, but he doesn’t actually give a damn about what you want right now. He’s not a monster though, so he’ll give you half of what you want. He pushes himself off of you in one swift movement and stands on the floor beside the bed. You turn your head to watch as he slides his boxers down his legs and kicks them off. They join the pile that consists of the rest of his clothes, your heels, and your thong on the floor. When he returns to his position on top of you, you stick out your bottom lip in a pout over him not removing your dress. He’s quick to lean in and suck that bottom lip in between his teeth, biting down on it lightly before slipping his tongue into your mouth. He always tastes so fucking good, though you can never pinpoint what he tastes like. It’s just him. Honestly, you’d let him spit in your mouth if he wanted to.

Bucky kisses a lot like he fucks, with so much passion that it makes your heart race and your mind reel. It makes you think about how mediocre every other kiss with any other guy was, about how kissing was just a minor part of foreplay until you started kissing him. Now kissing is everything. Your hands travel up his sides and settle on either side of his face as you fight to deepen the kiss. When you suck on his tongue, he groans into your mouth and pulls back. You love the way his lips and nose get pink when he kisses you like that.

“No more kissing.” Bucky rasps. You let out a whine that makes his cock twitch. He loves hearing how needy you are for him, but it’s especially enjoyable when he hears how needy you are just for him to kiss you. He starts grinding his now bare cock along the folds of your pussy with just the right amount of pressure, focusing his efforts on your clit. He probably should’ve used his mouth and fingers again for this one, because he’s far too close to cumming just from feeling how wet you are against his shaft. His cock collects your wetness more and more with each thrust of his hips, and for a second he thinks about just letting the tip slide in. He won’t do it though, not yet. He won’t put his cock inside of you until he’s ready to make you cum for the third time.

“You’re being a tease tonight.” You pout, letting your hands find his hips and using your grasp there to pull him harder against you. He stills himself and you let out a frustrated sigh. Why isn’t he giving you more?

“You’re being greedy. You already came once, you should be saying thank you.” Bucky retorts, pushing himself up with his hands and sitting back on his knees between your legs. Your eyes are quick to zone in on his cock, just as his flesh hand is wrapping around it and giving it a firm stroke from the base to the tip. God, you’ve always loved seeing him touch himself. He doesn’t do it in front of you often. Normally the two of you are quick to get down to business and just fuck, but there have been a few very memorable times where you get to see him stroke his cock right before he guides it inside of you. Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip, and for a second Bucky imagines that same tongue all over his fucking cock. No. This isn’t about him tonight. This is about finally making you see what’s been right in front of you all along.

“Please.” The word leaves your lips so softly, so gently, that Bucky’s hand hesitates around his length. He’s never heard you beg before. You’ve never had a reason to, he always gave you what you needed, before you had to ask. A dark feeling settles within his chest as he realizes he likes it.

“Please?” He repeats the word, as if he doesn’t understand the meaning. You see the way his gaze changes from one of lust to one of pure desire. He wants more.

“Please, Bucky. Fuck me.” You give him the most innocent look you can muster up as you lay there in his bed with your pussy exposed and nearly dripping onto his bedding. He tightens his fist around the base of his cock and scrunches his eyes closed, clearly trying to talk himself down from blowing his load way too fucking soon. If he sits there and looks at you any longer, he won’t last, he won’t be able to make it to his end goal tonight. The only thing he can think of to keep himself on track is something that’ll easily obscure his vision of you.

“No, you’re going to sit on my face.” He says roughly, positioning himself on his back next to you. He looks over at you impatiently, he almost looks offended that you’re not already changing positions for him. You’re quick to sit up and swing a leg over his torso, straddling his chest but not making any contact with him yet. “I said my face, sweetheart.”

“I know, but—” You’re about to point out that he’s already eaten you out once tonight and you haven’t even had the chance to reciprocate, when he abruptly grasps your thighs and pulls you over his head. “Fuck.” You mumble the curse word out as he easily pulls you down, your cunt making contact with his mouth as he dives in. You can’t form a single thought as his tongue delves into you. He fucks you with it almost as thoroughly as he did with his fingers just a few minutes ago, thrusting it in and out while your clit brushes against the tip of his nose. His hands slide back to grip your ass and you have to brace your hands on the headboard to keep from putting your full weight on his face. He can feel your resistance and he hates it. He lifts you up an inch just to chastise you.

“I said sit on my fucking face, not hover over it.” He pulls you down again but this time he brings his right hand in to rub harsh circles against your clit as his tongue continues its work on your entrance. You’re panting and breaking out in a sweat within a few seconds. You still haven’t fully sat on his face, so he’s going to give you one more punishment and see if you’ll give in. His vibranium hand moves away from you and the swings back once more, slapping your ass so hard that you fall forward a bit, your cunt landing firmly against Bucky’s mouth. He hums against your pussy in approval, and the sound sends vibrations through your core. Fuck. You’re going to cum a second time and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. When he sets just the right pressure and pace with his flesh fingers on your clit, and his tongue starts lapping into you like eating pussy is his fucking career, your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Your chest is heaving and your knuckles are turning white as your death grip on the headboard threatens to bruise your palms.

“Fuck, I’m cumming. Oh my god, Bucky!” You cry the words out so loudly, yet your voice sounds so far away in your own ears as your orgasm short circuits your entire nervous system. After a few seconds, you realize you’re grinding lazy circles against Bucky’s mouth, and he’s letting you. “Shit.” You mutter, using all of your remaining strength to try to dismount his face. He grasps your thighs to stop you, and then places a long, gentle kiss right against your clit, sucking on it in the slightest bit as he pulls back. Then, he lets you go. You collapse on the bed next to him, your breasts threatening to spill over the low-cut neckline of your dress from tonight’s activities thus far.

“What am I to you?” Bucky asks a third time, rolling onto his side to face you. He gazes at you with a much gentler expression than earlier as he brushes a few loose strands of hair away from your face. He thinks you look so damn perfect like this. You always glow after sex, but after two orgasms you could be mistaken for the fucking sun.

“Bucky…” Your voice trails off as you desperately search your brain for the answer he’s looking for. He obviously doesn’t want you to say that he’s your fuck buddy, and maybe he isn’t. You probably shouldn’t feel as jealous as you do when he ends up on missions with Sharon instead of you, that’s not very fuck-buddy-friendly of you. You also probably shouldn’t hate the few minutes after sex when he’s catching his breath in bed while you’re pulling your clothes on, hoping he won’t be annoyed with how long it takes you to get out of his apartment. Maybe you’re more than fuck buddies. But still, you don’t know what to call it. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure.” Bucky repeats slowly, as if he’s tasting the words. His facial expression remains gentle, but the light in his eyes darkens. “Take off your dress.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You push yourself up and sit on the side of the bed before pulling the dress over your head and letting it fall to the floor. You haven’t even had the chance to lay back down when he starts moving to sit right behind you, letting his legs come around either side of you so your back presses against his chest. Ah, you see where he’s going with this. The wall that you’re both now facing has a tall standing mirror, giving you the perfect view of your naked body in front of his in the dim light of his bedroom. “Look at yourself.” Bucky coos, cupping your chin with his flesh hand and tilting your head up the tiniest bit. “So fucking pretty.”

His words have you blushing for some reason. Of all of the times you’ve been naked in his bed, you don’t recall him ever saying sweet things to you just for the sake of saying them. Maybe he thought them, you wouldn’t know, but he sure as hell never said them. It sends a wave of warmth throughout your body, and your already pink-tinged cheeks take on another layer of blush. With almost no effort, Bucky places his hands on your hips and pushes you up to a standing position. He then tucks his legs between yours and then grips his cock in his hand. He gives it a few slow pumps before angling you above it and then guiding you to sit down. Right on his fucking dick. The moan that leaves your lips as your head falls back against his shoulder could’ve come from amateur porn. The penetration feels as if it’s happening in slow motion, as you take one-fourth, then half, then three-fourths, and then…his entire fucking cock inside of you.

“That’s it, baby, all of it.” Bucky begins peppering kisses across your neck and right shoulder, but his eyes are locked on the mirror, staring at where the two of you are connected. “Whose fingers make you cum?” He asks, as his right hand skims down your side, straight to your clit. He uses his middle and ring fingers to start gently massaging your already-sensitive clit. You lift your head to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Yours.” You answer quietly, slowly beginning to slide up and down his length. You’re only moving an inch at a time, not yet adjusted nor ready to fuck his cock how it deserves to be fucked.

“Good girl.” Why does such simple praise from him make you feel like you’re having a mini orgasm on the spot? Jesus. You start fucking half of his cock now, lifting yourself up and then sitting back down, but not daring to pull off anywhere near the tip. “Whose mouth makes you cum?”

“Yours.” You say again, a little louder this time as the pleasure begins building low in your stomach once more.

“That’s right, you’re doing so good for me, baby.” Bucky picks up the pace with his hand. His work on your clit is making stars flash in your vision and your pussy continuous clench around his cock. “And who do you let cum in this perfect little pussy? Huh? Who does this belong to?” He asks, his eyes once again drifting down in the mirror until they land on where his cock is disappearing inside of you. He groans as you sit fully down on it again.

“You, Bucky.” You moan, now fully adjusted to his thick length. You start bouncing on it, unable to control yourself any longer. Bucky’s having none of that. He quickly slides his flesh hand up your stomach, between your breasts, and wraps it around your neck. He isn’t choking you, he’s merely gaining your full attention with an authoritative move. You freeze, your eyes locking onto his in the mirror as you sit there with his entire length inside of you.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, and then I’m going to cum inside you so fucking deep that you might end up pregnant.” His filthy words give you as much pleasure as any touch, any kiss, any physical thing he could ever do to you. Your pussy tightens around him at the promise that he’s just spoken. “Now tell me, why would you be here right now, letting me do that? What am I to you?”

“Everything.”

Finally, you gave him the right answer.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #smut #mcu smut #marvel smut #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

3K notes · View notes

bangytell · 4 months

Text

jk | m

Summary: Your brother's best friend has been your ultimate crush since forever, and soon you'll find out that he has been too.

Genre: friends to lovers, smut

Rated: mature

Pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: non idol au! pet names (i looove using pet names), protected sex, kinda sex in public, boobs worshiping, mentions of jealousy and a very much lovestruck Jungkook.

a/n: I just miss him so much already, in that haircut in those lives, just bring that Jungkook back to me, any ways, come to be delusional with me. I couldn't bring my mind into a title, doesn't alway have to. Also I don't have a song in mind, don't hate me please i put much effort into this.

You’re constantly aroused by the thought of your friend pinning your body, but you can’t tell a soul about your strongest desires.

He’s your gym buddy, the shoulder you have cried on and a good friend, and it has to keep that way since he, unfortunately for you, has a girlfriend.

He’s teaching you the exercises you could do while he maintains the workout he’s currently doing, and with a hand in your lower back you feel hot in your stomach.

He’s talking to you while you imagine having him, in every possible way.

“Understood [name]?” you nod “Do it one time for me”

Oh i’ll do it for you many times

You do the movement as told, he grins and puts his thumb up for you, at least he used to give you praises, but you’ll take what you can get.

“I’ll be with your brother, finish the series for me and then get to cardio and you’re done” you smile and nod, getting your headphones up your head again.

You finish with ease as you see your brother and his best friend exercise at the same peace and look with detail as Jungkook body flexes and stretches each movement.

As you’re running and thinking about tomorrow's routine, you feel a hand on your shoulder, is your brother, Jimin. You pull your headphones, he speaks.

“We’re going to our dorm, are you good on your own?” Was he really asking that?

“You brought me here, what do you mean if 'm good on my own?” he chuckles

“Jungkook’s girl jus’ told us to go to this party” that girl…

“If you dump me here i’ll snitch” he gasps

“You wouldn’t” you furrow your eyebrows

“Try me” he grins and sees Jungkook approaching

“Oh yeah, tell Jungkook what you jus’ told me” that filthy rat of a brother you had

You slow the peace to the machine, as he comes closer

“[name] Jimin already told you?” you look confused and he grins “Let me guess, you told him you’ll snitch on him”

“You know her so well dude” Jimin chuckles and now you look angry, really angry

“You’re dumping me here to go after that…” you shush you words, in respect for Jungkook

“C’mon [name] is a holiday party, maybe your brother can finally get a girl” you scoff

“As if, please don’t do this to me… again” your temple looks like a lost puppy and it touches Jungkook soul

“You’re right, c’mon i’ll take you home” you smile

“I knew you were better than Jimin” your time was over at the machine, you went after your backpack and followed Jungkook to his car

“See you at the party, loser” Jimin drives off as you sit on Jungkook’s car

“Thank you for the drive” he sighs and smiles “I don’ mean to bother”

“Don’t worry, I jus’ hope Miko won’t get mad at me”

Oh, right.

“She won’t just use that beautiful bunny smile of yours and she’ll forget all about it” he smiles at you as the dim light from the road lights your sight.

When you arrive at your entrance, he seems distant as if an idea has filled his thoughts.

“Kook?” he smiles “All good?” he nods but doesn’t seem like it

“You can talk to me” he nods again, and opens his mouth as if the words were stuck at his throat

“Good night gorgeous, see you tomorrow” that’s all he manages himself to say, you reply with a good night and leave his car, he drives off and your heart pains in its cage.

After falling asleep with ease, your phone rings at your night stand, with a blurry vision you answer.

“Yes?” someone’s sobbing on the other line and you sit up straight, your vision returns and you notice that Jungkook’s name pops up “Kookie, what’s wrong?” he sobs a little

“[name] can you come for me?” drive at night? it surely didn’t seem like the better idea at the moment “please, i’m at my dorm but…”

“Okay, i’ll be there, give me twenty minutes” he hums in agreement, you hung up

Put your pajamas back on and leave a note at the fridge for your parents.

Took the car keys and drove as fast as you could. Once outside you call him.

“ ‘m here” he hangs up and you see him, the beanie and mask hide his puffy eyes.

Inside the car you greet him “What’s wrong sweety?” he denies and pulls your arm for a hug, he sobs and pulls you closer.

“Sorry for calling so late” you caress his back and feel him relax at your touch

“No worries” he scoffs and pulls away to look in your eyes “What happened?”

He denies and you begin to drive back home, the drive was full of Jungkook soft sobs and muffled music from your radio.

Once there you get down, and take the note from the fridge and place another.

Jungkook is at Jimin’s room, please don’t peek

He chuckles “You know how they are” he nods as you guide him through the halls

Once at Jimin's door he takes his mask off.

“Can you stay while I fall asleep” you nod, he seems delicate, as if by a simple touch would break him.

“No problem” you both enter the room, he takes his shoes and the beanie off, you leave your sneakers on the floor and lie beside him.

“She cheated on me” he settles in your arms after being able to tell you about his state you stroke his hair and his back as he cries on your shoulder and shivers

“ ‘m sorry Kookie” he denies and sobs

“Is not your fault or anything” you nod “ ‘m a fool, a stupid and dumb” you keep caressing his back and answer to him

“Why should you be? She’s the fool, the dumb and the stupid for playin’ with such an amazing catch” he chuckles

“ ‘m no catch” you gasp

“What? You’re good at everything you do, your amazing personality and that dazzling look you have? Anyone is the luckiest to have you as a couple” he chuckles and pulls away to look at you

“You’re sayin’ that as a friend” you deny

“ ‘m sayin it as a woman” he nods and rests his head at your chest again

“Thank you for being here” you stroke his hair and lean to give a soft peck at his temple

“Anythin’ for you, jus’ don’t tell Jimin I was here with you” he giggles and you feel as he drifts off to sleep.

The next morning Jungkook wakes up to the muffled voices coming from outside and the smell of pancakes. There was a little note at the side table where his phone rested.

There’s Jimin's old clothes in the closet, take a shower and come to have breakfast as soon as you can!

Your pretty handwriting made him smile, he took a very needed shower, and after using a shirt that fitted and some shorts he opened the door.

Only you and your mom remained at the dining room, the sight of your stuffed cheeks laughing at something and to Jungkook your eyes had a starlight

“Kook!” your mom stood and hugged him, his eyes were still puffy but he seemed a lot better. “Haven't seen you in a while, fancy seeing you here, without my son” he blushes and his ears become to gain that same crimson color “But, no worries you're welcome anytime” you sighed in relief and your mother helped Jungkook sit while she puts some pancakes and syrup.

“I have to run, but please Kook, make yourself at home”

You admired him as he filled his mouth with food. Jimin's shirt on him was a bit small but stood out his muscular body, his damp hair falled to his temple and got a bit in the way of his eyes, he was engrossed in his tasks not paying attention to your attentive gaze.

“Don't worn me out” he speaks, gazing at you as you chuckle and flustered at his words

“I wasn't…” you scoff and drink your glass of juice he smiles and continues to eat.

You leave to get ready for the class you have in a few minutes, and as you walk down the stairs you hear Jungkook screaming.

“Now it's my fault? You don't care where I am” he sounds… angry

“So what if she's here? That's the dumbest excuse” could he mean… you?

You were the only one left at the house so…

“I shouldn’t have answered your call Miko, have a nice day” he remains silent and you enter the dining room.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he nods, hiding his face with his hands “Jimin texted me, asking for you” he gaze you

“What did you told him?” he sounds… exhausted

“That you're okay” he nods

“He knows ‘m here” you nod and he sighs

“I didn't tell him I was coming, or that I called you. Or anything that happened actually” he sighs

“I figured, so i jus’ told him that I knew you were okay”

“Thank you, I'll let him know about what happened, can you give me a ride to the dorm?” you nod and he gets up leaving through the halls

You clean the kitchen and soon he appears with his old outfit.

“ ‘m ready” you nod and grab your keys on the way out.

The ride to his dorm is silent, no radio this time and it feels like his feelings and thoughts are eating him alive.

“Come by home any day you want, okay?” he nods as he opens the door

“Sure, gorgeous” you rest your forehead at your steering wheel as he walks away from you.

Being just the friend was kinda exhausting when it came to seeing him hurt.

And what did that call he had before meant?

By no surprise you ended up at the gym by yourself, your brother and his best friend didn't have trouble telling if they were coming, after your body got tired, you rushed home.

After a shower, you got a call from your friend, Ava.

“Hey pookie how's your life these days?” you snort

“Remember Jungkook?” she hums

“How can I forget, he's all you mention” you scoff and she giggles

“His now ex girlfriend cheated on him” she gasps

“No waaay” you sigh

“Way, and he called, sobbing asking me if I could drive him to my house, Jimin was still at the party I presume” your friend gasps

“Woah, woah, he wanted to be with you?” you blush

“ ‘m his friend, ‘m sure he jus’ wanted a home” she giggles at your words

“ y're so oblivious” you snort

“He sleeped at Jimin's room, and I stayed until he falled asleep since he pleaded me” she gasps in surprise

“He whaaat?” you snort

You hear your front door, and more than one voice as they make their way to the living room. Since they're far away you can't make heads or tails on who's outside

“Sorry, were you saying something? she snorts

“Jus’ tell Jungkook how you feel” you shake your head in deny

“I can't to that now Ava, he jus’ been cheated” she chuckles

“Is always bad timing with you, you’re a woman now, aren't ya’? you huff

Suddenly short knocks on your door startled you.

“Yes?” Ava is still on the phone when Jungkook answer with a soft “It's me”

“Gotta go Ava, call you later” with no time to answer you hung up and left your phone in the bed, standing up to open your door.

He looks much better than tonight, he doesn’t have puffy eyes and his all black outfit makes your heart skip a beat.

“Sorry I haven't called or anything” you shake your head in denial and he sighs “I kinda been sleeping all day” you nod, and he finds your silence odd “Can we talk?” you nod and close the door as he enters your room.

You both sit in bed, he's eyeing your room when his gaze meets yours and stays there.

“Are you mad at me?” you shake your head in deny once again, and you don't know what makes you being flustered “Talk to me [name]”

“Is there something you need to hear from me?” he sighs and holds your hand, caresses with his thumb and your cheeks blush

“I jus’ don't want you to provide me the silent treatment” he seems delicate with his words, and with the way he holds and strokes your hand

“Why did you call me?” he knew that was the question that remained your thoughts, he sighed and tried to give you the answer you need

“ I didn't know where else to go, and I felt… alone” you huff

“So… I can only get your call when you're alone?” he shakes his head in deny and your eyes become watery

Because to you, the way he's been acting makes your heart ache in disbelief, seeing he only needs and wants your presence when it threatens to be by himself.

You know Jungkook since you were both little, and sure he's two years older, but that never stopped your hopeless heart. Every time he got hurt you would caress him, provide words of encouragement and your unilateral love was becoming hurtful by the year. Surely you had couples before, and intimacy but your heart and mind would always think of him, on the way he makes you feel and how you know him and the way he knows and remembers so much of you. Being with anyone else wouldn't fulfill you.

“Is not like that gorgeous, you're my friend and I…-” you pull your hand and look at him with hurt eyes

“Maybe 'm tired of being jus’ your friend” he looks confused as you stand “Don’t tell me you haven't noticed my feelings” he looks confused as you step closer and pull him to put your lips into his.

He answers your kiss and opens his mouth a little more to deepen the kiss. You pull away and give him a hopeful gaze.

“ ‘m sorry” you know you shouldn't have kissed him, and he's just sitting looking at your flustered body, trembling and moving with anxiety.

He holds you by the hand and pulls you to his body to hug you by the waist, he's sitting at the edge of your bed and you're stroking his hair as his arms hug you closer.

You hear knocks on your door, and your mom's voice brings you back from reality. You let go from his embrace and open the door a little just to see your mother.

“Dinner is ready, and bring Jungkook with you” you nod and close the door.

“Let's go downstairs before she returns and kick my door down” he chuckles and stands up, before you open the door again he holds you by the cheek and gives you a soft peck.

Your emotions and thoughts are a literal storm inside of you, you kissed him and he responded to the kiss, not only that but he gave you a kiss back.

Are you dreaming?

Dinner goes smoothly, Jimin is telling a story and as you try to pay attention you notice from the corner of your eye that Jungkook’s gaze pierces you.

After dinner you hear Jimin saying that it is a great idea to sleepover in his room, your mom says it's fine.

You stay in the living room with the television on, watching Pride and Prejudice. It was that dance scene and as they danced your attention drifted off to the body sitting next to you.

“Do you like this movie?” you ask, as he looks at the screen, he chuckles

“I've seen it, when you were like fifteen remember?” you nod, the memory returning to you, of your younger self when Jimin had sneaked out for a party and didn't tell Jungkook about it, so he unconsciously made Jimin grounded. That night you were watching the same movie.

“You remember” he smiles and nods

You finish the movie and he turns at you.

“Why is that is called Pride and Prejudice” you giggle but answer to his question anyway

“They both were very proud and had prejudice over each other's action” he opens his mouth in a “o” as your brother walks to the living room.

“Dude, you can't sleep again?” he nods and you're prying as to why he seems to not be able to sleep when he has slept with you before “What are you looking [name]?”

“We watched Pride and Prejudice” he puts a boring expression

“You and your boring movies, Jungkook just sit here with you because he had nothing else to do” he arch an eyebrow and looks in your brothers way

“It was really entertaining actually, you should try and watch a movie with your sister sometime” Jimin huffs and you mouth a thank you to Jungkook

Surely Jimin preferred to do anything else than to share more than three words with you which mostly included “Dinner's ready” “Mom's calling you” “Can I borrow 20 bucks” that day you were surprised.

Jimin went back to his room and as you look for something different, Jungkook’s caught your eye.

He's scrolling to his social media, looking as handsome as he can be, and you gulp at the exquisite sight of him.

“ ‘m sleepy now Koo” he nods

“Go to bed gorgeous” you smile and walk to your room after taking a last glimpse at his features.

After cuddling inside your quilt and blankets you hear your phone buzz.

[So you have feelings for me huh?] –Koo

[Ha ha if you're acting like this forget about my confession] —[name]

[I could never forget about you, or when you kissed me, is actually all there is left in my mind] —Koo

[You’re talking gibberish :D] –[name]

[You drive me insane] —Koo

You smile at your phone and turn flustered to his words.

[I don't think you're emotionally available at the moment] —[name]

He reads the text and doesn't answer

You weren't telling lies, he’s been recently cheated on. He can't be thinking about anything else.

Suddenly, two soft knocks and your name being whispered by Jungkook. You open, with an open mouth, to throw a tantrum, but all is silenced when Jungkook's wet and saccharine lips are onto yours, hungry for your kisses.

You pull apart in confusion, he surely gets your blood boiling whether is the hot in your stomach wishing he'll fuck you dumb, or the way he makes you angry.

“Jungkook what?...” he reaches to you once more but you place your hand on his chest “Please, tell me what has gotten into you?”

He looks at you like a stray puppy, and finds a seat on your bed. He sighs deeply.

“I jus’ wanna kiss you” and with a sigh, a pout on his lips and his hands covering his face

“Jungkook, your emotions are hurt and blinded by the betrayal, I don’ wanna take advantage of that” he shakes his head in denial

“You don’t understand [name], you don’t” you kneel in front of his body and hold his hands on yours

“Help me understand then” he sighs, once more

“I didn’t realize my feelings for you until it was late, until you were dating that hideous dude” you chuckle “Then Miko got me mesmerized, or I thought she had” his gaze is on yours as he strokes your face “I fooled myself by thinking that I could… stop myself from thinking, caring and being hopelessly and deeply devoted to you” your breath stucks on your throat “Miko did me a favor by cheating on me, you were there for me… you” you place a finger on his lips

“I understand, but I can’t be your second best, I can’t feel like a side plate” he nods and pulls you for a hug, with a few tears on your face he wipes them with his fingers and gives you a soft peck.

After that, both of you spend more and more time together, he’ll bluntly flirt with you, making you feel giddy and flustered, even in front of your brother and he smiled with a “I knew you too would eventually step out of obliviousness” you both giggle and then he said “Jus’ don’t make out in front of me”

It was Jimin’s birthday, he had a party at your house, with a few of your girlfriends from school, and almost every classmate from both jimin's year and yours was there. Jimin will always go big.

You had your lilac dress, pouring yourself some more liqueur while the crowd and the music rumbled inside the house. Suddenly you feel a cold finger touching your elbow and you turn to find your old friend, Taehyung (who's also a friend of your brother) greeting you with his boxy smile, you give him a long hug and that's when Jungkook's attention falls into you once more.

He wasn't one to be able to call you his but the boiling blood inside him couldn't stop his mind, he was so jealous of how that boy was talking so close to you, and the way his hands went to your waist when you hugged him, he was starting to lose his temple, as his friends tried to call his name out to make him fall out of that slumber he walked your way without being fully aware of his actions, he placed a hand by your lower waist and greeted his way into your conversation.

You can't believe Jungkook is jealous of you as he pulls you closer to his warmth, Taehyung chuckles and shakes his hand in a goodbye as he winks at you and gets lost within the crowd.

“Jeon Jungkook, don’t tell me you got jealous” you chuckle and his hands turn you so you'll face him

Soon enough your hands are around his neck as he pulls you desperately into his kiss, you both giggle and his hand goes to one of your ass cheeks and lifts you a little your stomach begins to flutter and to feel warm, he's kissing you like in desperation, as if you're gonna disappear through his hands.

You can't remember how or when in between kisses but your body is on top of Jungkook's grinding onto his jeans, and he's losing his mind eyeing your drees lifting way past your knee, the way your breasts go up and down with every movement makes you a great sight.

“You look like a goddess right now” he holds you by your ass as you continue to grind on him, and his bulge just feels as you grind and slide in between your pussy so effortlessly. “You can only look like this for me” you nod and he grins and holds you closer to kiss you. “Use your words, doll”

“I only do this for you Jungkook” he grins and looks your way as he tries to pull your dress out of the way

“Good girl” he smiles as he discards your dress and soon enough your bra, he cups your breasts and puts one into his mouth as he caresses them with his tongue, you begin to let out saccharine moans and try to put a hand over your mouth, he shakes his head in deny. “Don't worry my love, the music is too high for anyone to notice” your hands go to his abdomen and you love the way it feels within your fingers, you help him out of his t-shirt and leave a trial of kisses until you're off of him and begin to unbuckle his belt, soon enough he pulls his pants off and his cock bounces back once its released from his boxer, your hand cups it and without warning you put it into your mouth, his head loll back as you busy in task, he puts a hand on your head and as he hears the sound you make while making his cock full of drool and feeling good he still feels like this ain't enough.

“Come on love, let me fuck you” those words make you stop, he kisses you and gets up to take off the rest of his clothes, he helps you get into bed and you're waiting in all fours as he takes a condom out of his wallet. He admires your body and strokes your ass cheek as the condom slips into his warm and aching cock.

He begins to slide into you, feeling the way your pussy clench and squeeze his cock.

“Ngh… you're so tight” he pulls away and slides back in just a little to have you squirming and pleading for more “You're s-... so desperate to take me in huh?” you moan, almost scream as he thrust balls deep into you.

His thrust are hitting just the right spot, making you moan his name like a prayer, his eyes full of lust eye your sweating body and grabs you by your arm to pull your back to his chest, your pleading for him not to stop, and he feels feral by the way your pleading and moaning, he loves that he's the only able to do this with you, and wants to do it every single day.

As he bullies into you his hands go to your breasts, then to your clitoris and begin to rub gently as your body shivers in pleasure

“This is how i wanna make you feel [name], I want to fuck you dumb, make you forget your name and only remember mine” he's still holding you closer to him, feeling even more of his cock inside you and he gaze your body. “C'mon [name] be my girl huh?” you nod and keep moaning, no single thought can connect to your head “Use your words love” his hand rubbing your clitoris and the other holding you in place just make you a dumb mess, you can't make it in your head to say a word.

“You'll answer me eventually” he chuckles as he feels his orgasm form and so do you, his name leave your mouth and just a few more thrust make you orgasm, your body trembles and shivers as he thrust his orgasm into you and the condom, he moans your name and you're in the same position as both of your chests go up and down, he helps you out of his cock and you feel it like a loss.

He stands up as you get comfortable in bed, he tosses the condom to your trash can, and comes to cuddle you into bed.

“Are you okay?” you giggle and nod

“Yes Koo, I am excellent” he chuckles “You really got jealous?” you lock gaze with him

“Yes…” you chuckle and hug him inside your blankets his body feels warm and he loves your breasts close to him

“But only because i can't say you're my girl” oh, you haven't answered

“I don't think between sex was the better moment to ask” he chuckles and sighs as he speaks again

“Would you let me be the guy you date? I'd be honored” you smile and pulls him into a soft peck

“Yes Koo, I'll be extra happy to be your girl”

Two knocks on the door startled you, the music from up your room isn't all loud and you ask “Who is it?”

“You better bring both your asses downstairs and sing me happy birthday or I'll kill you Jeon” you laugh and say that you're on your way

“I don't believe he'd actually kill you” he pulls his pants to its place and smile at you

“Wait until he hears about what just happened” you gasp

“Don't you dare” you both laugh and go downstairs holding hands as everyone sings happy birthday to your brother.

after>>

masterlist

©️bangytell please do not copy or steal my work, any translation can’t be done this is the only way to read it.

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts maknae line #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x y/n #bts jungkook #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook fanfic

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on-leatheredwings · 2 months

Text

Co-Conspirator

Yandere! Bruce Wayne x Yandere! (Fem!) Reader

> romantic > summary: Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend. > word count: 1285 > [ a/n: just something short, something cute, something for the Girls. i think mutually yandere relationships are a fun dynamic not very explored!!! Still, its pretty mild yandereism here. Trying to warm up to writing bitches who are Actual Freaks . uhhh lmk what you think. hope i communicated the reader's backstory well. the fact she's only a little crazy is amazing, all things considered. i'd love to make a whole fic of this but alas, i am Not Very Good At Plot]

You are dating Bruce Wayne. You bite your lip at the thought, hoping it disguises your shit-eating grin. You have been told you look like a total cheeseball when you daydream.

It’s a month-long relationship that’s still currently under the radar because you don’t have the luxury of a dual superhero-civilian persona. First, getting trapped in a pocket dimension for 10 years because something-something-Speedforce; next, being booted back into your home dimension and falling out the sky; then, wreaking havoc in Gotham City with your new, uncontrollable powers unmasked and in clear view of Gotham City choppers and news cameras… These things secretive identities do not make. No matter.

Hence why you tend to stay holed up in the Justice League’s Watchtower or your apartment, and rarely go out otherwise. But a month ago, you were bored. Neurotic. You decided to help your good buddy Batman. Fly to Gotham with your power and surprise him on patrol. And, well, you ended up saving Bruce Wayne (and hundreds of other socialites) after a three ton bowling ball careened into a gala at Wayne Tower, courtesy of the Riddler. Your telekinesis kept the whole building from collapsing. You guess that must’ve really turned Bruce Wayne on, because he was shortly afterwards chatting you up and won your phone number.

On your first date with Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor, you blurt out, flustering, that you don’t want to overshadow his charity and all the good work he’s doing. Bruce Wayne dating anyone makes headlines – let alone a superhero. Yes, yes. You simply didn’t want to cramp Bruce Wayne’s philanthropic style. It wasn’t that you were utterly unprepared to have that level of media scrutiny on you and were insecure about dating a man completely out of your league.

Bruce thanked you for your concern and then kissed you deeply, expertly, for your trouble.

You replay that night’s events in your head, and– goddamnit– cheeseball. You clear your throat and clear your mind.

“I think I’ll want a copy of his birth certificate from Gotham General.”

You glance at Batman, who is seated beside you, and see the corner of his lips quirk.

“Because you’re going to pull up his birth chart.” Batman knows astrology is an enduring interest of yours. You pout, pulling up Gotham General’s files and sifting through the database.

“... Maybe.”

You pause from your search on one of the Justice League’s supercomputers, sneaking a sheepish glance at your co-conspirator. Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend.

You flush. “You know– I– Thanks, Bats. Really. I’m glad you aren’t acting all weird about this.”

Batman doesn’t say anything, but you know that he’s giving you his full attention.

“Like, I’m not a freak or anything. I just have to make sure I know what I’m getting into.” You puff your cheeks. “Know he’s… you know. Good.”

What a lie. You’re just scared and don’t want to get caught with your pants down. Despite being an actual living, breathing, metahuman and superhero… Bruce is the one with the power in this relationship. He’s… everything. Encapsulating. Towering. Anyone would want him. You think of the lingering looks very, very beautiful women give him. Everyone does want him.

You feel a pang of violent loathing and nausea that is tided over when Batman speaks.

“... I know plenty about Bruce Wayne. He’s… good.”

Your brows rise. You’ve only known the man for a few months but even you know that’s a glowing compliment coming from Batman. His highest praise on most people is usually neutral at best. “Hmm… okay.” You turn back to your work, laughing. “Well. I also just think he’s kind of interesting to learn about. What other celebrity has this much lore? The prodigal son… Prince of Gotham… Collector of orphans… Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor...”

You worry your lip, gnashing your teeth. Bachelor. That’s what everyone thinks he is, right? You blink and curiously turn to Batman, whose hands are flying across a keyboard, hard at work. You hope you’re not bothering him. W-well, he’d say if I were, right? you think.

“Is it weird if I put cameras in Wayne Manor?”

Batman stills and your throat dries. Damn.

“... Um… Too weird…?”

After a tentative silence, Batman responds.

“... No. You’re just covering your bases.”

Your cheeks fill with color as being vindicated – a view you don’t know makes his heart race marginally quicker.

“Yeah!” You cough, composing yourself. “I mean, yeah. You can learn a lot about someone from what they get up to when they think they’re alone.” You can also make sure they’re not bringing anyone home, but you keep that part to yourself.

“I could plant them, if you need. I have plenty made for this kind of surveillance.”

You’re smiling widely, wheeling your chair over to Batman’s side before you know it.

“... God. Batman, you magnificent mind, you. This is why we’re buddies.” You lean over and poke his chest cheekily, right on the bat emblem.

Bruce has to restrain himself from catching your hand on its retreat. Your poke burns a hole in his chest for minutes afterward, and he welcomes every second of it. He turns back to his computer screen, vainly attempting to not think about how much he wants to kiss you right now.

Perhaps Bruce should’ve simply asked you out as Batman. You spend much more time when he’s under the cowl than not. But frankly, you would’ve been too distracted during missions. Hell, he would’ve been too distracted. He already thinks of you all the time.

Your investigation into Bruce Wayne has tripped several of his alarms, even before you told him of it. Anyone making inquiries with this level of depth draws his attention. Nothing you’re looking is anything he’s averse to you knowing, so he’s allowed you to investigate him freely and without redirection. But of course, you don’t know that. The effort you’re making is… cute. The fact you don’t know that Batman is Bruce is cute. You think you have the upper hand. And that’s… cute.

Bruce doesn’t think too deeply about your stalking, even though he probably should. It’s probably evidence of an unstable individual. He’s sure ten years alone with no stimuli in a pocket dimension does things to a person. But who was he to judge? He’s violated the privacy and boundaries of everyone who affects his life in any important way. Nor does he claim to be a shining example of ideal mental health.

And at the end of the day, this situation is all under his control.

There is a small part of him that feels guilty for keeping his identity under wraps, but there’s a bigger part that’s amused. You don’t know that he’s had your birth certificate since the day after you met. You don’t know that there’s about twenty cameras working 24/7 in and out of your apartment. Or that he’s your new landlord. These are things he’ll tease you about once he confesses that he’s Batman. You’ve made him someone who likes to tease.

Still, Bruce remains hesitant about telling you. How would you react? Would you feel betrayed? Hurt? Dread floods his bloodstream, an effect only the most depraved individuals in his rogues gallery tend to have on him.

Would you leave him? Hate him?

His eyes skirt towards where you sit. You worry your lip, eyes glued to a plan of Wayne Manor, no doubt debating where you want him to place the cameras he’s offered. Tension leaves his shoulders, almost imperceptible.

Luckily, the chances of that seem slim.

#yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #yandere reader #bruce wayne #yandere batman #batman x reader #i have got to make everyone crazier #mine

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 5 months

Text

A Study of Silence

Summary: Your life of married bliss is failing. A moment of heated arguing finally reveals the reason Natasha is pulling away from you, so you offer her the choice: stay or leave?

Word Count: 862

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warning: Angst

A/N: I wrote this at 1am when my flatmates set the fire alarm off, so forgive any mistakes lol. It's loosely based on 'Fluorescent Adolescent' by the Arctic Monkeys.

»»————-　★　————-««

Silence. Then the occasional turning of a page. In your mind, there are three types of silences: a comfortable silence, a suspenseful silence, and an awkward silence.

This fell firmly into the third category, but you made no move to change it - wondering instead how and when such an activity – sitting silently in your wife's presence – had turned from comfortable to awkward.

It hadn't happened just in this session: that was doomed to awkwardness from its start - but a month ago? a year ago? It was hard to recall a single moment of comfortable bliss outside of the early days of your relationship.

Everything had seemed so bright: an Avenger falling for a simple mechanic, a match made only in your dreams… though sometimes you wondered if it should ever have gone beyond that. She'd promised to quit her job for you, retire herself to deskwork upon marriage. "I want to do it," she had promised, "my love for you overshadows any job I do, and if this means I'm not spending months away from you and you're not spending months worrying, then it's an easy decision."

You swore your life to her then, showed her your love and your devotion. That love never faded. But where did it go wrong?

"My love?" you said. The redhead didn't look up from her book; you tried to see what it was, but she maintained her senses enough to shield that from your sights. With a sigh, you continued into the silence, "I was thinking maybe we could cook together tonight?"

She looked up now, fingers sightlessly marking the page. "Again? Didn't we do that..." she trailed off, searching for a memory, a recent excuse.

You finish her sentence for her: "last month? Yeah. I thought we could maybe do some bonding this month too, but nevermind."

"Y/N, we can-"

"You're clearly not interested, Nat, I'm not going to force you, so go hang out with your old Avengers buddies again and I'll make dinner alone."

There was a bite to your words that you knew you'd later regret, but in the moment you couldn't bring yourself to care. Fighting had become the only sure fire way to end the stagnant silences, and these days, neither you nor Natasha were afraid to use the method.

"You always do this," Natasha seethed, "they're my friends. I used to spend my every moment with them, living together, working together, everything! And I gave that up for you! You want me to give up even seeing them too? Would that finally be enough?!"

The silence fell again. A fourth type: one of contemplating, one of heated feelings and unwitting confessions and, finally, understanding. You understood. In her anger, Natasha had revealed the secret to it all, where it had all gone wrong.

You softened your voice, speaking quietly as if your wife were an injured animal, easy to startle. "I didn't make you give that up. I don't want you to give up more and I don't want you to blame me for your choices."

She stayed silent, though her jaw tightened and her eyes focused on a point behind you. You didn't have to turn to remember which picture lies there.

"I love you, Natasha," you confessed again, knowing it could be a last confession. "I love you and I want only the best for you. And if you miss the superhero days, the risk, the team, everything... if leaving that and marrying me is the mistake that's making you miserable, then I'm giving you the chance to undo that mistake. I don't want to be the reason you live your life in nostalgia and regret."

You didn't wait for her to respond, what was the point? Her gaze was still fixed on the picture behind you: the team in its heyday, when they were still young and wild and disorganised. She clang to until she got sentimental, forgetting that you had been the one to take the photo, right before Natasha became the first of the group to settle down.

Her response would come soon enough, you knew, so you went to your room and waited. You hoped for the eventual knock on the door, the long awaited conversation, then either the forgiveness or the conclusion. You hoped all through the evening, even as you cooked by yourself, ate by yourself, and slept by yourself.

A night with the Avengers might have been what she needed to make her decision.

Natasha Romanoff came into your life with a burning passion and a humanity to her that few people could ever achieve. You expected it to last forever, but come morning you realised the truth: Natasha Romanoff was a spy born and raised, and no amount of humanity can ever erase that from her.

Her ring was on your bedside table in the morning, the house left in a state of suspended silence. Natasha herself was nowhere to be found, disappearing like a spy, with no words spoken on the matter.

She had made her choice, just as you had made yours.

You loved Natasha too much to keep her; she loved you too little to stay.

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #reader insert #fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #ikan writes

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 month

Note

currently eating drywall while reading your Gaz pushup fic. I got an idea, Gaz pinning reader down under him and doing push-ups like that?

this is playing with fire anon.

1,843 / 15 / takes place immediately after doing push-ups with Gaz and distracting Gaz as he's counting reps

...

The next day, Gaz gives no indicator as to how many push-ups he's doing, and you're struggling to keep track. Your focus lies elsewhere--between his broad shoulders and muscular back; the way his t-shirt fits so tightly to his skin.

"You're not counting my reps this time, I take it?" he asks dryly.

You stiffen, in the middle of warmup stretches yourself. "Why, should I? Are you going to get distracted and miscount again?"

"I don't miscount." He pushes up. His biceps look like carved stone under the strain. "I just ignore people who try to get my attention while I'm working."

"Maybe I should lay under you this time so you can't ignore me." You chuckle absently at your own joke without fully registering the implications of what you just said. You also don't notice Gaz falter in his reps for the first time ever.

He buckles down onto one elbow. "I'm... sorry? Come again?"

Your brain catches up with your mouth just as you're trying to twist your left knee up and over your right hip. "Wait, I didn't mean like that. Or I did, but not in the way that, like, just with your chest-- wait, fuck--"

Still mid-stretch, his hand closes around your ankle.

"No, really, come again."

He pulls, dragging you under him, and you find yourself on your back, the workout mat stinging against the skin there. He hovers over you, his hands and knees caging you in.

"Lay under me?" he says. "Because that's what it sounds like that's what you're saying. Is that what you want? To be under me?"

You blink up at him. This shouldn't feel as intimate as it does. Gaz is your workout buddy. You've been closer to him. Regularly.

It's the eye contact, isn't it? He looks hungry. Your gym buddy shouldn't be looking like he wants to devour you. He leans in closer, his eyes roving over you in a way you've never seen him do before. Obviously Gaz is an attractive guy--ridiculously so. But you've never seen him look at you like this. Your whole body is tingling with awareness.

You know you can put an end to this right now with a single comment. The fact that you don't want to is what makes his closeness feel new. If he were to lean down and kiss you right here on the gym mat, you would welcome it.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Gaz shifts again, leaning further over you. "I said, is that what you want?"

Your mouth is dry. Your tongue darts out go wet your lips and his eyes snap down to watch.

Your self-control wavers.

"Yeah," you tell him shortly. "Maybe I do."

Gaz's jaw sets. His body is tensing like a coiled spring. He is desperate to touch you. "Maybe isn't good enough," he grits out. His hand slides up from your hip to your waist, slipping under your shirt. "I want to hear yes."

nsfw ⬇

Your vision fogs a bit as his fingers graze the skin under your breasts. When he dragged you under him, you realize, the friction of the floor against your clothes rolled them up. Now your shorts and top are riding very high on your frame. He sees the way you're trembling, your hips writhing subtly under his touch. You're so exposed. It's so wrong. But he's enjoying the hell out of the view.

His hand disappears and he drops to his elbows, his hard body pressing up against yours. Your breath hitches. He chuckles. His mouth strays to your ear.

"Easy," he breathes. "I'm not asking to have my way with you right here on the floor. I'm just asking for permission to touch you a little, yeah?"

Your heart clenches in your chest, catching oddly. "Oh, right. Y-Yeah."

"Sorry, are you disappointed?" His hand drifts back up your body, going straight to the elastic band of your sports bra. "Did you want me to take you right here? In this very public gym?"

You squirm as his thumb begins to work its way under the elastic. Your hands go to his chest, a rush of endorphins surging through you at the slight give of his form pectoral muscles under your fingers.

"I didn't say that," you tell him, voice still wavering more than you want it to. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"Oh, no, I'm just thinking out loud. You really need to watch your phrasing, boss. You're gonna make me think you're not as innocent as you like to act." His thumb rubs in slow circles over your soft skin as he speaks. "I’m just thinking about how cute you are when you're all flustered. And how pretty your eyes are. And how you’re not denying it.”

"You're the one who-- ah--" Your retort dies on your lips as his hand slips under your bra. His fingers run over your nipple, the rough texture of his callouses against the many nerve endings there making you jump.

He lets out a low groan of satisfaction when you respond so quickly to his touch. His forehead falls to your collarbone, trying to focus on you, on the sounds you're making. You're igniting his whole body. He squeezes your breast roughly, unable to help himself. He squeezes again when you squeak and he realizes just how much you like this, too. He tenses more and more with every breathless little jump and squeal.

You're barely aware of your own reactions. All you register is his hand on you and the heat in your face spreading down your neck and racing to your core.

His knee slides between your legs. It tears a ragged gasp from your throat. That only seems to encourage him, and he presses his body down harder over yours.

"You're so sensitive," he breathes out.

He grinds his knee up into you even more shamelessly, and you fist a handful of his tank top. "Wait," you protest. "Someone could walk in."

"So?" He growls, his voice suddenly rough. "Let them walk in and see. I'm not going to pretend I'm doing anything other than what you want--" His breath gets heavier as he shifts again, his knee easing back. Fuck, you're right. Someone is going to walk in any second. It's incredible nobody has already. This would be a compromising position to be found in, to put it very lightly. He's a senior officer over you. It looks bad for him to be over you.

Gaz forces his hand to still and pulls it out from under your shirt, swallowing. He sits up, dragging his gaze slowly down your body before he finally locks eyes with you again. Your clothes are in disarray; your chest is heaving; you're looking at him with such a debauched look in your eye he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them off you. Jesus. He's only touched one nipple and you already look like he's been fucking you. How are you real?

He grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet as he stands. "Come on, up."

"Where are we going?" you ask as he walks across the floor with your hand still in his grip. "Why did you stop?"

"We're going somewhere private." His grip stays firm as he drags you out through the front entrance. "And I stopped," he adds, "because you're going to get me in trouble if I keep going where we were."

"Wait." You tug his hand back as he pulls you past the entrance to the women's locker room and showers. "In here."

Gaz almost trips as your grip pulls him back.

"What?" His voice is an exasperated whisper.

But at your persistence, he lets you tow him over to the women's locker showers.

"What?" he repeats, this time quieter as he opens the door. "Are you--?"

But you step in after him, shutting the door behind you. Gaz's eyebrows go up.

"I guess you are."

"A lot less foot traffic in here. Enough time for a little hands-on training, right?" you say, pulling him further into the room. You start up one of the shower heads near the door, hoping the noise will cover up what you want to do. Then you strip your tank top and bra off in one swift motion, grabbing the hem of his shirt immediately after.

Gaz's throat goes dry at the sight of your exposed chest. He drinks in your body, his eyes roaming slowly and possessively. "Jesus, your body is-- fuck."

He grabs your hips and pushes you against the wash-tile in the nearest stall. You gasp at the cold of the tile on your naked back.

He runs his hands up your waist, groping your tits unabashedly. "We're way past hands-on training, love. That's your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yeah. Yours." Gaz's voice is rough with arousal. He hefts you up, grunting in satisfaction when your legs fasten around his waist. "You started this. You're the one who suggested laying under me. You didn’t have to say that. Did you think I was going to say no?"

You give him what is--somehow, even as you're naked from the waist up with your legs around him--a shy glance. "I didn't think you'd say yes."

His hands move up your legs, massaging your thighs then moving to your hips again. The way your body grips him, the way your legs squeeze him tightly to you--he's loving every goddamn inch of you.

"What do you expect a starving man to do when he's presented with a three-course meal right on the table?"

You scoff. "You are not starving."

"I'm starving for you," he grits out. "Don't be obtuse. God damn. You have no idea how often I’ve thought about getting my hands on you.” He rubs his fingers along the sensitive skin just over your waistband. “You have no idea just how much I’ve wanted to--”

He slides his hands up your body again, his fingertips tracing smooth undersides of your breasts. Even now he's holding back and his restraint is obvious. He could have you right now, pinned to the wall.

"I wanna devour you, you hear me? Every inch."

Your stomach flutters as his palms reach your ass and squeeze. You can't believe Gaz of all people wants you like this. "Is this gonna mess up our relationship as gym partners?"

"Probably. Definitely." He bites your earlobe the same place he bit it yesterday. This time, he laves his tongue against it. His breath is labored in your ear. "If you don't want that to happen. I need you to tell me." He rolls his hips against yours, groaning at the feeling of your heat through your thin workout shorts. "Right... right now."

"Is... is it wrong that I kinda want you to ruin it for the rest of time?"

"Good." He shifts one hand to run his fingers over the crux of your thighs from behind, making your back arch. "Because I'm going to destroy it beyond all reason."

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / masterlist tag

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tangerinesilk · 8 months

Text

－ DISTRACTION : DAVE LIZEWSKI

dave was a great study buddy, but there's no doubt he was a distraction. he constantly made you turn your head twice at whatever he said or did whether it was some comic book character he rambled about or how his pale blue eyes shined under the warm lighting of his desk lamp.

pairing ✷ college!dave lizewski x college!fem!reader

rating ✷ r (18+ minors dni!)

tropes ✷ friends with benefits, spicy but no / little plot, unspoken love, domestic toward eachother but no dating, dorky and awkward people in love who just wont admit it theyre in love (sort of) | nsfw warnings below!

word count ✷ 1.7k

a/n ✷ um this was a random thought and it just sort of happened. stg it feels like i blacked out while writing this KSKFFKS what is going on with me. anyways been wanting to write about this cute dork for a while and why not make it really hot. posting now so i dont chicken out but ill edit later.... i always love feedback! xo

[ steamy warnings: mentions of public sex, dom & sub switches, p in v without protection, nipple play, hj + bj, f receiving oral from m, praising + heavy dirty talk, face sitting, finishing inside v ]

typical weekends: saturday night at dave's apartment.

dave was explaining something... it was something. something important, but all you could focus on was his pretty eyes and how soft his lips looked today. he pushed his glasses up more on his nose bridge again, looking down at his book for one of his college classes.

he was so into the subject, you didn't even have to nod. you were occasionally tapping the eraser end of your pencil against your blank notebook, only listening to every other word.

suddenly, your mind wanders to when you two were doing laundry at three in the morning and got a little spontaneous. then getting a bit handsy on the top floor of the library where no one usually was. maybe even the time when you were visiting him back home for one weekend and you both could barely keep it together with company downstairs.

ever since you both agreed on this friends with benefits agreement, your dry spells were no longer an issue. it seemed like both of you were touched starved, but not wanting to meet other people, strangers you didnt want or need to know.

so, after becoming lab partners in your fall semester of senior year, its been nonstop seeing each other. not just for sex, but hanging out to study, going to local comic book stores and libraries, even the occasional dinner and sleepover combo at his apartment or yours.

it seemed like a wild card at first, but you would never admit (outloud) to dave lizewski that you underestimated how great his tongue felt inside your pus—

"y/n, are you even listening?"

you cleared your throat, "hmm?"

he chuckled, "so you weren't... i know, its kind of boring."

now you felt bad, caught up from going down memory lane and he was excited about his new class.

you ran your hand over his curls, "im sorry, dave. my mind was wandering."

he turned, seeming interested, "about what?"

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, "about... you know..." you trailed then shrugged, "stuff."

dave smiled, "oh yeah? you weren't, i dont know, thinking about me?"

you had seen this confidence grow inside dave as more time passed, and you weren't sure if it was cockiness, but you couldn't deny how cute yet attractive it was on him.

"why dont you go back to what you were rambling about? please. im all ears now." you lean in, placing your hands underneath your chin with your elbows on his desk.

its ironic how his full size bed was behind the two of you yet here you are, acting like this was the first time you've hung out.

he pressed wet kisses against your inner thighs, your clit aching for his mouth as his nose brushed against your skin. he'd let out a nervous chuckle as he noticed the wet spot forming on the center of your panties. you'd bite your bottom lip as he licked his lips, in awe of the mess you were for him.

dave pulled down your panties, shuffling them down your ankles before tossing them to the side. his strong hands run up the top of your thighs before holding your hips, pulling your core closing to his mouth. after his first, yet hesitant, kiss on your clit, you let out a faint moan.

soon his tongue was running over your open slit and tasting your sweet wetness. you arched your back, leaning back on his desk as he flicked your clit a few times. when he pushes his tongue inside you, a rush of heat runs over your entire body. you caress your own breasts and pull at your own nipples as he picks up his pace.

"fuck... god, yes. eat my fucking pussy." you whimpered. he got so weak when you uttered your sweet nothings. as dominant as he thought he presented himself, dave was a sucker for you.

just when you thought it couldn't get better, he slide his two fingers into your slit as his tongue flicks your swollen clit. you told him how you love when he curled his fingers inside you, knuckle deep and gathering your wetness every pump as he brought you closer to your orgasm.

your hips grind against his mouth and hand, painfully near your climax. he cursed under his breath as he felt your pussy clench around his digits. he pulls his mouth away from your clit, trailing more kisses over your stomach then rolls his tongue against your right nipple.

his hand still worked your slit, thrusting so fast that your head was spinning along with the pleasure of him sucking your erect nipple. you glanced down, seeing how his hard pressed against his khakis. just the thought of taking his cock into your mouth made you dizzy, bucking your hips against his fingers.

"yes... make me cum. i wanna fucking cum on your fingers." you muttered under your breath, pulling at his curls. dave's knees were giving out as he held his position but he loved to hear your continous begging.

he was about to see if he could pick up his pace before your hand reached down, sliding into the front of his stained pants and caressing his hard cock. he grunted against your chest, instantly weak from your touch which made him pause.

"hmm, what about i cum on your cock instead?" you giggled as your lips met his, "it's so hard... bet you've been thinking about cumming inside my tight pussy, huh, dave?"

he sighed, "shit..."

"that's what i thought, baby." you say before taking his fingers into your mouth, tasting your own cum. he takes a mental picture even though you've done this in your previous hookups.

you hop off the desk, playfully pushing him on his twin size bed. you slowly get on your knees, running your hand over the crotch of his pants that were already unbuttoned and half unzipped. it's easy for your pull his cock out, practically springing from his briefs.

his eyes are glued to you as your tongue runs up and down the base before wrapping your lips against his red tip. you half-giggle when you taste his pre-cum, then carefully take him all in your mouth. you gag a bit as his tip pushes further in, and he groans when your throat tightens around him.

you push your tongue out to make sure your teeth dont graze his cock as you deep throat him, incredibly slow, so he can watch in awe. he leans up on his elbows, falling apart as you take him in your mouth so easily and your hand pumping the rest of his base.

"fucking christ... fuck." he muttered, his dick twitching inside your mouth as your salvia runs down when you gag on his hard.

his hand runs over your hair, gathering it together to keep it out of your face— also to have a better view of him receiving one of the best blowjobs you've given him.

when you pull your mouth away, you giggle as you pump his cock with your spit lubricating for better motion. his face screws together the faster you pump, and he can barely take the pleasure.

"hmm, i bet you wanna cum on my face... and tits. but, i want you to cum inside me." you say as you but your bottom lip, running your thumb over the cum leaking from his tip.

"me too, baby. fuck!" he grunts, and it makes you smile at how much of a mess he is too.

you rise from your knees, relieving the pressure on them before straddling him on his bed. you pull off your top, tossing it on the other side of the room as he quickly peels his shirt off as well. his big hands run up your body, over your breasts once more as his thumbs move against your nipples.

"god, i want to feel every inch of your cock... so, don't stop until you're finished." you tell him as you run his tip agaisnt your slit before slowly sinking down on him.

"babe, shit... fuck." he whimpered, his fingers pressing into your hips as you arch your back.

"god, im so tight." you moan, "your cock is so big... can barely fit you inside me." you huff, your eyes closed shut as you slowly move your hips.

soon, you meet a nice pace of bouncing on his cock and he loosens up as he watches you move up and down. his bright eyes keep moving between looking at your tits and your face, completely amazed by your beauty.

you run your hands over his toned chest and abdomen, leaving light scratches on his skin from the waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body.

"dave, im gonna cum. oh, oh! i'm gonna cum." you announced to him and he was holding off anyways, his jaw clenched his much that it was beginning to feel painful.

as you arch your back and let out a long whine, he stills his hips as his warm cum fills you up. it was the first time he was fully inside you, and you were aching around his cock, feeling it throbbing against your walls.

he leans up, leaving a soft kiss just above your breasts before you two share another kiss. you can't help but giggle, both of you feeling that sudden hit of exhaustion.

you lift yourself from your cock and cum runs down your slit, letting him see the mess he made. dave smirks, expecting him to say that he'll get you a towel but instead licks his lips and starts to lean down between your legs again.

it was like deja vu. his tongue presses against your swollen slit, tasting your mixed cum before sucking on your sore clit. now you're so sensitive to the touch, you could orgasm again at any moment. he was so in tune with your body that he knew what pace to go and how long you could actually lasts.

you run your hands over your breasts, his tongue moving so perfectly between your slit and clit. you feel his press a light kiss against the area above your pussy before trailing more kisses up your body. then, you two shared another kiss, tasting each other's tongues once more before he laid next to you.

"you know, i've never had a study partner like you." you jeered, pressed a kiss against the start of his jaw.

he blushed, "me neither..." he raised his eyebrows, "trust me."

#dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski smut #dave lizewski x you #kick ass

2K notes · View notes

sparklingchim · 1 year

Text

ego season; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 6.3k

rating: 18+

genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, brother's best friend, college!au

warnings: jungkook's a lil flirt <3, unprotected sex, shower sex, doggy, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), creampie 🤭, cum play/swallowing, they like almost get caught 🫣, sum head in the locker room, disgusting kisses, CHANYEOL CAMEO!!!, nipple play, spanks, a teeny tiny mark, cursing, dirty talk, praise, spit

summary: pov: you make ur secret fuck buddy jealous.

a/n: hi hi besties enjoy i love u m going sleepies now <3

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You like the illicit.

Which is why you’re in the shower with Jeon Jungkook.

The guy who is your brother’s best friend.

Starting college and being away from your overbearing parents has its perks – the freedom it has given you has swayed you straight into Jungkook’s arms.

Turns out that despite the beginning of your little secret feeling quite mutinous and thrilling, it soon became apparent that maintaining it hidden from your brother Taehyung is substantially ridiculous when you share an apartment with said brother.

It gets even more ridiculous when you consider that they see each other every day because they play for the same hockey team.

You admit, choosing Jungkook as a fuck buddy was an inconvenient choice in which you had not considered the intricate aspects that would make sneaking around hardly possible.

But

The two of you are undeniably compatible in bed.

Luckily, you found out a few months ago at a frat party when you both were completely wasted and out of your minds.

After that night, there was no going back.

Being in college can be overwhelming at first. Lots of choices and opportunities. But it’s a vast contrast from your previous life, and you’ve fully committed to this lifestyle.

All your life you’ve longed to be in charge if your own decisions. Now that you're in college, living in a swanky apartment near campus, you have a little more freedom.

When there are no parents around to keep an eye on you, you can – almost – do whatever you want.

College is fun.

And taking a shower with Jeon Jungkook is fun too.

You giggle when Jungkook snatches your shampoo bottle from you before you can reach for it.

“Lemme do it.” He squeezes a generous amount on his open palm and rubs the fluid between his hands.

“Jungkook,” you scold. “That’s way too much.” You ogle the ample amount of shampoo coating his hands. Your lips drag into a pout as you watch Jungkook’s excessively besmeared palms extend to your hair. But it promptly fades when he begins to massage your scalp.

“But I like how it feels. Gets really foamy and bubbly.” He has a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he watches the solution grow into a rich foam of frothy bubbles on your head.

“Using too much can dry out your hair,” you mumble. Concentrating is a little difficult with Jungkook’s way too experienced fingers working on your scalp. “It can remove the moisture.”

“Oh, really?” His eyebrow twitches for the briefest second, that’s how you know Jungkook is actually listening to you because judging by his expression, he’s trapped in his own thought bubble.

It’s actually something you adore about Jungkook – whenever he is occupied doing something, whatever it is, he’ll put so much care into it and work diligently. Sweet – admirable, actually. It’s a characteristic you want to achieve as well, but you’d have to tweak on your impatience at first.

“Really,” you confirm.

“And I thought you were just saying that because your shampoo is expensive.” He teases you with a bob of his covered finger on your nose.

“That too.”

You reach behind Jungkook to grab your brother’s weird three in one shampoo. You squirt some on your hand and put it back. On your tippy toes you start to shampoo his hair as well.

He has his mouth twisted in a cocky smirk when he says, “The way you opened the door for me earlier seemed a little...” Jungkook cocks his head and ponders for a fitting word.

When he doesn’t come up with one you suggest, “Desperate?”

“Hmm.” Jungkook’s nose scrunches as he’s in thoughts. “I wanted so say rushed, but sure. Desperate will do.”

Your eyes roll in playfulness. “You were dripping with sweat, Jungkook. Didn’t want any of it dirtying my apartment floor,” you reason.

You texted Jungkook a good morning message and good luck on today’s game. He instantly replied with a thank you and told you that he had just finished his morning jog through the campus park. And maybe you offered him to stop by at your place because conveniently you also wanted to take a shower... (You hate morning showers). Taehyung had left a couple minutes prior to visit the gym.

“That’s the only reason?” A challenging twinkle flashes across his eyes.

The tip of your tongue touches your upper lip as you try to hide your smile. “Wouldn’t know why else.”

Jungkook nods. He grabs the shower head and tips your head back by grabbing your cheek. Carefully, he washes the shampoo out of your hair.

Jungkook is cautious not to accidentally splash water on your face and gently runs his fingers through your wet hair to remove the excess shampoo. You taught him well.

When he’s done, he offers you the shower head and it’s your turn.

Standing on your toes while trying to wash the shampoo out of his hair is always a little battle.

Usually, Jungkook comes to meet you by lowering himself, but at the moment his mind wanders elsewhere.

You first feel his hand on the curve of your waist. It’s a soft grasp. A gentle squeeze of your flesh that transiently side-tracks you from your task.

“Jungkook.” You try to pull him out of his little bubbles he’s trapped in. There’s a thickness to your voice, undoubtedly from his wandering hand on your body.

“Mmmh?’ He doesn’t look you in the eyes. Solely fixed on your body as his fingers mould against the supple form of your tit. You’ve always reckoned him to be a tits man, but he denies it and says he loves your ass equally as much. Liar.

“Bend down a little so I can rinse off the shampoo,” you request. His lashes flutter as he averts his eyes to you. A tiny crease appears between his brows like he has actually forgotten where he is and what you two have been doing. “Believe me, you really don’t want remnants of shampoo lingering in your hair.” You cock your head, fruitlessly waiting for a reaction from his head empty and hands full with tits haze.

Suddenly, Jungkook does bend forward. But not in favour of you, but to satisfy his own selfish desire to suck on your boob.

“Oh!” you squeal, pressing the shower head against his back. “Jungkook,” you chide, but your voice turns into a soft whine at the end.

“Hmm?” His hum together with your nub between his lips twists something in your tummy. His tongue begins to swirl around it, and you have to force your eyes to stay open. Jungkook’s inked hand reaches down your lower back. His subtle touches leave a trail of shivers, until his pads brush over the slope of your ass. He squeezes your cheek, firm fingers digging into your skin.

A small gasp escapes your throat.

With a lewd pop he releases your nipple. A lopsided smirk appears on his face, conjuring the little dimple on his cheek.

Jungkook’s dimple. So banal but so endearing. It’s a pretty contribution to the soft contours of Jungkook’s features – except for the sharp outline of his jaw. That adds to his image of the college jock. You like to tease him with that name, and he loathes it, but the sex afterwards is always so good.

You feel his other hand sneak down, grabbing a handful of your ass. He closes the distance between you again, pressing languid kisses along your neck. Begrudgingly, your eyes fall closed.

“Is this what you wanted?” A whisper of his mellow voice coaxes your breath to stutter.

“Yeah.” It’s merely a murmur. The tender nudges against your skin with his mouth unfold spellbound clouds in your mind, looming over your rational thoughts. “But the...” The shampoo you want to remind him, but he starts to suck on your skin and no more comprehensible thoughts form in your head.

You raise the shower head to Jungkook’s hair and wash off the remaining bits of shampoo. You make sure not to let the water run down his face.

“But what?” he asks, planting a soft peck on the flesh below your collar bone where his teeth have just sunk in. You’re not trying to act like a brat – you just care for his hair.

“Nothing,” you utter between pouting lips. “But no marks,” you alert.

“Just a tiny one.” Jungkook kisses the spot again. “No one will see,” he persuades.

Presuming you won’t wear clothes with a deep cleavage. Jungkook just made sure you won’t.

You put the shower head back on its place on the wall beside you. You struggle to secure it in the holder when you feel Jungkook’s hand move from your ass to your tummy.

Usually, you’d coax him into allowing you to put conditioner in his hair, but you can only concentrate on his hand slowly trailing down your belly button. When he cups your pussy, your hands clasp his shoulders.

A tantalising grin pulls the corner of his lips up. “You want this?”

You nod, your teeth capturing your bottom lip.

“Use your big girl words.” Jungkook runs his pad over your folds, eliciting a shudder from you. “Talk to me.”

“Want you,” you plead. Your eyebrows knit the further Jungkook dips his middle finger in. “Been wanting this for so long.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Last night wasn’t enough?”

The mention of last night shoots arousal and need straight to your core. An exchange of innocent text messages led to a phone call containing dirty words and hushed moans.

“No.” You shake your head. “I need you feel you.”

A chuckle bubbles in his throat. “That’s my girl.”

He spreads your wetness with his finger. Your hand wanders down to Jungkook’s tatted arm, squeezing his biceps when he brushes past your clit. His finger dwells there, putting pressure on your swollen bud. Your hips impulsively start to rock, a shaky whimper rolls past your mouth.

“Always so needy.” He draws his hand back. A petulant whine from you echoes in the bathroom.

“Shh,” Jungkook hushes you. Glimmers of tease spark in his eyes. “Bend over for me, love.”

With a puff, you turn around, bend forward and catch yourself on the tiled wall. It’s cold on your palms, but you’ll endure this if it means that Jungkook will make you cum.

He hisses behind you. “So fucking pretty.” A hand travels over your ass to your spine and back. “The prettiest girl,” he rasps. You earn a smack on your cheek, the pain leaving your walls clenching around nothing.

You turn your head, catching him just as he aims a trickle of spit at your pussy. He rubs it over your folds. His inked fingers vanish between your thighs.

“Oh fuck,” you moan as his index finger slowly enters you. He reaches deep, curling his finger to graze your spot. “More.” He’s teasing you, rubbing over your sensitive area in slow strokes.

“What do we say?” he taunts, specks of mock painting his voice.

“Please,” you reply. “I need more, please.” You’re putty in his hands. The desire to be touched bigger than your general wayward behaviour.

“Good girl.” Jungkook adds another finger. It’s just two, but you feel so full. So good.

While his fingers pick up on the speed, you feel Jungkook’s kisses on your ass. He has you rolling your eyes at the way his pads curl against your sweet spot, the knot in the pit of your tummy tightening.

Jungkook bites down on your flesh, drawing a squeal out of you. Your head twists to him again. He’s on his knees, his cheek resting against the curve of your ass as he captivatingly watches his fingers move in and out of you. A faint smirk hangs on his lips.

He meets your half-lidded eyes. His smirk deepens. “Can take a third one?”

You know you can – he knows it too – but you’d rather have his cock inside you.

“I wan’ you.” It’s a sulky request, but Jungkook’s eyes soften.

“You think you’re ready for me?” He pushes his fingers deep, remaining there for a while. Your knees buckle.

“Yes,” you pant. “I’m always ready for you.”

Jungkook hums. Your eyes focus back on the white tiles, expecting Jungkook to move behind you to bury himself inside you. With a pounding heart you wait. A gasp springs from your chest when

Jungkook’s tongue is on your pussy. He retreats his fingers from your quivering hole, using both his palms to spread your cheeks open. His tongue dives between your folds, inciting breathless whimpers from you.

“Taste so good.” Jungkook muffles indistinctly between licks on your wetness.

The sloppy sounds of his tongue lapping on your pussy fill your ears. Your throat constricts, the pleasure sends you spiralling, not permitting you make another noise.

One hand smooths over your back. You arch your back for him and Jungkook voices an approving hum against your core. Tingles sprawl everywhere, eyes falling shut as Jungkook swirls his tongue over your clit. He sucks on your tiny nub, and your thighs shake in response.

His thumb gathers your juice mixed with his spit and begins to circle your other hole.

“Jungkook,” you mewl. Your voice is small, barely having the vigour to drown out the noise of running water and Jungkook’s wicked mouth.

“Mhmm? What is it, princess?” His playful baritone timbre rumbles through your body, sparking the tight knot in your belly. The pad of his thumb continues to sweep over it, jolts of arousal teeter in your veins. He pecks your ass. “Want more?”

“Yes – please,” you answer hurriedly, voice laced with an equal amount of desperation and lust. It’s still early in the morning but Jungkook has you begging for his cock with no effort.

Jungkook straightens up to his full height. He squeezes your waist, his other hand pumping his thick cock. He rubs the glistening precum on his tip over his length. His eyes are glued to your inviting pussy, the urge to fill you to the brim fogs his mind, but he controls himself. He’ll get you used to his size before fucking you silly. The filthy thought of having you cum around his dick lures a restrained groan out of him.

Last night, when he heard your hushed whines and little whispers of his name, Jungkook was thirsting to come over and have his way with you. It had him lusting over you even after the phone call ended.

Jungkook taps his tip against your aching pussy. The wet sounds it elicits makes his front teeth dig into his lower lip. So wet. Just for him.

His head nudges your entrance. You inhale sharply, zealously anticipating the feeling of his cock sheathed deep inside you. Jungkook pushes his cock inside you. A mutual moan reverberates in the bathroom.

“Fuck.” Your eyes are tightly closed.

“It’s just the tip,” Jungkook mutters, fingers trailing up your spine.

“So big,” you babble.

“You can take it.” Jungkook’s hand finds your tit, firmly palming the smooth flesh. “You’re gonna take my cock like the good girl you are, right?”

The pet name makes your heart flutter. “I can take it,” you promise.

Gradually, Jungkook eases his cock inside you. He’s so deep. Your head hangs low. You’re so full.

There’s an inkling of burning pain from Jungkook’s size, but he allows you to adjust to him. His fingers tugging at your nipple steals your attention. A whine flies past your lips at his ministrations on your pebbled nipple.

“You can move,” you tell him once the pain dulls.

A delicate kiss is pressed on your shoulder blade before Jungkook draws back. His hands are firmly anchored in your hips. Jungkook pulls back until only the head of his cock is left between your walls. In a fluid motion, he bottoms out.

“Damn, you feel so fucking amazing,” he grunts, a harshness surrounds his tone. Jungkook loses himself. He finds his rhythm and thrusts inside your pussy with sharp motions.

You’re a mess beneath him. A moan of his name flees your throat. He smacks your ass and the sting rattles through you, tiny sparks fuelling the fire inside you.

“Faster,” you utter between pants. “Faster, Jungkook.” He picks up on his speed, hitting the sweet spot inside you in hastier succession. “Please don’t stop.” You sneak a hand between your legs. You press your index finger to your clit, stroking in swift circles.

Jungkook gathers your hair in one hand, twisting it around his fist. Your head lifts, back arching.

“You’re gonna cum for me?”

You’re barely able to register Jungkook’s question. Your high is inbound, threatening to spill over. “Y-yes.” It’s a broken cry, Jungkook’s rapid lunges of his hips make it practically impossible to talk.

“Please make me cum.”

“You wanna cum so badly, don’t you?” Mock sympathy laces his voice. His makeshift ponytail tugs you back. Your hands are merely touching the wall for support, but Jungkook has a secure hold on you.

You reply with an impatient whine.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” Jungkook muses. His grip on your waist tenses, delivering a particularly hard thrust. You curse at the way his cock kisses the deepest part inside you. “I think you deserve to cum.”

Oh God.

His hand with your hair bundled in his palm pulls you back to him. You reluctantly let your hands slip from the tiled wall.

“I’ve got you,” Jungkook assures. He snakes both his arms around you, keeping you safe. He gently nudges your hand between your thighs. You comply, allowing Jungkook to replace your fingers. “I’m gonna make you cum.” His voice promises into your ear. A shiver crawls up your spine. His possessive ass likes to receive credit for everything.

Jungkook’s middle finger rubs over your clit in circular motions. Your head tips back, completely engulfed in Jungkook’s enchanting touches on your body.

“So close.” Your head falls back against his shoulder. Your sweet moans fill his ear.

“Pretty girl.” Jungkook’s nose nuzzles your cheek. “Cum for me.” His other hand rests against your lower tummy. His palm puts pressure on that spot. Your eyes roll in utter euphoria.

When the taut coil snaps inside you, a fuzzy feeling rushes through your entire body. It makes your body tingle with bliss. The feeling is overwhelming your senses, your eyes can’t stay focused. You moan weakly, legs shaking.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. His words send warms chills on your skin.

His finger on your clit slows down. Jungkook lets you ride out your high, his thrusts deep and lazy.

When you peek a glance at him, you see him with brows knitted in pleasure. His dark hair is wet, long hair a mess on his head that you can’t wait to comb later. Jungkook’s sturdy body glistens with water and sweat, his shredded chest momentarily steals your attention until your eyes get distracted by the shimmering tattoos adorning his entire right arm, from hand to shoulder.

His colourful tattoos complete the look and add something irresistible to him, ridiculously charming – an impeccable portrayal of a ravishing man you should keep your distance from, but what can you say, your connection is like a magnet pulling you to him. You had kept your distance from him – even back when you two were still in high school and he was a grade above you – but once a taste of what it’s like to be with Jungkook and you became, mutually, addicted.

And as long as your brother doesn’t get a whiff of it – everything's fine.

“Wanna cum inside,” Jungkook breathes. His hand grips your ass tightly. “Can I cum inside?”

You rarely allow him to cum inside, but the way a desperate, whiny pitch accompanied by little puffs and moans colour his voice lets you decide otherwise.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Cum inside me, fill me up, Jungkook.”

“Oh, fuck.” His fingers sink into your waist. Jungkook fucks you relentlessly. “Gonna fill your pussy.”

With a guttural moan he pounds deep inside you, painting your walls white. Sloppy thrusts follow as he spills everything inside you, breathless noises hanging in the air.

Jungkook’s gingerly pulls his cock out, lightly tapping it against your pussy coated in your mixed juices.

“Bend over.”

Your hands are flat against the wall again, arching your back for Jungkook.

“Shit.” His palms smooth over the expanse of your ass. “Your tiny pussy looks so good filled up with my cum.”

You giggle. You feel his digits gently trace over your folds. He dips his finger in your cum filled hole.

“Up,” he instructs.

When you stand in front of him again, he holds his finger coated with his cum in front of your face.

On instinct, you open your mouth for him.

You close your lips around the pad of his tatted finger. Your tongue swirls around it, the taste of his cum spreading in your mouth.

Jungkook wears a fond smile on his face. He removes his finger when you swallow. “Good girl.”

Suddenly, someone yells your name from outside the bathroom.

You shriek.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Taehyung.

What the hell is he doing here so early?

You take a step back from Jungkook. “What do you want?” you yell.

“I think I left my AirPods here.”

Your eyebrows draw together in annoyance. “You came all the way back for that?”

Taehyung ignores your accusatory tone. “Can I come in? They gotta be here.”

You send a worried glance at Jungkook. But he just nods, giving your waist a reassuring squeeze.

The shower curtain is opaque. If Jungkook stays silent he won’t notice anything.

Jungkook pushes the shower curtain aside, pointing at the pile of clothes. Your pyjamas mixed with his jogging attire. Shit.

“Hold on a second,” you tell Taehyung, trying not to sound too panicked.

“I won’t look, _ _ _.” Taehyung’s voice drips in impatience.

“Just wait.”

You hurry to bend down, careful not to slip, and pick up Jungkook’s clothes from the floor. Jungkook hands linger on your hips to keep you safe. As you draw back, he pulls back the shower curtain and covers you both in the tiny shower.

“You can come in now.”

You hear him push down the doorknob. The door creaks a little as Taehyung enters the bathroom.

“It’s like a fucking sauna in here,” Taehyung comments.

The water is steaming hot – your choice, not Jungkook’s.

Your heart runs lapses in your chest. Your hand reaches for Jungkook’s arm, tightly holding onto him.

“Don’t forget that mum and dad are coming over this weekend.”

You mentally groan at his reminder.

Your first semester has just barely started a few months ago, but your parents can’t wait to check up on you.

“I know,” you reply.

“I think they wanna have dinner with Minho and his parents.”

Now you can’t suppress your piqued groan. Your forehead hits Jungkook’s biceps.

Taehyung chuckles. “You’re gonna pretend to be sick?”

“Mum will know.”

“Is me breaking his nose for you better?” You hear the smile on his face, but if you said yes, he’d totally do it.

You laugh. “Leave him alone. I don’t even know who he is.”

“Found them!” Taehyung calls. “Gonna leave now. Love ya!” You hear his steps leading him outside the bathroom. The door shuts close.

Jungkook and you remain silent until you’re sure that Taehyung left the apartment.

You heave a relieved sigh.

“That was close,” you mutter against his skin. Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

“So who’s Minho?” Jungkook briefly moves his arm to nudge your head.

“Just a guy who studies here as well.” You prop your chin up on his arm, looking up at him. “My parents are friends with his. They want me to meet him.”

Jungkook nods pensively. His palms slide down your back.

“Jungkook,” you warn when you feel him give your ass a squeeze.

“What? Lemme play with you a little more.”

“But it’s time for conditioner.” He grabs your hand mid-air, before you can fetch the conditioner.

He intertwines your fingers. “Just a little more.” Jungkook nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck.

Your eyes flutter close.

Your arms loop around his shoulders. A shaky breath springs from your chest when you feel Jungkook’s fingers between your legs.

“Gonna make you feel good. I promise.”

Jungkook is insatiable and you’re willing to give him every part of you.

The perfect match.

Hours later, you sit in class.

The lecture is almost done. You find yourself habitually scribbling doodles on your iPad, next to your notes.

You keep thinking back on the incident this morning and how Jungkook and you could’ve gotten caught. Maybe there shouldn’t be any visits from him at your place anymore – it's way too hazardous.

You don’t want Taehyung to find out. But you also don’t want to lie to him if you continue tackle this matter imprudently.

Your phone vibrates with a new message. You tilt the screen to your view. An immediate smile unfurls as you read Jungkook’s name.

Jungkook

hey

just wanted to make sure that you’re coming to the game later?

You

i am !! i'm excited

Jungkook

i’ll make sure to win for you

You

hihi

Jungkook

watchu up to rn

You

i’m in class

i’m bored

i don’t have friends

and i'm hungry

Jungkook

poor girl

you wanna come a lil earlier to the game?

You

why?

Jungkook

just so I can see you before the game starts

You

you’ll find me in the bleachers

like you always do

Jungkook

my eyes detect the pretty real fast ;)

You

🙄

Jungkook

so you don’t wanna give me luck before the game :(

You

how early are we talking about?

i still have classes

Jungkook

i dont know

enough time to give me sum good luck

You

what kind of giving luck are we talking about

🤨

Jungkook

you know

just

a little good luck kiss

You

good luck kiss?

you're annoying

Jungkook

i miss your lips

You

you’re sure no one will be there?

Jungkook

if you come early enough

You

i’ll come

just briefly

Jungkook

see ya princess

You’re gonna skip class to give Jeon Jungkook head.

The woman you are.

Jungkook slips you in the empty locker room without anyone noticing.

You both have mastered the ability to sneak into places unobserved, it seems.

“Just wanna stress that I skipped a class for you.” An accusing tone resonates in your voice as you turn to him, a finger poking his chest.

A bewitching smile swirls on Jungkook’s mouth. “Well, I’m happy that when you do, on a rare occasion, it’s to spend time with me.” He catches your finger easily, wrapping his hand around your wrist smoothly. Jungkook steps closer.

You can’t deny the giddy bubbles in your tummy whenever Jungkook flirts with you. It’s a prompt reaction – almost natural.

“You want your good luck kiss now?” The way he is staring down at you makes you feel a little jittery, but you keep his intense gaze, bashing your eyelashes up at him.

He traces a line with his knuckle along your jawline. “Whatever,” he answers. “Just the time I spend with you will bring me enough luck.”

A frustrated pout adorns your face. “I skipped class for this?”

“You don’t like spending time with me?” Jungkook’s brow quirks, a small playful smile curving his lips.

“No,” you deny vehemently. “I do like it. I just thought we were gonna do a little more than that.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I think you want it even more than me.”

Heat crawls into your cheeks. “So what?” You try to hide your growing shyness. “You were the one begging me to come here.”

“That’s right.” His thumb brushes over your lower lip, just the hint of a touch. “ ’Cause you always make me feel so good, princess.”

Shivers, everywhere. Jungkook leans down. He wants to tease you, you know it, but you stand on your tip toes and close the distance. You catch his mouth in a fierce kiss, fingers going straight into his hair, dishevelling the mess of his curls.

He walks backwards, pulling you along him until his calves hit the locker room bench and he slowly sits down. With his hands gripping your waist, he tugs you onto his lap.

“How much time do we have?” you whisper against his neck when he presses kisses down your throat.

“Don’t worry about it.” His lips move to your earlobe and he sinks his teeth into your soft skin.

“Jungkook.” You wanted to sound solemn, but it falls from you like a moan when his hands squeeze your ass. “I don’t want anyone finding us like this.”

“Then lets hurry.”

You shoot him a wide-eyed glance. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook ignores you and pulls you in for another kiss.

You are used to this, though. Spending your time with Jungkook like this always meant hurried touches and second look glances at the surroundings.

Your hips grind on his lap. Jungkook curses, his forehead falling onto your chest.

“I love this place,” he murmurs, palming your boobs through your tight sweater top. You giggle.

The bulge in his pants is pressing against you. Your hand clasps around it, squeezing a little. Jungkook groans at the feeling of your hand.

“I need you on your knees. Right now,” he commands in a rasp.

With a mischievous smile you sink down to your knees. Your trapped between his thighs. Jungkook quickly gets rid of his pants and briefs, pushing them down to his knees.

Jungkook’s cock lies against his abdomen. It’s pretty and salivating, his veiny length coloured in an angry red.

He strokes his cock, his thumb swiping across his glistening tip. “Open wide for me.” You feel his hand on the base of your neck. You obey nimbly, tilting your head upwards and sticking out your tongue.

Jungkook taps his cock against your tongue. The wet sound it produces sinking straight into your core. When he pushes his dick inside your mouth, you swirl your tongue around him. A string of curses follow the warm feeling of your mouth.

His cock is heavy between your lips. It reminds you of how his sheer size stretches your pussy when he fucks you, his mushroom tip rubbing against your sensitive spot and making you roll your eyes at the intensity. Your nails leave crescent marks in Jungkook’s thighs when you take him deeper.

“Just like that.” His voice gains something sharp and piercing.

You’re breathless when you pull off. You hold his length to your mouth; a dribble of spit runs down from his tip.

Jungkook moans at the sight of you spitting on his cock. He wants to shut his eyes and let your sinful mouth overtake every sensible part of him, but he can’t draw his eyes from you – his cock between your plump lips, your sparkly eyes looking up at him, a little teary because his size is still a little too much for you. Angelic.

Jungkook wants to blow his load right then and there.

Your head bobs up and down, palm stroking the part you can’t reach. The air is filled with wet, slurping sounds alongside Jungkook’s scratchy groans. You lap at the underside of Jungkook’s cock, tongue rolling around his head when you reach it, a kitten lick at his slit to add your teasing.

His dick twitches in your grasp. “Fuck.” He gathers loose strands in his palm. His hand lingers on the back of your head with your hair in a bundle to support you.

He urges you forward and your mouth closes around him again. Jungkook pressures you to take his cock deeper and you take his length further until your nose pokes his crotch. With shimmering eyes, you blink repetitively, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

“God, you look so fucking pretty with my cock stuffed in your mouth.” Jungkook hisses, keeping you down there. You swallow and his cock twitches again, the curse that flees his chest is low and it does something to your pussy.

He pulls you off his cock, just to push you down again. You gag, eyes tightly closed as Jungkook has his way with you.

“Love to hear you gag for me.” A deep crease appears between his eyebrows. “So good at taking my cock. Gonna make me fucking cum.”

Jungkook’s muscular thighs shake beneath your palms. His hips move desirously upwards, full length sheathed in your throat.

“Gonna cum – fuck ‘m gonna cum. You’re gonna swallow like the good girl you are?”

Jungkook’s cum shoots inside you. His hand in your hair goes limp. You suck on his tip, lazily stroking his dick to pump everything out while he’s breathing heavily above you. He hisses when your gentle touches are too much from him, pulling his cock from your mouth.

“Swallowed everything?” His voice is low, a little drowsy from his high. His fingers smooth over your hair to tame the mess he has created.

“Uh-huh.” A smile is on your face. You give his spent cock a peck before you rise.

Jungkook pulls his clothes back on. You walk to your bag discarded on the floor to search for tissues.

“There’s no way we’re losing the game today,” Jungkook says, smirking.

While you somewhat clean your hands you say, “Don’t jinx it.” When you’re done, you grab your phone.

“I’m not. We’re winning this.”

You stand in front of him. “Can you hold this?” You hand him your phone with the camera app opened, the screen showing you. Your fingers fold around his wrist to get the perfect angle of your face and you start fixing the mess of mascara Jungkook was the cause of.

“You don’t believe in me?”

“No, I do.” Impishness sways in your tone.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Princess, you should know me better than that.” He cocks his head, eyes intently watching you. “If we win, I’ll have my way with you tonight. If we don’t, you’re in charge.”

A tiny giggle escapes you at his proposal.

“Sure.”

You’re in for a ride.

Watching a hockey game of your brother has always been fun.

Not particularly because you are a fan of the game, but because you like to see Taehyung beam in his love and passion for it. You’ve always been a big supporter of his.

What made the games a tiny speck more enjoyable for you was his hot best friend playing with him.

You can’t keep your eyes off Jungkook. You keep searching for him, observing every move and play.

Sometimes you have to force yourself to pry your eyes away and see what your brother is doing.

It’s hard to force your attention away from Jungkook, but it’s even tougher to feign nonchalance because you attended the game with Chanyeol – a friend from class, but you two initially became friends at a frat party.

He usually tags along with you, together with your friend Naeun but she couldn’t accompany you today – too swamped with work.

“Taehyung’s really amazing.”

Chanyeol’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. Your eyes fly from Jungkook to Taehyung, your throat constricts like you’ve been caught in a criminal act.

“I know,” you say, a little awkward. “He’s always been this good.”

It’s half-time. The fifteen-minute break has just started. The bleachers are crowded, though some are leaving to use the small break.

Suddenly, the huge screens show close ups of the viewers.

The kiss cam.

The couple shown on the screen starts kissing and the entire audience cheers.

You’ve never been on the kiss cam. There are too many people in the audience anyway, the chances to appear on it are low.

Unbothered, you turn to Chanyeol.

“You’re coming to the party this Saturday?” he asks.

“My parents are coming over this weekend.” You sigh at the thought of it. “I doubt I’ll be able to go out.”

“Yikes.”

Your phone vibrates. You unlock it to find a new message from Naeun. You’re occupied with texting Naeun when Chanyeol faintly nudges his knees to yours.

“I’m sorry, I-” When you look up, you see yourself on the big screen. “Oh!” you squeal surprised.

Chanyeol laughs beside you. A rush of excitement and nervousness courses through your system.

Chanyeol’s eyebrows raise in question.

Should you? Chanyeol doesn’t have a girlfriend, you don’t have a boyfriend. There’s nothing to lose, really. Exhilaration is clouding your judgement.

Slowly, a timid smile curves your lips upwards.

You lean in closer. Chanyeol takes the hint and cups your cheek. When his lips touches yours, your tummy tingles. You share a heated kiss, your body leaning in closer as you get lost in it for a brief second.

The applaud and cheers are blocked by your ears. You only focus is Chanyeol.

The moment doesn’t last long. When you both break the kiss, you smile at each other, giggles surrounding you.

The kiss cam isn’t focused on you anymore, another couple on the screen.

“You’re a good kisser,” Chanyeol compliments teasingly.

“That was fun,” you reply, the thrill of it all making you feel light in the head.

When you cast your glance to the field, it slowly subsides.

Taehyung is looking at you with sharp look. You know your brother too well. His expression translates to are you fucking serious?

Yes, you want to answer. Lemme have fun for once.

Your eyes roll unintendedly when you avert your gaze from Taehyung. But they, somehow, instantly land on Jungkook.

Your chest flutters, even from a distance his effect on you is intense.

The look he gives you is blistering, straight into your soul.

No matter how this is will end, Jungkook is gonna have his way with you either way.

Oh, now you are definitely in for a ride.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

read pt 2 here <3

#jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook college au #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook drabble #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic

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brodieland · 2 months

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.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 Be you or be with you? ´ˎ˗

Percy Jackson x fem!zeus!reader Synopsis: When a daughter of Zeus and a son of Poseidon who just seem to hate each other get into a fight, they are forced to clean the stables together. Word Count: 885

The stables smelled like crap, because they were literally filled of it. And of course you had to be stuck cleaning the crap filled stables with a walking pain in the ass. Also known as Percy Jackson. So many people just love him so much. Sure he saved camp, and civilization I guess, but you didn't care. Something about him just bugged you, it was probably how he doesn't know how to listen, or how he has such a smart-mouth, maybe it was how he just does whatever and for some reason it just always has to work out for him. That luck bothered you too. HEY, maybe you were just a hater, but he was a forbidden kid and despite beating up the god of war at twelve, everyone liked him, but one time when you were twelve you accidently shocked a bunch of people in a lake and people are still scared to go near water with you. Shits rigged.

"It smells so bad in here" you mumbled to yourself.

"No shit" Percy giggled to himself, you may or may not have let out a little chuckle on the inside but you'd never admit that.

"Not the time for jokes when its your fault we're here fish breath" you spat back, clearly annoyed.

"How the hell is it my fault you decided to strike me down with your stupid lightning" he returned right back to with just as much annoyance.

"Maybe if you didn't absolutely soak me with your stupid water I wouldn't have done that" you yelled back.

"How many times do I have to say that I wasn't aiming for you" he's so stupid.

"I wasn't aiming for you" you mocked "there was literally no one else around" you are literally screaming now.

"Fine, maybe it was sorta on purpose," like I didn't know "but maybe if you didn't trip me literally five minutes before that then I wouldn't have gotten the idea!"

"Now THAT" you emphasized "wasn't on purpose, but I'll admit it was kinda funny" you started laughing a little. He stared at you straight faced as you laughed.

"Haha, I'm dying, your hilarious, let's just finish cleaning" Percy said. And with that, you both went back to silently cleaning in silence. Now in a few moments he spoke up again.

"Did I do something to you" he asked.

"What are you talking about" you said.

"You just seem to not like me and I don't remember doing anything to make you hate me so much" he sounded sad, you almost felt bad.

Maybe you did a little, because he was right. He never did anything to you, and if you were being honest with your self you were just kind of.. jealous? That was probably the word. You were both forbidden children, you thought that meant you'd both be in the same boat, but no. He's just so likeable in ways you weren't, people were scared of you because they think your dangerous but love him.

"Everyone likes you" you started. You stood there faced him broom in hand as you stared at the floor. Percy looked at you confused.

"I mean, I guess, but I'm sure there's someone who doesn't like me" Percy said.

"Exactly, you don't even know if there's someone out there that doesn't like you" you said, make Percy even more confused. "People don't like me because they're like, scared of me or something. So obviously I don't really have friends and I thought that was part of the deal until you got here and became Mr. freaking popular. You can beat up gods but gods forbid I accidently shock someone years ago." You've never shared this with anyone. "So no you didn't do anything, and no I don't hate you. I just kinda wish I was more like you."

You got quiet, he got quiet. You both were quiet. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anyth-"

"Don't be sorry" He cut you off. "I didn't know that's how you felt, I wish you said something."

"What would that have done, other than make you feel sorry for me" you chuckled sarcastically.

"Maybe I wanted to be like, buddies or something, but you were always pushing me away" He said as he stared down at the ground.

You were stunned. Absolutely stunned.

"What, why would you want to be friends with me, I'm sure you've rumors about me. That I'm aggressive, or scary or mean." Sucks but kids suck.

"We both know there not true. Maybe you're a little short-tempered, but maybe you wouldn't be if people weren't always assuming the worst. Plus you're really pretty" He threw you a goofy grin that made you playfully roll your eyes and laugh in response.

Percy gasped. "Oh my gods, did I just make the Y/N Y/L/N laugh" he said sarcastically.

"Maybe you did, don't get to full of yourself Jackson" you said as you jokingly glared and pointed your finger at him.

"Alright then, so, is the beef over? Can we be friends now" he questioned, hopeful you say yes, really hopeful you'd want to hang out with him.

"yeah, friends. We can be friends" You both smiled at each other, happy to have put the arguing behind.

"It still smells like crap"

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson pjo #percy pjo #percy series #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson fluff

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jupitercomet · 5 months

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There Are 15 People in This House, You’re the Only One Who Has to Make Trouble

summary - Your job was simple: write a heartwarming article about the selfless firefighters who are working around the clock instead of celebrating the holidays. You thought it would be easy, firefighters are supposed to be friendly, right? Well the fire captain who's had it out for you since the day that you started certainly isn't. When he's not undermining you at every turn, he's making your life a living hell and downright ruining your Christmas. All because he caught you from falling out of a tree one time!

warnings - firefighter au, language, enemies to lovers (I tried), firefighting inaccuracies, mentions of guns, mentions of arson, there's a fire, mentions of toxic family, age gap though it's not really specified, a little suggestive, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so

word count - 14.2k

this fic is part of @sailor-aviator christmas challenge, be sure to check out what everyone else has written and I hope you enjoy!

the christmas fics

“Honey, I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Layford,” you wave off the older woman as you move to unbutton your coat. “Here, hold this please.” She takes your purse from you apprehensively, still wary as you set your coat on the ground and start sizing up the tree in front of you.

Mrs. Layford wets her lips against the chill of the morning air, trying again to deter you when you wrap your hand around one of the low branches. “I’ve already called the fire department, honey. They said they’re on their way.”

With a soft grunt, you hoist yourself up onto the lowest branch of the tree, peering through the snow covered foliage to catch sight of your target. Mittens, the slightly pudgy (though you’d never say it to his face—or Mrs. Layford’s) orange tabby, clings to one of the branches, letting out distressed meows every few seconds. He has a habit of getting stuck in trees—hence why Mrs. Layford knows most of the firefighters by name—and as the neighbor she often came to for help with things like the wifi and the apartment upstairs that plays their music too loud, you felt it was your civic duty to rescue Mittens on this snowy morning.

“Hey, buddy,” you call out to him softly before turning back to call down to Mrs. Layford. “I’ll have him out before they even get here, don’t worry.”

Letting go of the tree with one hand, you move to unwrap your scarf from around your neck, balancing around the rough bark of the trunk. You certainly have a hole in your tights and this was not the best activity to do in a skirt, but you shuffle along the trunk anyway and now, if you outstretch your hand all the way, you can reach the tips of Mittens’ puffed out fur.

“Oh, thank goodness!” You hear the relieved voice of Mrs. Layford, but you’re too busy trying to maneuver your scarf around Mittens’ plump middle that you don’t look down. “My neighbor’s trying to get him now but…”

Whatever she’s saying dies off and suddenly you hear heavy footsteps approaching the tree. A gruff voice clears its throat. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get down from there.”

You wrinkle your nose. Ma’am? You’re 27. That’s hardly an age that people start calling you “ma’am”. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been called ma’am in your life. “Miss” maybe, but never “ma’am”—“mademoiselle” that one time you went to Montreal on a work trip.

“Ma’am—”

“Hold on, hold on! I almost got him.” You interrupt the man who is terrible at estimating ages, finally wrapping your scarf around Mittens.

Carrying a cat in a scarf is a two handed job, and a cat as heavy as Mittens had no trouble throwing off your balance. You suppose you should have thought more of this through—if you were holding Mittens, it meant that you weren’t holding the tree and your thighs are not quite secure nor strong enough to keep you attached to the bark. A shriek leaves your lips and you hold Mittens to your chest as you suddenly lose your footing on the branch and feel yourself falling backwards off the tree.

Closing your eyes tight, you prepare for the impact of hitting either icy dirt or concrete sidewalk, but feel neither when you land in secure arms and a solid chest, the scent of cedar and smoke almost overpowering your senses.

Blinking your eyes open, you collect your bearings and find yourself face to face with a well groomed mustache that’s twitching in agitation. Before he can say anything, Mrs. Layford is rushing over to you with a worried expression pinching her features.

You unwrap your scarf quickly, holding out an unharmed Mittens to hand over. “He’s okay,” you assure her. “Not a scratch on him.”

Mrs. Layford lets out a breath of relief, holding the cat close to her chest before turning her attention to the man still holding you. “Thank you, Bradley.”

“What? I saved him! Don’t I deserve a thank you?” You squawk in offense.

“Well, he saved you both,” Mrs. Layford glares at you with a look that tells you that you don’t want to keep arguing with her. Her face softens when she turns back to your—alleged—savior. “I’m sorry for any trouble we’ve caused, I’ll bring some cookies over to the station for you and the boys.”

“No need.” You feel his words vibrate in his chest, sending tingles along your arm. “Happy to be of service.” He lifts you suddenly, as if to gesture to you, and you let out a squeak of surprise, clinging to his compact, black t-shirt. “I’m just gonna check her for any injuries and be on my way. Why don’t you and Mittens go inside where it’s warm.”

Mrs. Layford does just that, with one last goodbye, and you watch her make her way back into your apartment building with one last glance back at you. Finally, the firefighter sets you back down on your own two feet, crossing his very large arms as he scans you up and down. You can’t help but fidget under his stare even though you know he’s only making sure you’re okay.

“Do you usually have this much disregard for your own life, ma’am?” He asks finally.

You scoff. “I wouldn’t have died from a fall from that height. And don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes, you could have. You were falling backwards—head first at that—if you had landed on your neck wrong, this could have been a whole different story,” the firefighter narrows his eyes cockily, like he’s beaten you somehow by being more right than you. “And what should I call you then? Kitty? ‘Cause those are the only things I save from trees.” He smirks when your jaw drops at his audacity.

“Excuse me? I was saving a kitty. You were just standing there—”

“Just standing there?” He drops his cool guy persona to look at you incredulously. “I saved you from serious injury!”

“Ha! So you admit I wouldn’t have died!”

The firefighter’s mouth snaps shut when you point a finger at him. You watch his jaw clench and then he rolls his eyes.

“Well as delightful as this has been, I’m going to be late,” you smile at him sweetly as you bend down to grab your coat, much more smug now that you’ve finally silenced the man in front of you. “Gosh, I hope the firefighters I have to interview are as heroic and charming as you.” You shove your arms through your jacket before shooting him another look. “Am I free to go?”

“You know what—” The firefighter looks like he’s going to start another lecture, before his features falter and he pauses. “Did you say you’re interviewing firefighters?”

“Yeah, I’m writing an article for the paper. For the holidays and all that,” you pause from buttoning your coat, fingers stilling on one of the large, black buttons.

“You walking?” He questions.

You give him a weird look. “...Yeah?”

He looks at you for a moment and then lets out a deep sigh. “Come with me.”

“Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Well, you might as well.” With that, he starts walking away from you, not even giving you the decency of facing you as he continues his sentence. “We’re going the same place, kitty.”

“So…” You tap your fingers along the wooden stool below you, drawing out the word as you watch the man in front of you clean up things around the station. “Bradley Bradshaw, huh?”

“Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw.” He corrects.

You hold back an eye roll, lifting your pen to jot something down on your notepad. “Right.”

“What are you writing?” Bradley stops suddenly, marching over to you and ripping your notepad from you before you can protest. He reads over the few words you have scribbled and narrows his eyes. “I do not have an authority kink. And I highly doubt your article is supposed to be about my sex life.”

You shrug, plucking the notepad back from him. “I’m just writing what I see.” Hoping down from the stool, you give him another sickeningly sweet smile. “Maybe if you actually gave me an interview, I wouldn’t have to rely on my people reading skills.”

“I already told you, I already have a guy that’ll give you an interview. He eats this press shit up.” Again Bradley seems to have no regard for face-to-face conversations as he’s already walking away from you.

You’re borderline running to keep up with him. “And I already told you that my assignment is to follow you guys around for a week, I’m going to need more than one interview.”

“Alright, fine.” Bradley stops suddenly and you nearly trip over your own feet to stop from bumping into him. “You want an interview? Here’s an interview. I’m a firefighter, I fight fires. Sometimes I catch careless girls from falling out of trees—it’s not really my job, but I like to give back to the community.” He shrugs sarcastically. “When I’m not putting out fires, I wait here until someone calls me to put out a fire, and then I do. That good enough for you?”

You ignore his not so subtle dig at you in favor of jotting down notes. This is probably the most you’re gonna get with him, so you might as well take advantage of it. “Are you sad you won’t be getting time off for the holidays?”

“No, I’m not. I don’t really celebrate, so I don’t care that much.” Bradley crosses his arms.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, still looking at your notepad. “And when will you be accepting your award from People Magazine for Grumpiest Man of the Year?”

“When will I—” When Bradley processes your words, his jaw clenches and you’re suddenly aware of your height difference as he towers over you menacingly. “Oh, you’re real funny, kitty. Look, in case I haven’t made it clear, I don’t like you. And if I had it my way, you wouldn’t be here at all, so let me make this easy for you. Stay out of my way.”

The two of you stare at each other and you note how tense Bradley’s shoulders are. He looks like one of those bulls in the bullfighting rings that chase after the red capes. You read once that it isn’t the color red that sets off the bull, but actually the movement of the cape and if you’re the red cape in this scenario then you probably shouldn’t move. Honestly you wonder if bulls can even see the color red. But that caricature of a bull with smoke coming out of his nose is exactly what Bradley looks like right now. You wonder if you should tell him that.

“Seresin.” He barks suddenly, still keeping his eyes on you and it takes everything in you not to jump.

You hadn’t even noticed the other firefighter making his way down the stairs and you’re mildly impressed by Bradley’s peripheral vision. Finally Bradley breaks eye contact with you and it’s only then that you turn to take in the other man in front of you.

Much like Bradley, he’s unfairly tall. His uniform certainly hugs him in all the right places and he fills it out with what you know is concentrated muscle. Blond hair is gelled up slightly on his head and piercing green eyes meet your own with a polite smile that his captain hadn’t given you.

Bradley nods his head in your direction. “Give our journalist here an interview.”

“Sorry, Captain,” The man’s eyes dart to the exit and he almost seems to shift his weight nervously. “I actually have to be somewhere—”

“That was an order, Lieutenant.” Bradley interrupts him and then he’s stalking off before you or the other man can get another word in.

With that lovely, uncomfortable aura in the air, you shoot the man in front of you an apologetic smile. “Hi,” you introduce yourself, holding out a hand. “I’m with the Union-Tribune. I’m writing an article about the firefighters working over the holidays and would love to get an interview from you if you have the time.”

“Well, apparently I do,” the blond chuckles awkwardly, scratching at his neck as he shakes your hand with his other one. “Jake Seresin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jake.” You smile again.

He nods—infinitely friendlier than a certain Bradley Bradshaw. “So what questions were you wanting to ask me?”

You move to find somewhere for the two of you to sit and Jake follows with what looks to be a strained smile. His name feels familiar, though you certainly couldn’t have put it to the face, and you recall a recent article one of your colleagues had written about a nasty apartment fire that had practically brought the complex down. As of now, there weren’t any casualties, but you’d heard there had been a high number injured, including one in critical condition. Jake Seresin had been one of the firefighters to arrive on the scene—that’s how you recognized his name—and had been the last one to go in and look for any other people.

You know better than to ask him about the event, not when it has nothing to do with your article. You clear your throat with another smile. “Um, did you always know you wanted to be a firefighter?”

“I guess so,” Jake chuckles before pulling a bit of a face. “I thought it looked cool in the movies. My ma always said I was a bit of a wild child.”

“Oh, so you find firefighting to be a bit of an adrenaline rush?” You push.

“Well, I—” Jake falters. “I don’t know if I’d say that. I mean it can be, but it’s also…” He trails off, clearly looking for words that don’t seem to be coming to him.

“It’s okay,” you assure, knowing when to move on. “Complicated question. What about the holidays? Are you sad to be working?”

Jake looks infinitely relieved that you��ve changed the subject. “Originally, I was planning on heading home but… things changed and I figured if I was staying here, I might as well be working.” He glances at his watch suddenly and winces. “Is there another time we could do this? I’m sorry, but I really have to get somewhere.”

You nod hastily. “Of course! I’m sorry to keep you. I’ll be here all week so anytime you’re free, you know where to find me.”

Jake lets out a breath of relief. “Thanks. I’ll— I’ll be sure to do that.” He gives you an awkward wave before hastily heading towards the exit. Right as his hand meets the door, Jake pauses, turning back to you with a more sincere smile. “Oh, and don’t worry about Bradley. He’s like that with everyone.”

You watch him leave before sagging in your seat with a soft sigh. If the rest of the firefighters were like Jake then maybe this week wouldn’t be so bad—at the very least, you’d be able to write your article. Your thoughts drift to honeyed brown eyes and that permanent sneer that seems to cement every time it’s shot in your direction. You look down at your notes.

Bradley Bradshaw:

Authority kink

Biting back a smile, you scribble something quickly.

Authority kink (maybe)

The next day, you’re back at the fire station with a bright smile on your face. After a good night’s rest, you’ve decided that you’re not about to let the whole Bradley thing deter you. You are a trained professional and you’re certainly not about to let a man with a stick up his ass make the world think any differently. Securing your fingers around the bright pink box in your hands, you take one finally deep breath before walking inside the station.

“Hello?” You peer around, hoping to catch a lingering firefighter (ideally doing something praisable, like fostering a litter of abandoned kittens—it would look good for the article.) When you find no response, you call out again, louder this time. “I brought doughnuts.”

There’s a slight commotion from upstairs and then a group of six are filing down the stairs. At the front of the pack is a man with the prettiest curls you’ve ever seen, his eyes lit up excitedly as he takes in the treats in your hands.

He shoots his hand up suddenly. “I call jelly-filled!”

The man behind him shoves him and you hold back a gasp when he almost trips over the last step because of it. “You can’t call the jelly-filled one, dude.” You watch as they both make it down the stairs, still arguing with each other as they get closer to you.

“Boys!” There’s a sudden whistle and you also look up to see a stunning woman with dark brown hair pulling her fingers from her mouth. “You wanna say hi first? You’re being rude.”

The two men turn to you, much more sheepishly, embarrassment covering their features. “I’m Mickey,” the first one says, holding out his hand before realizing you’re not quite in the position to shake it.

“Reuben,” provides the other one.

You give them your name—along with your whole spiel about why you’re here—and open the box of doughnuts for them. “Don’t worry,” you wink. “I got two jelly doughnuts.”

Reuben and Mickey light up, taking the two powdered treats from you hastily as the rest of their colleagues finally make their way over to you. Jake you recognize and he’s flanked by a man slightly taller than him with a cropped buzz cut and jovial eyes. The woman is accompanied by another man whose thick glasses are balancing on his nose. Out of everyone, he seems the kindest—he just gives off that vibe—and he smiles at you politely when he realizes you’re staring at him.

“Bringing in the big guns, I see,” Jake teases, gesturing to the doughnuts Reuben and Mickey are already snacking on. He seems in better spirits than yesterday—or, at the very least, more sure of himself.

You play along, picking up a maple frosted doughnut and offering it to him. “I figured a little bribery never hurt.” You wait for him to take the doughnut before turning to the other three people standing next to him. “Would you guys like any?”

The man behind Jake, raises his hand, stepping forward to grab a sprinkled doughnut from the box. “You clearly did not think this through, because there’s no way I can give an interview with my mouth full,” he jokes before taking a large bite.

“Oh, good point,” Jake points at him and you feel you’re already getting a sense of their dynamic when they fist bump.

“Okay, since clearly all of you were raised in a barn, I’ll be the polite one,” the woman in front of you rolls her eyes, before shooting you a kind smile. “I’m Natasha,” she introduces. “That’s Bob.” She points at the man with glasses. “As you’ve heard, that’s Mickey and Reuben. The smartass over there is Javy.” The smartass in question waves, still eating his doughnut. “And I’m assuming you’ve already met Jake?”

You nod as both she and Bob finally reach over to grab a doughnut. Bob lets out a quiet “thank you” as his fingers wrap around a blueberry one.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say honestly.

“Well, it’s nice to meet the woman who’s gonna tell all of San Diego how sexy and heroic I am,” Javy winks at you. “Right?”

Jake scoffs good-naturedly. “Javy please, she’ll be far too distracted watching me.” He shoots you a look that you assume usually leaves women reeling (you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little flustered yourself.) “Just let me know when you want to continue that private interview, sweetheart.”

“Private interview?” Javy whines. “C’mon man, you can’t give me one of these things?”

You snort. “Well, actually, I was hoping to get private interviews from all of you.”

Before anyone else can respond, someone clears their throat from the top of the staircase. “If you’re just gonna be distracting my firefighters, this isn’t going to work.”

You recognize the voice—of course, you recognize the voice—and you force a smile onto your face as Bradley Bradshaw, in all his black t-shirt and firefighter pants glory, descends

the stairs. Though you’re trying to keep it professional, Natasha does not share that sentiment and rolls her eyes.

“Oh lay off it, Bradshaw. We’re not even doing anything right now.”

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in. “Just grab a doughnut man, we saved you the chocolate frosted one.”

Bradley growls. “I don’t like chocolate frosted doughnuts.” From over his shoulder, Jake mouths “He does!” and you bite back a smile. “And you may not be doing anything right now, but you’re all on call. You shouldn’t be standing around eating snacks.”

“Bradley—” Bob starts, but you wave him quiet, forcing your smile even wider.

“No, he’s right,” you nod politely in Bradley’s direction, closing the box of doughnuts. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have distracted you guys.”

“Your job is to follow us around, not get in the way,” Bradley reminds you—because you’re learning it might actually kill him to be nice to you. “And put those in the fridge or something. I don’t want Goose getting to them.”

You pause, brows furrowing in question. “Goose?”

As if on cue, a large dalmatian suddenly comes bounding down the steps, nearly tripping on his big paws in his haste. Behind you, you hear Mickey whisper something about how “he must have jumped the baby-gate again”. You can hardly react before the dog sets his sights on you, racing over to you with wide, brown eyes and a tongue practically flopping around the side of his mouth.

On instinct you bend down, shifting the doughnut box in one hand and leaving your other free to pet the very excited dog. You miscalculate his force though and when he runs into you, you stumble, the doughnut box wobbling in your hand as you try to steady yourself and pet Goose at the same time.

The box is snatched from your hand right before it can fall to the floor and you look up—fingers still locked in Goose’s fur—to find Bradley glaring at you, the doughnut box now in his possession. “What did I just say?”

“Leave her alone, Bradley. You’ve let him eat way worse than a couple doughnuts.” Reuben comes to your defense, but there seems to be a silent agreement in the air that the firefighters are going to get back to work as they all start making their way up the stairs where you assume the offices and bunks are.

Luckily, Bradley does decide to let it go, moving to shove the doughnuts in the mini-fridge they had set up nearby. He brings his fingers to his mouth and lets out a sharp whistle. “C’mon, Goose.”

The dog doesn’t move from where he’s panting in front of you and—not wanting to start another argument with Bradley—you remove your hands from the dog in hopes he’d be more incentivized to return to his owner.

“Goose.” Bradley calls again, a somewhat confused expression on his face as he pats his leg.

This time the dog plops his butt down on your shoes, looking up at you with Bambi eyes as if urging you to keep petting him.

From behind Bradley there’s a snort and you’re unsure what to do except stand there until Bradley finally rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” He turns around. “Stay there then.”

You wait for Bradley to ascend the stairs and disappear from sight before crouching down and scratching behind both of Goose’s ears. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you whisper.

You spend most of your time with Mickey and Reuben after that. The two are more than happy to answer your questions, sharing little fun facts with you as they check the firetrucks and do all the other things Mickey likes to call “busy work”. They have plenty of anecdotes - like the time Jake organized a sexy fireman photo shoot or the time a drunk Javy went down the fireman’s pole upside down. Through every story, both men are smiling brightly and you can tell that they genuinely care for the other people working around them.

“I mean, yeah it sucks I’m not seeing my family for the holidays,” Mickey tells you, eyes trained on checking the hose attachments on the truck. “But these guys are kinda like my second family, you know?”

Reuben elbows him good-naturedly. “That was fucking cheesy, dude.” He turns to look at you. “But what about you?”

“Sorry?”

“Well… You’re spending the holidays with us too, right? How do you feel about that?” He questions and, once he points it out, it seems to register to Mickey too and he looks equally invested in your answer.

You shrug, fidgeting with the end of your notebook. “Um, I was kinda expecting it honestly. It’s sorta my thing to work over the holidays, so I was ready for it.”

“You don’t go home?” Mickey furrows his brows.

“Nope,” you force a laugh, desperately hoping to move the conversation on to something else. You’re saved thankfully, when Natasha comes bounding down the steps.

“Guys, we’ve got a car accident on Waters and 1st,” she informs you all and you step out of the way quickly, not wanting to slow them down in the slightest.

Mickey and Reuben just nod, giving you a brief wave goodbye before following after Natasha. You watch them all load up into the truck quickly, wincing slightly when the loud siren starts sounding. They leave impressively fast—a note you make sure to jot down—and once they do, you look for something else to do until they return.

Remembering the doughnuts you brought—and the fact you’ve had yet to have one—you make your way over to the mini-fridge to grab the box. A small smile stretches across your face when you realize that the chocolate frosting one is missing. You discard the thought of grabbing a doughnut, instead reaching for your pen.

Bradley Bradshaw:

Authority kink (maybe)

Likes chocolate frosted doughnuts

Day four and you’re walking in with a smile on your face and a paper bag clenched between your fingers. The day before had proved to be similar to your second day at the station, you followed Jake and Javy around as they did much of the same of what Mickey and Reuben had done the day before. It meant that you also got to watch in on the tour of the fire station that they gave to a small class of children and their teacher. Unsurprisingly, the kids were most excited to meet Goose, but it was clear how much fun they were having with Javy and Jake.

When you asked why a classroom would be visiting the station over their school break, Javy informed you that they’d scheduled another day for all the kids who were sick on the days that their classes got to visit the station. It was heartwarming to see both Jake and Javy take extra time out of their schedules for these kids and it was definitely going into your article.

You’d caught sight of Bradley a few times that day, but, unsurprisingly, he was doing his best to avoid you. Not that you exactly minded, but you knew you couldn’t write this article without at least one interview with the fire captain and you were determined to do just that.

Bradley doesn’t even look up when you finally find him in his office and drop your somewhat crumpled paper bag on his desk.

“What’s this?” He asks, flipping through more paperwork, like your sudden appearance hardly warrants pausing his work.

You shrug it off, telling yourself it’s highly unlikely that he’ll want to talk to you if you catch an attitude after his first question (granted he already has one, but still!) “A chocolate frosted doughnut.

This catches him and he lets his eyes snap to the bag. “I don’t want it.”

Asshole.

“That’s okay,” you force a wide smile. “I just thought you might, but you don’t have to eat it.”

“Why’d you bring it?” Bradley asks suspiciously and, with the way he’s looking at the bag, you’d think there was a bomb in it.

You let out a breath. Now or never. “Well… I was hoping to get an interview with you.”

For the first time, maybe ever, you see Bradley’s lips twitch upward slightly. “The first one not enough for you?”

A joke! He made a joke!

“Well, it was, but then I realized it made you sound like a tool,” you tease. And the smile drops. Damn it! You open your mouth to amend quickly. “I mean, I figured you might want to say more… about being the fire captain and everything.” You’re gonna have to pull out all the stops for this—including the authority kink.

Bradley studies your face and, again, you want to fidget under his gaze, but you do your best not to. He glances at the clock and then gestures for you to sit. “5 minutes. I have work to do.”

You physically hold back the eye roll and the retort that he must be quite good at knowing what 5 minutes feels like. (Actually, you know for a fact that he probably doesn’t, not with those arms… and those thighs. He could probably go for 12 hours, the bastard.) Shaking off all your thoughts, you sit down in the chair at Bradley’s desk. Goose lifts his head from where it’s resting in his dog bed and trots over to you for head scratches.

Bradley watches the interaction but keeps his mouth shut.

After giving Goose one more scratch for good measure, you shift into work mode, reaching for your pencil and notepad. Deciding to ease your way into everything first, you start off with a fairly simple question. “Is there anything you would want people to know about you?”

Bradley shifts and then shrugs. “Not really. I don’t believe in getting praised for just doing my job. I still don’t even know what the point of all this is,” he gestures to your notepad as if to refer to your whole article.

“Well, I think a lot of people would disagree with you, your job’s pretty heroic,” you tell him honestly, even in the few days you’d been here, you’re able to see that. And you’re able to see how much Bradley has to do with it. “What about your childhood? Did you always want to be a firefighter?”

Bradley visibly stiffens at your words, the papers in his hands crumpling a bit as his fingers tense. “No.”

“No?”

When it’s clear you want at least a little more from him, Bradley shifts in his seat. “I wanted to be a cop.”

That catches you by surprise, your pencil stilling on your notepad.

“My godfather was one— Well, still is, he’s chief now,” Bradley continues, almost as if you aren’t there. “I spent my whole childhood trying to be just like him and then he pulled my application from the police academy.”

It’s clear that this affected Bradley far more than he’s showing with his nonchalant retelling—if the haunted look in his eyes is anything to go by. And he’s telling you far more than you ever thought he would, far more personal things. The air is uncomfortable after he finishes and you really don’t know what to say, so you just say the first thing to come out.

“Oh, thank god.”

Bradley seems to snap back to the room, his brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I don’t even want to think about a world where you were given a gun.” The words keep coming out and you know you shouldn’t be saying them, but you genuinely can’t stop yourself. “Probably woulda shot me out of that tree or something.”

Bradley looks genuinely speechless, lips slightly parted as he stares at you in disbelief. “You—” Words fail him until he finally narrows his eyes. “Was that a joke?”

“Yes!” You blurt quickly in a last ditch attempt to save face.

“You are—” Bradley chuckles darkly and it’s very off putting. “You are something else, kitty. And I really don’t think you’re in a position to be judging.” He says it like he knows something you don’t.

You cross your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leans forward against his desk, a condescending smile on his face. “You really think people care about shit like this?” He gestures to the station around you. “No, it’s the holidays, and I know a lot of very important things worth writing about over the holidays.” Your face falters and you know that Bradley knows he has you. “Things that, if you were respected in your field, you’d be writing about. But instead you’re here for something no one’s gonna read. You know what that tells me, kitty?”

You swallow. “What does that tell you?”

“That I’m not the only person who finds you incredibly annoying.”

Okay.

Massive asshole.

Godzilla sized asshole.

However two could play at that game. You sit up in your seat, meeting his cocky gaze with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Are you an arsonist?”

“Excuse me?” Bradley blinks back in surprise.

“There’ve been studies that show that firefighters with god-complexes could be more likely to become arsonists because they love the thrill and attention. They light the fire, wait for someone to report it, and then they put it out and play hero,” you lean back in your chair with a smug look on your face. “Some actually get sexual gratification from it.” You sniff. “So I think it’s in both of our best interests that you answer me honestly, Mr. Bradshaw, because I can promise you that people would read about a fire captain outed as an arsonist. So could you state that you do not get sexual gratification from putting out fires?” You smile and blink up at him. “For the record.”

How’s that for annoying, asswipe?

Bradley clenches his jaw.

“Oh, would you look at that?” You pretend to gasp, getting up from your chair so you’re finally the one towering over Bradley, and move to step out of his office. “I guess my article will be about your sex life after all!”

With that, you close the door a little harder than you need to, smoothing down your skirt and tipping your chin up before walking away from Bradley’s office. So your interview hadn’t gone as well as you’d hoped. But, as you spare a quick glance behind you and see him through the window angrily pulling out your doughnut, you get the feeling that anything good you learn about Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t be anything he’d tell you to your face.

“Thank you, Bob!” You smile kindly as the bespeckled man starts heading back to continue working around the station.

Now with a notepad full of anecdotes and personalities, you feel a lot better about the state of your article. As you suspected, all of the firefighters were far more forthcoming than Bradley had ever been—and significantly nicer too. Speaking of the disgruntled man, you’d taken his advice and stayed out of his way as much as you could these past couple days. It proved to be a bit difficult because his dog Goose seemed to take special liking to you, which clearly annoyed Bradley to no end. But he has yet to give you some old man lecture or threaten to kick you out again so you’re doing your best to keep it that way.

If this were anything but your job, you’d probably be far less likely to put up with his bullshit. (And even though it’s your job, you know you still make fun of him constantly if given the chance, which is why you’re doing your best to avoid him so that you don’t have to suddenly explain to your publisher why you’ve somehow been banned from the fire station.) You’re sure you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with him, but you’ve actually never seen him be nice to anyone here. He’s respectful—to a point—and he cares about them, but he’s never nice. The only person you’ve seen him be nice to is Goose. And Goose is a dalmatian.

Looking over your notes with another breath, you decide to see if you can find Natasha for another interview. Out of all the firefighters you’ve met, you’ve found her to be one of the most inspiring. One of the few women in her field, she shared with you briefly just what she’s overcome to get here. Everyone around the station calls her “Phoenix” after an accident in the beginning of her career that only caused her to come back stronger.

That’s how you know that Bradley cares about his firefighters. Reuben told you that he seemed to take Natasha’s accident the hardest—that he takes all of their accidents the hardest. You can see it in the little things Bradley does too, you’re sure if you were allowed to follow them onto scenes you’d see how he always has her in his sights, always accounted for. But it’s also in the waters he wordlessly hands her when they get back to the station and the fact that they always ride in the same truck. How he never stops her from doing her job or acts like she can’t handle it, but just simply cares about her.

It’s Bradley’s job to look after his firefighters—and you know if you pointed that out to him, he’d say it in some almighty, obnoxious way—but he takes it more seriously than you ever expected him to. Natasha isn’t the only firefighter he treats like that. You have a feeling if you called him out on it, he’d deny it, possibly stop altogether. So you don’t. You just silently watch the parts of Bradley Bradshaw that come out when he doesn’t think you’re looking.

Finally making it to the common quarters and small kitchenette, you spot Natasha leaning against one of the counters, taking a bite of a cream cheese bagel.

“Nat!” You call with a wave (she asked you to call her that), heading over to her when she looks up with a smile. “Are you busy?”

She sucks some cream cheese off her thumb. “Not especially. Why?”

“Well, I had a couple more questions, if you were up for it.”

“Oh,” Natasha seems a tad surprised before a grin overtakes her face. “Oh, Jake and Javy are going to hate this.” She laughs.

“Hate what?” Javy catches the end of her sentence, strolling into the kitchen and opening the fridge.

Natasha smirks. “That you and Jake haven’t wooed her enough to be her favorite.”

“I’m hurt.” Javy directs at you with a pout, pulling out a lunch container that definitely has the word “Bob” written on it on a piece of masking tape. “Didn’t you see how upstanding I was, giving those little kids a tour of the station?”

You raise a teasing, unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean when you almost popped a blood vessel trying to stay flexed for their teacher?”

“Ouch! Kitty’s got claws,” Javy wiggles his brows as you and Natasha laugh at him.

You pause, your giggles pattering off as you take in his words. “Wait, what did you call me?”

“Kitty?” Javy seems unbothered, peeling off the lid of Bob’s tupperware and pulling out a white bread sandwich with the crust cut off. “Bradley’s been calling you that since you got here. Since he rescued you from a tree and all that— To be honest, I didn’t know he could make jokes like that.” The explanation is told to you through a mouthful of turkey, cheese, lettuce, and tomato and you try to keep your expression in check.

He rescued you? Is that how he told it?

You purse your lips before smiling. “And where is Bradley?”

“Unloading one of the trucks, I think.”

You nod, meeting Natasha’s knowing gaze before turning on your heel with a quiet “Excuse me” before you start marching back to the staircase, your anger growing with each step. It wasn’t that you hated the little name Bradley had given to you. Embarrassingly, you almost liked when he called you that. What you didn’t like was why he felt it was appropriate to share this nickname when you weren’t around like it was a joke between him and everyone else and not like it was something between the two of you.

When you reach the last step, you’re practically seething, marching over to Bradley without a care of who might be around him at the current moment.

“Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw.” You call out loud enough to get his attention.

Bradley turns around—almost surprised—before his expression falls to the one of muted annoyance you’re used to him directing at you. “Can I help you?”

“You see how nice it is when someone calls you by your name?” You continue like he hasn’t spoken. “And not some nickname they use to make fun of you when you aren’t there?”

Bradley’s eyes widen slightly in understanding and, for once, he has the decency to turn around and face you fully. “Look—”

“No, you look, Bradshaw, I am honestly so done with you thinking that you’re better than me because of a narrative that you made up!”

“I made it up?” Bradley narrows his eyes incredulously. “I would understand if your memory was a little shaky if you’d hit your head after a fall or something, but you didn’t because— Oh, wait! I caught you.” He crosses his arms.

“Yeah, and every day since then, I’ve been wishing you didn’t because then you wouldn’t be holding it over my head!” You argue back, before you realize where you are and take a deep, grounding breath.

If you weren’t so angry at him, you might be angry at yourself that you’d let a man get under your skin this quickly, but you weren’t about to stick around to be some kind of low blow comedy routine for a man who had yet to treat you with an ounce of respect since the moment you met him. But honestly, it hurt. You know you aren’t Bradley’s favorite person, but you’ve seen him with everybody else. You know how he thinks of every little thing that could affect them or hurt them in some way and does what he can to avoid it. You don’t know why it hurts so bad to realize that he’s so careless when it comes to you.

You’re just a little over halfway through the week, but you’ve gotten a fair amount of what you need. If you added a few embellishments and wrote like a high schooler trying to meet an essay word count then maybe you could hand something passable to your publisher. It wouldn’t be your best work, but that didn’t matter, because you didn’t want to spend another minute in the company of Bradley Bradshaw.

“Well, congratulations.” You laugh bitterly. “Think of this as my Christmas gift to you because I’m leaving.”

You have every intent to just walk right out of the station and never take a step back in. You wouldn’t even let yourself be dragged here. No, Bradley Bradshaw could rot in hell and you’ll live happily knowing you never have to be around his stupidly groomed mustache and giant muscles ever again.

From behind you, he calls out. “Why would I want a Christmas gift from you? I don’t like Christmas.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You whirl around, throwing your hands up in the air because you have genuinely never met a man more infuriating. “That’s all you have to say? After all of that, the only thing you’d like to correct is that you’re a giant fucking Scrooge?”

Bradley scoffs. “Scrooge? What is this? The 1840s?”

“I hate that you actually know when A Christmas Carol was published!”

“And I hate that you’re throwing a tantrum because I called you a name that wasn’t even an insult!” Bradley argues back.

Rage is simmering on your tongue, but you swallow it down in favor of making sure your words come out exactly how you mean them. “You will never understand what it’s like to have to somehow earn the respect of everyone you talk to, okay? You will never understand what it’s like to not even get the chance to prove yourself because a bunch of men have already decided what you are for you. You may think it’s funny to turn me into some sort of joke around your station, but it’s not and I’m done putting up with it.”

You turn around again, finally ready to be done with this man who, for the life of you, you cannot stop arguing with.

“Wait.”

His voice causes you to freeze and, when you turn around this time, Bradley looks as though the fight has finally left him too. “Don’t go,” he tells you. “You… You don’t have to go.”

“Bradley—” You start, but he shakes his head.

“You’re right, I’ve been… unfair. Just finish out the week. Tomorrow’s training day, that would be good for your article right? You can follow me around.” It’s hardly an incentive and he has yet to even say he’s sorry, but you know someone dropping a proverbial sword when you see it.

You let Bradley sit in his awkward silence for a few seconds before you finally let out a soft breath. “Fine.”

The next day, you can tell that Bradley’s doing his best to be on his best behavior. He gives you a polite nod as a greeting and lets you follow after him as he starts setting up for drills and the CPR recertifications. You’re also trying to play nice, you don’t ask any smart ass questions and you spare him all your quips. You simply watch him, taking the occasional note and petting Goose, who’s also been following the two of you around.

When Bradley calls down all the firefighters to start running through drills, even they seem surprised that the two of you are standing next to each other so peacefully. Bob raises his eyebrows and Mickey literally does a double-take. You just wave at them all politely and then try to stay out of their way.

Oddly, it’s a little boring watching them all climb up and down the fire station stairs, Bradley shouting orders at them as they run through drills. You find yourself doodling on your notepad until they all start moving towards the rescue dolls. (Is that what you call them? You’d have to google that when you get home.)

You’d gotten CPR certified once when you were 15, you were working as a lifeguard over the summer and it was obviously a requirement. It’s been a while since you brushed up on it though, so you do pay attention as the firefighters go through the motions of compressions and breaths. 30 compressions, 2 rescue breaths, with a rate of 100 to 120 compressions per minute. Hopefully it wouldn’t have to be vital knowledge to you, but good to know all the same.

There weren’t enough practice dolls for every firefighter, so after the first round finishes, Bradley calls for them all to take a quick break.

“Fitz, open one of the doors, will you?”

The newer recruit looks happy that his name was even remembered (even if it was just a nickname) and hastily heads over to the side wall to press a button that would open one of the large garage doors of the station. You watch Bradley watch him, his face neutral until something seems to trigger what almost looks like panic.

“Wait, Fitz, not that one—”

Fitz presses a button on the wall and, instead of the doors opening up like you expect them too, suddenly the sprinklers from the ceiling turn on. You let out a shriek as water starts pouring down onto you, nearly tripping over Goose—who’s bouncing around like this is the best day of his life—looking for cover before you’re soaked through.

You realize quickly that that’s a useless endeavor as you take in everybody else accepting their fate of getting doused in water and try to decide that it’s okay. You didn’t love this outfit anyway. Instead, you wipe your hair away from your face and try not to shiver too much from the chill of the air. Natasha gestures you over to her and the two of you can’t help but laugh at how soggy the other looks.

“Aright, got it.”

Finally the water shuts off and you look up to see that Bradley had made it to the other side of the room to fix everything. Fitz is next to him looking drenched and sheepish and you hope Bradley doesn’t give him too hard of a time.

Instead Bradley surveys the room, placing his hands on his hips as he sighs. “Everybody go change.”

The squadron cheers and you can’t help but join in, until you realize that you don’t technically work here and that means you don’t have a spare set of clothes with you. Bradley seems to have accounted for that too though, as he comes over to you with a nudge of his head.

“Follow me.”

And that’s how you end up in a pair of Bradley’s old sweats and a baggy t-shirt with the fire station’s emblem on it.

Thankfully your underwear stayed relatively dry, so you weren’t going entirely commando. But your bra had been beyond saving and it wasn’t lost on you that you were wearing something of Bradley’s against your bare skin.

The whole sprinkler fiasco seemed to cut the day short, but no one seemed to mind not having to continue drills, if anything, Fitz was a hero in their eyes. With nothing left to do, Bradley gifted everyone the day off and you watched as they all started trickling out of the fire station, hair dripping and smiles wide on their faces. You stay though, for some reason.

You honestly don’t feel quite ready to leave yet and, with basically everyone gone, you reason that maybe it’s okay to make yourself a bit comfortable. Mickey and Reuben had shown you once where they’d gotten a TV set up for the long nights with not much to do and they’d even brought in a small, comfortable looking couch to add to the whole thing.

Settling down in the cushions, you try to relax as you browse through the movies and TV shows the station has downloaded. Your lips perk up when you land on Home Alone and you start the movie quickly, setting the volume low even though you’re practically alone.

You think the whole thing would be better with some popcorn, but there’s not too much to complain about and you’re perfectly content watching the antics of Kevin McCallister anyway.

Over the movie, you hear the sound of muted footsteps and then, “What are you still doing here?”

It’s Bradley—of course it’s Bradley—but he doesn’t sound as clipped as he usually does. You roll your head over to look at him with a small smile.

“Watching a movie,” you say as if it isn’t obvious.

“Why haven’t you gone home?” Bradley asks, though it’s not quite as accusing as you’re used to.

You don’t really have an answer so you shrug. “I wanted to watch a movie.”

Bradley doesn’t respond, but he does step inside, wordlessly making his way to the couch and sitting down next to you. It’s quiet and a little awkward, but it’s the nicest Bradley’s ever been to you and you know you’d ruin it if you whipped out your phone now to time him. Instead you do the next best thing and sigh, too tired to inevitably start fighting with Bradley again.

“But I can go,” you tell him, moving to get up.

Bradley stops you. “You don’t have to. I just didn’t know anybody else was here.”

It’s quiet and you start to think that maybe Bradley had really taken to heart how he’d been treating you because he seems almost thoughtful as he sits next to you. Still the silence makes you shift as you try to think of ways to fill it.

“Thanks for the clothes,” you land on.

Bradley shrugs. “Figured they’d be more comfortable than your wet clothes.”

“They are,” you look down. “Actually, what detergent do you use?”

Bradley looks at you strangely. “You ask a lot of weird questions, you know that?” He leans back against the couch.

You laugh. “Comes with the job, I guess.”

The conversation patters off and you look down at your fingers to hide your nerves. You’re not used to having actual, polite conversations with Bradley, at least you knew how to act when you were making fun of him. Now you don’t know where to look or when you should laugh or what you should even say.

“Persil.”

“Huh?” You look up when Bradley speaks.

He turns to look at you. “That’s the detergent I use. Persil.”

“Oh.” You blink. “Um, thanks. I’ll be sure to put that in my article,” you try to joke with a small smile.

Bradley wrinkles his nose. “Why would anyone want to read about that?”

“Well, it’s not like anyone is gonna read it anyway,” you slouch down against the couch cushions and laugh a little. “You were right about that, I guess.”

“I didn’t—” Bradley’s mouth remains open as he's reminded of the harsh things he'd said to you, but no words come out. When a few seconds go by and he still hasn’t spoken, you wonder if your conversation has died for the second time. You and Bradley aren’t very good at this whole being nice to each other thing.

“I’ll read your article” is what finally comes out of Bradley’s mouth and when you look surprised, he nods more resolutely. “Yeah, I didn’t mean— I’ll read your article. When it comes out.”

In this light, he looks almost nervous and you smile softly. “Thanks, Bradley.”

“Sure,” he coughs awkwardly, looking at his watch to avert his gaze. “Are you sure you want to stay here? I mean, wouldn’t you rather be spending time with your family while you can?”

Your smile dims slightly and you give Bradley a knowing look. “Why do you think I’m watching Home Alone?”

Bradley doesn’t seem to follow, but his eyes drift to the screen to watch Kevin in the middle of grocery shopping all by himself and you watch his features still slightly.

“I actually can’t remember the last time I spent the holidays with someone. Isn’t that sad?” You don’t really know why you’re telling him this. Maybe Bradley’s been nice to you long enough that you’ve tricked yourself into thinking he’ll care. Maybe you’re just tired of being by yourself. “I went no contact with my parents a few years ago—and I know it was the best thing for me to do—but, I don’t know, it’s made the holidays a little… rough.” You confide quietly.

You watch Bradley roll his lips between his teeth in thought. His eyes finally leave the TV. “Oh, thank god.” He says finally.

You blink, letting out a surprised laugh. “Sorry?”

“I thought you were watching Home Alone because you liked it,” Bradley explains. “But now I get it, it’s like a ‘woe is me’ thing.”

You realize now that he’s basically flipping your whole cop/gun conversation back onto you, but you can’t even begin to process that because “You don’t like Home Alone?”

“No,” Bradley wrinkles his nose. “It’s all physical comedy. Like, yeah, the bad guys get hurt, is that all there is?”

You turn to face Bradley, jaw dropping. “You can’t be serious,” you tell him. “Are you serious? Home Alone is a classic!”

Bradley just shrugs.

“No.” You grab the remote to restart the movie. “No, I am not sitting by and letting this happen. You are watching this movie and you will like it!”

Bradley snorts in disbelief. “Yeah, and how are you gonna make that happen?”

You don’t really know. You’ve never actually met anyone who didn’t like Home Alone because that would make them an actual crazy person. Maybe Bradley just hasn’t seen it in a while and has forgotten how good it is. Maybe—

“Wait a second, you’re not pretending to not like Home Alone just because I like it, right?” You look at him accusingly.

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Right, because a guy can’t just not like a movie.”

“You totally are! I can’t believe you, you have to be mean just because I like something—”

“Not everything is about you!” Bradley protests.

“This is!”

“No, it isn’t!”

Before you realize it, you and Bradley have moved so close to each other that you can practically feel his angry huffs on your face. You seem to both register this fact at the same time as your cheeks begin to heat and Bradley’s gaze drops to your lips for the briefest of seconds. You should pull away. This is Bradley for crying out loud! You’d rather burn your lips off with acid than kiss him.

It’s unclear who moves first—you probably move at the same time honestly—but you both surge forward before you can think better of it, your lips smashing into Bradley’s. He holds your face in his large hands, frantic but still gentle, and you can’t stop yours from weaving into his still damp hair.

The feeling of his lips against yours is addictive as is the way that his tongue coaxes into your mouth, swallowing any muffled sounds you let out. Every action reads clearly - he’s thought about this before, maybe a lot.

Bradley’s hands move from your cheeks, down your sides to your hips. He plays with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder how he feels about the fact that it’s his, before his large hands make their way under it, planting onto bare skin. They’re warm and calloused as he strokes your stomach and tips you back so that you’re laying flat on the small couch.

It’s a bit of a fit for the two of you, but that’s hardly going to stop you now. Bradley’s lips leave yours—and pull a whimper of protest from you—but only so they can latch onto your neck, his teeth sinking into your pulse point. As his tongue soothes the sting, you let your hands crawl under his shirt, running over the curves and divots of his defined muscles. Your nails rake against them gently and Bradley grunts into your skin. It’s such a masculine sound, it would make your thighs clench if he wasn’t between them.

A crash sounds from the television—no doubt Harry or Marv falling for one of Kevin’s traps—and it pulls the two of you apart, the reality of what just happened crashing down on you. You can’t quite meet Bradley’s eye as you take your hands out from under his shirt and he can’t quite meet yours when he pulls his hand out from where it was dangerously close to holding your bare breast.

It’s silent as the two of you catch your breath and, finally, Bradley clears his throat.

“We should—” His voice is husky and his lips look thoroughly kissed. “We should probably get home. We have an early day tomorrow.”

He’s not saying anything about how the two of you were just making out on a couch like horny teenagers, but you decide that you don’t really want to talk about it either, so you nod.

“Okay… I’ll see you tomorrow,” you smile weakly.

Bradley only mirrors your nod.

You’re in an unusually chipper mood when you enter the station. You greet Natasha gleefully and Jake and Javy even joke that you’re glowing. You decide that you are when you think about it. After a night of good sleep, you’re able to come to terms with the fact that you actually like Bradley Bradshaw. He’s still an asshole and makes it too easy to argue with him, but he can be thoughtful and, weirdly, talking with him—even if you started arguing over Home Alone—had made you feel better despite your holiday situation.

He wasn’t perfect, but you knew deep down Bradley Bradshaw was good and he was certainly someone you wanted to talk to more—preferably during civil conversations.

Which is why you’re smiling at everyone as you walk into the station with a bag holding a chocolate frosted doughnut and one goal in mind - asking Bradley on a date. A proper one, where the two of you talk about your favorite things to do over dinner and try to guess which of the people at the tables around you aren’t going to be going on a second date. And maybe a date that involved more of Bradley kissing you senseless… but only if it felt right.

When Bradley finally appears in your vision, you light up, scampering over to him. “Bradley!”

He turns around and almost looks surprised to see you, but schools his expression quickly. “Hey,” his eyes dart down to the bag in your hand.

You swallow your nerves. “Hey.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence and weirdly—in all your time knowing him—things with Bradley have never felt this awkward. You open your mouth to desperately fill it, but it seems he had the same idea.

“I was actually hoping to ask—”

“I was thinking—”

You both stop and you laugh nervously. “You first.”

“Right.” Bradley scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I was thinking and I know today’s your last day at the station.” You’d honestly forgotten about that fact during the whirlwind of everything and your hope rises. Maybe you didn’t have to ask Bradley out on a date because he was already doing it! “Honestly we’re not going to be doing anything interesting today and I wouldn’t want to waste your time with stuff you already have notes for, so if you’d rather just head out and, I don’t know, do other stuff… I don’t know, I just don’t think it really makes sense for you to stay.”

Oh.

Suddenly you’re not so sure you’re glowing anymore. In fact maybe you’re the opposite. Maybe you’re dull. Because Bradley is now pretending that your kiss never happened and he’s even going as far as letting you know that he actually never wants to see you again after. Like kissing you was nothing more than a lapse in his judgment.

You could be mean to him, make fun of him or say something just to spite him, but you know that’s childish. Bradley has every right not to be interested in you romantically. And you certainly know how to take a hint.

“That’s—” You give him a stiff nod. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.” You suddenly remember the bag in your hand and you jerk it out to him. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

You force a smile. “A goodbye gift, I guess.”

That’s all you can say as Bradley takes the bag from you and then you’re walking away. You keep your eyes on your fingers, lost in thought as your feet lead you back to the exit. You know that you should say goodbye to everyone—it’s rude to just leave like this—but you can’t. Even though it’s only been a week, you’ve really come to love everyone at the station and the thought of saying bye to them now feels unbearable. Besides, you’re sure they’ll enjoy the peace and quiet now that you’re no longer aggravating their captain.

Bradley’s right, anyway, you have more than you need for your article and maybe now you could start on it and get it done earlier. It makes more sense than you just hanging around. And that’s exactly how you explained it to your publisher when you walked through the doors of the Union-Tribune a day earlier than you’re supposed to.

“Alright,” he looks at you skeptically. “It better be a damn good article then.”

He walks away once you promise him—scouts honor and all—and Lucy whistles from where she’d been watching the whole thing in the hallway. She strolls over to you with a grin, bumping your hip with hers.

“Back from your field trip?”

“It appears so,” you shrug.

Lucy knows you better than that though. Having become your best friend the minute you first walked through the doors, you and Lucy have always been inseparable, spending a little too much time gossiping when you weren’t working. You genuinely don’t think you could survive without her.

She raises a brow. “Meet any sexy firefighters?”

“A couple,” you tease. “I’ll give you their numbers.”

“I meant for you, but you know I’ll never say no to that.”

No longer wishing to talk about sexy firefighters and whether they’re interested in you, you quickly change the subject. “How have things been here?”

Lucy rolls her eyes and you know you’ve hit the jackpot conversation topic that will keep anything firefighter related far from your mind. “Mindy’s annoying as always, even worse now that I didn’t have you to glance at when she said something outrageous,” she complains and you laugh. “Oh! And Scott started acting super weird too. He’d just stand in the kitchen area and watch me— He microwaved the same thing, like, 12 times to not look suspicious, but he kept trying to talk to me every time I left my office.”

“And the microwave still worked after?” You joke, it was a fact known all through the office that your kitchen microwave was on its last legs and it certainly didn’t help that everyone loaded the outlet either.

The two of you reach your office as Lucy replies. “Remarkably. As for Scott, he left me alone after an offhand comment about how much pepper spray I carry. Anyway, I’m going to use the bathroom, but then you are telling me everything about your little fire station visit. Don’t think that I’m just letting that go!”

She doesn’t give you a chance to argue before skipping off to the bathroom and you huff a laugh. You knew she’d know something was up. If only to delay the inevitable, you step into your office, pulling out your notepad to start compiling notes for your article—you wouldn’t need everything you’d written down, so you still have to pick out the best ones.

It’s slightly ironic that after a minute of you flipping through your firefighter notes, the fire alarm goes off. You’re not too hectic with getting up and getting out of the building, you’re pretty sure it’s just a drill even though you’d already had one earlier this month.

It’s not until you hear someone shouting about the microwave and where the fire extinguisher is that you realize that this is real. You scramble up quickly and make your way out of your office. Your coworkers are already forming a line to file out of the building and you can hear your publisher shouting to just leave the fire and call the fire department, but something in your gut feels amiss.

Lucy.

Without even thinking, you rush back towards the bathroom. You wonder if she knows what’s going on. She can definitely hear the alarm, but maybe she was like you in thinking that the whole thing was a drill.

“Lucy?!” You call out as you try to open the bathroom door, but you're met with resistance and it doesn’t budge.

From behind the wood you hear a faint, “It’s stuck!”

Does nothing in this office work?!

“Okay, um, okay,” you try to think, taking a deep breath. “The fire department should be here soon and they can probably break the door down,” you reason. “So I’ll stay here, okay? They’ll be able to hear me better.”

“What! Are you crazy? You can’t stay here!”

“Well, I’m not leaving you!” You argue. “Look, it’s fine. The fire’s contained to the kitchen and it’s still pretty small.” You’re actually not sure of that, but that’s what you’d assume—you also aren’t going to tell Lucy that last part.

“Alright, fine!” You hear Lucy suck in a breath and you try to open the door again. “But promise me you’ll leave the second it looks dangerous.”

You know how fast of a response time the fire department has, but now you’re witnessing it first hand as, a little more than 5 minutes later, you’re hearing sirens. You let out a breath of relief and try to listen for people entering the building.

“Help!” You call out. “We need help over here!”

Nothing.

You call out again, cupping your hands to your mouth to project louder. There’s a rustle of movement and then a bit of a commotion. Someone shouts your name—almost as a question—and then Jake and Javy are rushing over to you.

“What are you doing? You should have evacuated the building already.” Javy looks at you incredulously.

“My friend’s in there,” you explain. “The door won’t open.”

The two share a look and then Jake nods, moving to break down the door as Javy escorts you out of the building. All your coworkers are lined up in the parking lot along with fire trucks and ambulances and you smile at Javy gratefully when he pats your shoulder in comfort, but he appears to be looking behind you, a pinched expression on his face.

You turn around to see what he’s looking at and then someone’s hugging you.

You recognize the scent of smoke and cedar instantly and the large arms that are practically cutting off your air passages. He only hugs you for a couple seconds—and you hug him back—and then pulls away to look at you, checking you quickly for any obvious injuries. You’re not sure what you’re expecting him to say, but you don’t expect him to be so angry.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bradley yells. You blink. “Are you insane?! Because I’m trying to understand why the hell you would stay in a building when there’s a fire!”

“My friend was still in there—” You try to explain.

“Yeah? Then we would have gotten her out!” Bradley counters. “Do you know how reckless you were being?”

“I—”

“No, I really don’t want to hear it! I mean what were you thinking?!”

“Bradley,” you try to calm him down. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

He doesn’t seem to be listening, words spewing out of his mouth in rapid succession. “What if the fire had spread, huh? Did you even have an exit plan that wasn’t the front door? You could have trapped yourself in there all because you were too fucking reckless to just tell one of us where your friend was when we arrived on the scene!”

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought of that and you feel a little stupid. Maybe you hadn’t had the best plan and it was never your intention to make anybody worry about you. You open your mouth to apologize. “Bradley, I’m—”

“Just because you have nobody to come home to doesn’t mean you can just go on fucking suicide missions, because some of us have to fill out the paperwork!”

His words ring in the air and Javy ducks his head quickly to pretend like he isn’t listening. You're speechless, trying to stop the tears stinging at your eyes as you take in what Bradley said. You know you hadn’t exactly told him about your family in confidence, but you didn’t expect him to just use it against you so quickly. And paperwork? You know Bradley didn’t like you but is that all he saw you as?

Bradley lets out an angry sniff, turning his head like he can’t even look at you before directing his attention to Javy. “Just take her to the EMTs to get checked out.”

Bradley doesn’t talk to you again after that. The firefighters pack up and leave, and everyone goes home, and Bradley doesn’t reach out once. As you suspected, the fire wasn’t that damaging—only being the catalyst for the kitchen’s much needed remodel—and it was safe to go back to work a couple days after. Bradley never attempted to contact you—even when the rest of his squadron came to visit you with a little goody basket—and you spent the time you weren't at work eating ice cream, watching break up movies, and crying.

It was pathetic. But maybe so were you.

“The hell is this?”

You hardly look up when a newspaper is thrown carelessly on your desk. Turning away from your computer boredly, you cross your arms, raising your gaze to meet Bradley’s cold eyes.

“Well, if I’d have to guess, I’d say a newspaper.”

Bradley scoffs, grabbing the newspaper again and holding it closer to him as he reads aloud the article it contains. “Then there’s Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw, always followed by his co-captain, a black and white dalmatian affectionately named Goose. Bradley Bradshaw does more for his community in a day than most people do in a lifetime. In fact, I had to stop keeping count of every chivalrous act he completed by day two because I knew that would make this article far too long—” His eyes snap up to you again, though you both know that there are paragraphs more singing the same praises. “Why did you write this?”

You sniff, crossing your legs to slightly settle your nerves, with a light clear of your throat. “Contrary to what you think of me, I am competent in my job, Bradley.”

“You have done nothing but make fun of me and get in my way since the day we met, and I know I haven’t been friendly to you either,” Bradley corrects, taking a step farther into your office. “So why did you write this? Did you want me to feel bad or something? Like this makes up for the past week because—”

Not liking the way he’s towering over you, you spring up from your chair, matching his body language. “I wrote it because you’re a good firefighter, Bradley! And that was my job - to write about how good of a firefighter you are. Not about how you can’t fucking smile to save your life, or how you need to control everything otherwise you’ll throw a fit like a child, or how you somehow don’t like the movie Home Alone— Who doesn’t like Home Alone, Bradley?! You are the person who decided that I’m some incompetent airhead. And I’m sorry that me actually being able to do my job surprised you so much that you marched all the way down here, but if that’s all you came here for, then why don’t you just leave?”

The air is tense once you finish, so silent you could hear the slight whirring sound of your diffuser puffing the light scent of cinnamon into your office. You catch your breath slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively. Suddenly, you feel vulnerable in your work skirt and blouse, swallowing thickly as tears prick your vision. You don’t want to cry right now.

Bradley only stares at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re an incompetent airhead.” He says finally.

You let out a watery scoff, letting your eyes dart to the ceiling as you feel more tears well up. “Yes, you do.”

“No I don’t,” he repeats.

“Really? You’ve done practically everything but call me that to my face—”

“Do you have to argue with me every time? Why can’t you—” Bradley stops himself, shoulders relaxing as his features soften. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Bradley swallows. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You shake your head in disbelief, if only to hide the way your tears are starting to fall. “Sorry for what, Bradley? That you’ve treated me like a chore since the moment you met me? Sorry that you kissed me? Or sorry that I confided in you—that I trusted you—and you threw it in my face?” Bradley opens his mouth, but you continue. “Look, I know you didn’t like me, okay? You made that abundantly clear. And I know that I wasn’t trying to be very likable either—why would I? I didn’t even like you. But then we got to know each other and I thought maybe you weren’t so bad. I thought…” You could almost laugh at how stupid you feel. “God, I thought you could actually be nice sometimes, and caring, and sweet. And— And then you kissed me and I realized that I really like you. And I thought that maybe you liked me too, despite everything, but then you just went on like nothing ever happened. You— You made me feel so stupid. And now you’re in my office, causing a scene, because you still think that it’s impossible that I could ever be nice to you.” You wipe your cheeks hastily, trying to compose yourself as more tears roll down your cheeks. “I know you don’t like me. But… But, god Bradley, was I really that—” Your lip wobbles and your voice cracks and you hate yourself for it. “Was I really that awful?”

The room falls to silence and Bradley just looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Honestly it makes you want to scream, that he thinks—after everything—he has any right to barge in here and accuse you of playing games. If you were closer, you might try to punch his stupid, sculpted chest, but you don’t—you doubt he’d even feel it anyway.

You sniffle and it seems to jump start the room, or at least Bradley, as he jerks up suddenly and, before you know it, he’s grabbing your arm and pulling you into his chest. You fight back, not wanting to admit that you find comfort in the familiar scent of cedar and smoke, trying to push him away, but you’re no match for his strength and he only pulls you closer with more determination.

“Let go of me!”

“I’m sorry,” Bradley says again and he sounds so guilty that it causes you to freeze. “I’m sorry that I treated you like a chore. I’m sorry that I didn’t do more after we kissed. I’m sorry that I said those things to you… I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were awful.” His arms are wrapped around your neck, his cheek nestled against the top of your head.

You’re not quite hugging him back, your arms trapped between your chest and his, but you’ve stopped trying to fight his hold.

Bradley continues. “I know I went about this all wrong, I know that. And, if I could, I promise you that I would have done a lot of things differently. You just don’t understand—” He sucks in a breath, his biceps tensing around you. “You don’t understand what it was like to show up on the scene and realize you weren’t there. I’m supposed to be in charge, I’m supposed to keep a cool head and tell everyone what to do, it’s my responsibility to stay calm in any situation. But when I realized you were still inside? I couldn’t even think. Jake had to physically stop me from just running into that building by myself.”

Your eyes—which had been closed in a weak attempt to stop the tears—open in surprise at his words. No one had told you that. Had Bradley really been that shaken up?

“I shouldn’t have said what I said to you, I didn’t mean it and it wasn’t okay.I was just— I was just scared. I was scared because I thought for a minute that I hadn’t been able to protect you. And I was scared because I haven’t felt that fear of not protecting someone in a long time. I wasn’t mad at you—I was never mad at you—but I just didn’t know what to do. I should never have said that though. I’m sorry.”

Bradley lets out a breath as he finishes and, for a moment, neither of you move. You swallow thickly, taking in all of his words before tentatively wrapping your arms around Bradley’s middle. He relaxes at your touch, burying deeper into your hair.

“Why didn’t you just come here and say that?” You finally ask him weakly.

Bradley lets out a quiet chuckle. “Honestly, I thought that I’d already fucked everything up. But then I read your article, fully expecting you to drag me to filth, and you didn’t. Instead you talked about me like I was some kind of superhero and… and I guess it just made me feel worse about everything.”

You nod your head in understanding slowly. “You’re an idiot.”

You feel Bradley laugh against you. “I know,” he agrees. “And I’m sorry,” he repeats. “For everything.”

“Everything?” You look up at him.

“Well…” Bradley trails off, head dipping so that his nose is brushing yours. “Maybe not everything. There is one thing I’d like to do again.”

And then he’s kissing you sweetly and letting his arms untangle so that his hands can land on your hips. You lean into him, without a doubt in your mind that he’d ever not be able to support you, humming appreciatively when he deepens the kiss.

It’s only when he murmurs your name that you pull away with a wrinkled nose. “Why are you calling me that?”

“You said you didn’t like being called ‘kitty’.” Bradley looks equally confused.

“Well… I don’t mind when you call me it,” you mumble bashfully before looking up. “As long as it’s not to make fun of me!”

Bradley chuckles, his hand moving to your ass to give it a squeeze. “Oh, it was never to make fun of you, kitty, believe me. You know, Cat Woman was my celebrity crush growing up. You don’t wanna know the things I imagined—”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh. “You can have your kitty privileges back, Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw.”

Bradley growls, his hands moving to your thighs, prompting you to jump as he steps forward to pin you against the wall. “You don’t know what it does to me when you call me that.”

“I told you you have an authority kink,” you tease.

“Yeah?” Bradley smirks, and then the hairs of his mustache are brushing your ear. “Why don’t we test that?”

You know you should worry about having sex in your place of work first and foremost, but you actually can’t help but worry about the fact that Bradley is still supporting all your weight as he holds you up against the wall.

“Like this? You’ll get tired, Bradley.”

He shoots you a look. “Did you forget what my job is? I could probably do 5 rounds of this, kitty, and still be able to go for a run after.”

At the mental image you can’t help but let out an exaggerated moan. “That is so hot.” Bradley grins, but before he can respond, you hold your finger to his lips. “But, I also like my job and would rather not get caught having sex— No matter how good it is.”

“Fair enough,” Bradley concedes. “But I did almost get to second base at my job, so if we want to keep it even…”

You glance over Bradley’s broad shoulder to make sure the door is firmly shut—you know you should go lock it but that would mean parting from Bradley and you don’t want to do that. “I guess that’s fair. You ready to hold the best boobs of your life, Bradshaw?”

Bradley laughs. “Oh, I’m ready, kitty.”

When you finally leave your office, Lucy’s shooting you a look like she expects a thorough debriefing as soon as you get home and also like she could maybe hear the two of you through the walls, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when you're holding hands with Bradley and talking about your holiday plans. Your shared holiday plans.

“I’m gonna get you A Christmas Carol and a bundle of all the Home Alone movies,” you tell him.

Bradley glares at you playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell someone what you’re getting them for Christmas.”

“How would you know, Scrooge?”

Bradley huffs a laugh, giving you an “are you serious” look.

“I’d throw in a matchbox too,” you continue. “But I think my service to the community will be sexually gratifying you enough so that you don’t have to keep committing arson—”

Your words cut off when Bradley swoops down to kiss you firmly. He doesn’t pull away until you're dazed and he nods smugly.

“That’s better.”

You could argue with him, but instead you grab his collar and yank him down to kiss you again. Because that’s a much better alternative to get Bradley to shut his massive pie hole and you’re sure he feels the same way.

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