#the fact that he thought this was the move.... buddy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tobyfier · 25 days

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Can you do a doppelgänger M!reader? Reader is a doppelgänger who manages to move into the apartment complex and readers original plan was to k!ll everyone the moment he was let in but the moment he’s allowed in he sees Francis just trying to get to his apartment and reader becomes immediately infatuated with him, he then has a change of plans. His new plan is to get Francis’s attention anyway possible.

This can be smut or not doesn’t matter you do whatever you want with this, this just came off the top of my head and I just need more milkman fics 😿😿

I’m inlove with a monster.

;Male reader

Genre: Fluff to smut

Warning: NSFW AT THE END!!! Bottom reader,Handjobs(receiving),creampie,make out session,overstimulation

A/n: Technically this isn’t my first time writing smut..however it has been a while since I wrote one, I’m just hoping it won’t look too cringy; as for the minors..I can’t exactly stop you from reading this, you guys are just growing people who’s going through puberty, I’ve been through that before. Now I will discourage minors who are BELOW 13 years old.

This doorman is taking a bit longer than usual to be honest. They seem to be double checking everything, did they figure it out or something? My heart stopped when I saw them reach for the phone ‘Fuck, I didn’t think of that.’ I didn’t break out of character just yet, there’s a possibility that the real one isn’t home. They waited and waited until they put the phone down. They stared at me for a while, cold sweat started to run down my neck before they smiled and pressed a button

“Alright, looks like you’re good to go!” I sighed from relief and nodded at them before going inside the building, I grinned to how naive the doorman is because of their mistake, they put everyone’s lives at risk, oh I can’t wait-…whoa..

3rd POV

M/n honestly felt like the world stopped moving when he say a guy infront of him struggling to open his door, he didn’t know who that guy or what his name is but all he knows is that he’s pretty charming. Once the man shut his door only then M/n snapped out of his trance, a slight blush covering his face. Trying to figure out what the hell just happened to him, it all felt so new to him and so unfamiliar. But nonetheless he didn’t dislike the feeling, he wanted more in fact..

‘New purpose, I’m gonna try and get as close with that mine and find out what this feeling is.’ M/n thought before going downstairs to ask for a spare key because he doesn’t have a key to his new house

Every single day M/n would try and greet Francis, to try and strike a conversation with him.

“Hey Francis, buddy ol pal, how you doing?” M/n greeted him, trying to act as normal and formal as possible but failing to do so.

“I’m doing fine, how about you mr. Moo juice?” Francis responded smiling a bit at the nickname he gave for M/n.

“It was one time!” M/n’s face burned from embarrassment, as a way to talk to Francis he tried ordering some milk from him when he stumbled on his words, calling milk ‘Moo juice’ by mistake.

“Well I’m sorry but it’s pretty much I possible for me to get that memory out of my head, it’s too funny!” Francis giggled, M/n could listen to him giggle every single day and will not get tired of hearing it

“Well-I still remember the time when you accidentally barged into my apartment thinking it was yours because you were drunk!” Now it was Francis turn to get embarrassed

“Well you can’t exactly blame a drunk man for it, I would barely comprehend what happened then!” Francis laughed before putting on his hat “I’d love to chat with you more but I still have to go to work. I’ll talk to you later, see you!” He greeted him goodbye and went down the hall to the elevator

2nd POV

You sighed, already missing his presence greatly. During the past few months you grew to be comfortable living in the apartments, forming friendship with the other neighbors most especially Francis, obviously. After some time you learned that the original you was actually a writer..a bit boring but you tried writing a few times and slowly you grew to like it.

Sometimes you wondered whether the original you and Francis ever talked to eachother, but from how shy and quiet he was during the first few conversations maybe not as close. Every single conversation,exchange of greetings,waves,or any interaction with him, you cherished every single one of them. With a help of a neighbor whom you call a friend named Mia, told you that it might be a crush or infatuation. And although it’s not really viewed as a good thing to date the same gender in public, you could care less about what other people think. You only cared about Francis view on it, I mean he has an ex wife and literally has a child. It’s impossible for him to like you back..

Atleast that’s what you hoped, you hoped this time you were wrong.

Timeskip

Francis’ POV

I sighed at the tiring day, driving house to house and city to city was really tiring. All I wanted was to go back to my apartment and rest..if not maybe chat with M/n again. He’s a really nice and fun person to be with, his energy was never really overwhelming and he’s the perfect person to talk to whenever I’m tired but also want someone to talk to. His stories are so interesting to listen to, especially the forbidden love ones.

If I had to be honest, I never thought him and I were gonna get close. After the “moo juice” incident, we started talking more. I hope I get to talk to him soon, for now I have to focus on delivering this milk trays. I looked back to see how much I have to deliver and saw that there was still a lot, he sighed “This is gonna take a while..”

I groaned, finally done delivering the milk and stumbled upon the elevator, pressing the 3rd button and waiting for it to close. I took off my hat and started fanning myself, hoping it will cool me off from the tiring job. I sighed in relief once I heard the elevator ring and walked out of the elevator to M/n’s apartment, knocking a few times before waiting.

M/n’s POV

I yawned tiredly, I just woke up from a nap because someone knocked on the door. Being a different species has it’s perks, one being having heightened hearing. I opened the door not caring if it was a Doppel or not, if it was then I could handle it anyway, I’m one myself..what I didn’t expect was a tired milkman collapsing on me like a drunken man.

“Bloody hell-you scared me!” I wrapped my arm on his torso and carried him to my couch, I tried walking away to get something when he suddenly pulled me into the couch, trapping me below him “Uhm..Francis buddy, let me go. I’m gonna get some pillows for you.”

“No..stay here, I’ll just use you as my pillow..” he mumbled, hugging me tighter. It’s adorable seeing him in such state, it reminded me of the time he got drunk

“You’re Lucky You’re adorable..” i mumbled suddenly, not even thinking of my words, I slapped my hand over my mouth. Francis tensed and looked at me

“You find me adorable?” He asked, he doesn’t sound disgusted nor angry, actually he sounds shock and intrigue

“Uh yeah, I do actually..” What the fuck am I saying, he might think I’m weird now!

“..I’m glad you think of me that way too..” he said before laying his head on my chest..wait what.

“Hold on what-you cant just say that so suddenly!” I said sitting up straight so he won’t fall asleep on me

“Why not? You said it first.” He replied, my face burned from embarrassment

“I mean yeah but I didn’t expect you to think I’m cute..” I said blushing a bit

“Why not? I mean sometimes you act like a dog, obedient and gets excited when it comes to certain things. Especially when you’re talking about your new story. Everything about you is cute.” He said, not minding the effects of what his words did to me, bastard even smirked.

“Stop it, you’re saying things out of the blue!” I yelled, hiding my face from him, but my heart stopped when I heard what he said next

“Not to mention when you’re so tired, you don’t notice the little horns sticking out of your head.” I stopped for a moment and slowly looked at him, does he..I quickly grabbed his wrists and pinned him in the couch

“When did you know about me.” I asked sternly, although I liked him, I didn’t wanna go back to the d.d.d’s. No, i already had a good life and I won’t let it go away.

“The first week after we talked.” How is he so calm about this? I mean a doppelgänger pinning him to the couch, potentially getting eaten? “I already know you won’t hurt nor eat me, you love me too much for you to do that.”

“Well I uh..true..” I replied, loosening my grip on his wrists, in return he slipped his hand out and slowly he sat up

“See, I knew you love me..” he said soothingly while rubbing my head, like a dog..I sighed

“You didn’t even tell me?..” I asked, I’m a bit suprised how he’s handling this situation so calmly

“I always rub your head like this and it just goes away.” He said before pulling his hand back “see? It’s gone.”

“IT WAS THERE AGAIN?!” I yelled, he chuckled

“So uh..what are we now?..” he asked, I tilted my head in confusion

“Are we-I mean can you-do you wanna be together?..” he asked in a low voice, I was silent for a moment before quickly hugging him

“You don’t know how happy I am for you to tell that you actually like me back, even after knowing I’m not even the original M/n..” I hugged him tighter, I felt his arms wrap around my lower back and buried his face on my hair

“If I had to be honest, I prefer you over the original..and don’t think I haven’t noticed you.” He said giggling a bit, I was confused on what he meant by that “I can always see glancing at me from a far,from how your mood drastically changes depending if I’m in the room or not,and don’t get me started with those lovable dork eyes of yours with the mention of my name. And Mia ratted you out.”

“She what?!” I yelled, I groaned loudly and slapped a hand on my face, I means it’s expected..this is Mia we’re talking about, she literally told me all of the gossip when we first talked..

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, I looked at him with wide eyes, is it just me or is he getting bolder? “So is that a no-“

“Yes!” I quickly answered before shutting my mouth, it sounded like I was desperate or something, he seemed to like it by the way he chuckled

Before I knew, our lips smashed with each other, the kiss felt nice..it was comforting and tender, and filled with love. Something I wanted to experience everyday, and I’ll be sure to make that happen. Unfortunately he pulled away, I leaned forward unconsciously and he laughed through his nose.

“It seems you liked it it by how you leaned for more.” He laughed a bit, I could only stare at him with adoration, yeah I could definitely get used to this..

I quickly pulled him into another one to which he reciprocated quickly, the kiss was much more intense than before. I opened my mouth a little to get some air when he suddenly pushed his tongue inside my mouth, to which I choked at the sudden sensation but I welcomed it nonetheless. Looks can be deceiving, he’s the right person to use for it, at first he way seem like a tired and inexperienced person but boy..when I tell you he’s good..

Soon he pulled away so we can catch our breaths, a string of saliva connected our mouths as we planted from the session we had. My face was red considering it was my first time doing that, I was a bit surprised how well and experienced he is actually.

“Do you still wanna go further?” He asked, either way he already knows I’m gonna say yes due to the tent in my pants anyway

“Y-yeah sure.” I stuttered, he seems to be looking at my pants

“Just wanted to ask, since you’re a doppelgänger and you can alternate yourself, I’m just wondering if there’s a possibility you can alternate down there?” He asked, ah so that’s why

“Yeah, why? Do you want me to change it?” I asked but he shook his head as a no

“No, I want something to play with while doing it.” I raised an eyebrow at his statement

“..what?..”

“O-oh shit-!” I gasped when his pace became faster, currently we were in my bedroom giving me a handjob, he had an iron grip on my leg so I couldn’t crawl away “Hah ah-I shouldn’t..have ah!-asked..” I managed to speak

He just chuckled at my disheveled appearance, my hair was a mess. Sticking to my forehead, some got tangled by how much I turned my head side to side to ignore the feeling. My clothes are long gone, all thrown to the floor thanks to Mr. Milkman. Francis was shirtless and his hat was on my head, saying I looked cuter with it. This guy really likes seeing me like this doesn’t he?

“Please..” I muttered, I’m close and I’m sure he noticed it too by how my dick throb in his hand.

“Please what dearie? I can’t hear you.” He teased, smug bastard.

“Let m-me come mngh..please-I’m clo-HNGK..!” I choked on my spit once he gripped it and speed up the pace much faster than before, I tried to hold it in but the bastard was determined to make me release, and so I did. White streaks shot out from the tip, landing on his chest and to my stomach. I panted like a person who ran a marathon, but it felt great. It was something I’ve never really felt before..

I looked over at him to see him wipe some of the cum of his chest and to his mouth, I blushed at the act and immediately yelled at him

“Spit that out, it’s dirty!” He didn’t listen of course, fucker even snapped his tongue

“It’s sweet and salty..” he seemed a bit surprised, is it because of the salty part or sweet?

“Probably from all the milk you delivered to me..” I finally calmed down from my high but noticed that he was unbuckling his belt.

“H-hold on, you’re not finished I thought-hey!” I was a bit surprised when he listed my other leg and rested it on his shoulder, I grabbed a pillow to hold on to, something tells this one is gonna be different..

“You didn’t think I was finish were you?” His eyes met mine and instantly I felt small “I still haven’t had my problem solved yknow?”

Oh yeah he’s right, it would be a bit unfair to stop this when he hasn’t finished his yet. And so I hug my pillow, preparing for what’s about to happen. I dozed off a bit, obviously this is my first time and I have no experience with this kind of things, I just wondered how it was gonna feel whether it would lean more to pain or-

“Holy sh-mngh..!” I bite into the pillow when I felt my stretched up when he entered, it stinged, not in a way it was painful, it felt good..

He didn’t think so though because he immediately stopped and looked at me with concern “Sh-shit I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you..” he apologized, rubbing circles around my thighs

“It’s fine..it-..it felt good.” I admitted “Keep going..”

He blushed and nodded, slowly he pushed the rest of it in me, I muffled myself using the pillow. Holy shit did that feel nice, never really thought it would feel this good honestly.

“Can I move?” He asked softly, it’s cute how he still needs to ask

“Yes..” I replied

He indeed took that opportunity and pulled away, leaving the tip inside me before thrusting back. I choked out a moan, not expecting the sudden rough movement, not that I was complaining though it was kind of attractive.

The pace was fast and hard, the way he feels inside of me was something I could never explain in words. He was quite literally hitting all of the right place, like he studied my body and memorized all of the sensitive parts. The bed started creaking from how fast he was going but I could careless, all I could think about was him and him only. I was close again, the knot in my stomach was back. And as if he’s reading my thoughts his hand gripped my dick once more and started pumping it. His hand felt so nice against my dick, I could get used to this all day.

“F-fuck!..too ah-!m..much..” I moaned out, I didn’t even notice the tears that were rolling down my face atop the pillows. I could feel his thrust getting uneven “Please..!”

“You can k-keep it in, just a few more..” he panted, chasing his release, he slowed down his hand so I wouldn’t release so soon.

A few thrusts and soon he came inside of me, the feeling of being filled up plus his hand pumping my dick immediately put me to my climax. We both panted, riding out our high from the activity. He exhaled and collapsed his body on mine due to exhaustion.

“Oof bloody hell are you heavy.” I stated, he chuckled tickling my neck

“How was it?..” he asked after moving a little so I can breath, his arms were wrapped around my waist

“It’s scary how you know my body so well despite this being the first time you’re exploring it..” I admitted “You were great.”

“Glad to know..” he muttered, burrying his face onto my neck even more

Silence engulfed the room..

“How am I supposed to explain my neighbors about these bite marks and hickeys littered all around my neck. I swear you did this on purpose didn’t you.” I slapped his head weakly to which he laughed and hugged me tighter

“Yeah yeah, I’m sorry. But it’s not my fault you had a pretty neck, I couldn’t help it!” He stated

“Oh so that’s my fault?!” I laughed

Yeah I’m definitely gonna get used to this now..

#francis mosses #francis mosses x male reader #francis mosses x reader #thats not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor x male reader #thats not my neighbor x reader #x male reader #x reader #x bottom male reader #x bottom reader #top francis mosses #milkman x reader #milkman x male reader

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ellemj · 5 months

Text

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

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1800titz · 3 months

Text

HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip.

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying.

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar.

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss.

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away.

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock.

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows.

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way.

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental.

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that...

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks.

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck.

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does.

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter.

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi.

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her.

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.”

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her.

“Easy.”

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?”

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders.

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement.

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet.

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again.

“Hey, you.”

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?”

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly.

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over.

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair.

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry.

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?”

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug.

That’s dangerous.

She’s glad he isn’t.

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.”

Her breath stutters.

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?”

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear.

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.”

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.”

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work.

“Would you like that?”

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently.

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.”

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs.

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch.

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased.

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest.

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?”

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.”

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth.

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon.

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more.

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled.

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…”

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?”

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign.

It’s not.

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters.

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks.

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though.

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress.

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.”

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head.

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists.

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?”

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.”

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.”

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.”

The pointed little end grazes over his balls.

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.”

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that.

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her.

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first.

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.”

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek.

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth.

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?”

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.”

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene.

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face.

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.”

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds.

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans.

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there.

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.”

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.”

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together.

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.”

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach.

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway.

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.”

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that?

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile.

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back.

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.”

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter.

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock.

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?”

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat.

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?”

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back.

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull.

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath.

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts.

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence.

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.”

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before.

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends.

Just friends that fuck.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #fwb!harry #fwb au #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles one shots #dom!harry

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ponderingmoonlight · 5 months

Text

How JJK men react when you fall asleep on them

Pairing: Nanami x reader; Gojo x reader; Inumaki x reader (first time yay, thank you @emzalot and @trysudio for the great idea <3)

Word Count: 3,4k

Warnings: not proofread because I really have to go to work right now lol, a little language here and there, otherwise fluff overload, will write a part ll of this so if you wanna get tagged leave a comment and let me know. Also, I'd appreciate it sooooo much if you'd interact with this fic and showed some support <3

Kento Nanami

It’s been a hell of a week. Work swallows you whole, curses appear like plagues out of nowhere. This summer seems to be worse than any year before, worse than anything you’ve ever witnessed despite the stinging fact that you are a grade 1 sorcerer.

“When was the last time you’ve slept, (y/n)?” Satoru questions playfully when you walk past him.

You have no energy for his bullshit right now, feet shuffling on the floor without a real aim. Oh, but you do have an aim-

Him.

“Can’t remember anymore. Let me go home now”, you mumble, heart beating a little faster just by the thought of it.

Going home means meeting him. After weeks of being apart, after weeks of not really seeing each other, you’ll finally come back home to him. Kento Nanami, the best boyfriend walking on this earth. Kento Nanami, who was the one who forced Gojo to talk to the elders in order to give you a few days off. Kento Nanami, who is the only thing on your mind except for sleep right now.

“Come on, let me drive you home, (y/n). No need for you to walk that whole way”, Gojo suggests.

You can’t argue. In fact, you don’t even want to. Even the thought of sitting for a few minutes seems like a relieve at the moment.

“Your man was really mad when he found out you were assigned for another bunch of missions this week, threatened to slap me if I don’t talk to the elders”, the man next to you comments amused while starting the car.

Kento is a calm and collected man, never too much of anything. But when it comes to you and your safety, he seems to put on another face.

Definitely a hot one.

“I hope he slapped you anyway”, you reply with a weak grin, earning a heartfelt laugh from Gojo.

“Not yet, but let me escort you to the door just in case.”

He stops the car, your numb body refusing to get up. You just started to get comfortable, maybe you’re able to rest your eyes on the passenger seat for a second…

“Come on, you just need to walk inside. Kento already waits for you.”

“Did you drive her here?”

Oh, that sweet voice. That sweet voice you get drunk on over and over again, that voice that lures you into relieving darkness. Now you’re save. Now you’re finally able to rest.

“Hey sweetheart, are you alright?”

His comforting touch caresses your cheek gently, you can tell he’s gazing down at you worried. But as much as you want to lift you arms and finally embrace your boyfriend in a tight hug, as much as you are forcing your eyes to open and take in his striking sight, you simply can’t move.

“Let me carry you inside. You definitely need to rest now”, he mumbles.

Softly, he lifts you out of the passenger seat. You feel like melting away in an instant, the mixture of his masculine scent along with the warmth of his body being your personal heaven on earth. God, how much you love that man, how much adore that he stood up for you, that he lets you rest in his comforting arms right now.

“Thank you for helping me out”, Nanami addresses towards Gojo.

“No need for that. We’re buddies after all, right? And I don’t wanna get slapped by you. Good night, (y/n), sleep tight!”

As much as you’d love to bite back, your tongue is so numb you can’t even bring out anything apart from a minor groan.

Kento’s tall frame begins to walk, his tight muscles reflecting every little movement against your head. What a sensation it is, knowing that you’ll lay curled up next to him in bed within the next minutes.

“Missed you”, you mumble.

His touch brushes over your back comfortingly while he steps back into the warmth of your inviting home.

“I’m so glad you’re home again, sweetheart. But before you’re all mine, you have to catch up with your sleep. When was the last time you were able to rest?”

You can’t put a finger on it. Apart from a few short naps now and then, there was absolutely no chance to sleep for 3 hours straight within the last week. But telling Kento that definitely doesn’t seem like a good idea, not that you are able to build a straight sentence anyway.

“Don’t know”, you hush.

Gently, he lays you down onto your soft mattress. You curl up in an instant, taking in his scent inside the soft linen of your blanket. Oh, this feels like nothing but heaven. Especially because he positions himself next to you, pressing your back against his broad chest.

“Get your well-deserved rest. I won’t let something like that happen again”, he breathes against your ear.

“I love you, Kento. Thanks for standing up for me…”

His skilled fingers tuck a strand of hair that hangs in your face behind your ear before stroking your head just the way you like it.

“I will always look after you, (y/n). Now rest a little and tell me about the last weeks when you’re ready. I’ve already shopped for this evening, I want to cook your favourite meal for you. And-“

He stops himself from talking, your low and steady breath making it more than clear that you are already sound asleep. With a small smile, Kento tucks you into the blanket and presses a kiss against your forehead. Oh, how much you deserve to finally rest, how lovely you look with your relaxed facial features and your head completely swallowed by your pillow

“Sleep tight, I love you more than anything else, (y/n).”

Satoru Gojo

“No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You can’t hold in a yawn, teary eyes staring at the man in front of you. That definitely was a rough mission. So rough that Satoru Gojo had to step in to save your puny ass. And if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, you can barely keep your eyes open. That fucking demon you weren’t able to exorcise all night, fucking Satoru Gojo who took forever to come to your rescue.

“I’m fine”, you grumble, avoiding his gaze at any cost.

Why on earth does it have to be him? Why Satoru Gojo instead of someone decent like Geto? Now, you’ll have to live with his stupid comments for at least some months.

“Baby, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Don’t call me baby”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Get yourself together, keep your eyes open. Why on earth are you so damn tired right now? Maybe because you were fighting the whole night, maybe because you haven’t slept enough for ages.

“Feel free to rest a little, this car ride will take us some time”, Ijichi interrupts softly, gazing at you through the mirror.

“I’m fine”, you groan.

God, why is everything so damn annoying at the moment? Your eyes wander to the man next to you who just grins from ear to ear. It’s because of him, that fucker over there.

“Don’t worry, I will take care if something happens”, he assures you.

Urgh, you are too tired to deal with his shit-talking right now. You turn pointedly towards the window, staring into the rainy late morning. What time is it? You have no idea. All that you know is that you’ve been awake for more than 48 hours by now, your body being completely worn out and covered in bruises. Maybe Shoko will give you a decent pain killer that shoots you into another dimension. Yeah, that actually sounds nice.

Satoru’s eyes lay on you, how your body gets sluggish in the car seat with every passing minute. Until your head rests against the window, until your heavy eyes get the best of you and your mouth opens. Yes, you were completely worn out by the time he arrived. And it is more than well-deserved that you rest now. But why do you have to look this lovely while doing so?

“Is she asleep?”, Ijichi questions softly.

“Oh she definitely is. No wonder after that hell of a mission. Please turn the music down a little so she doesn’t wake up.”

Even though you’re always act cold towards him, Satoru can’t help but admire you from afar. You are so feisty, so strong, so lovely it takes his breath away. It seems like the only time he’s even able to look your way properly is when you are asleep.

And he enjoys every second of it.

Ijichi makes a sharp turn to the left, eyes widen in horror when another car is only inches away from crashing into him. Before Satoru is able to react, your body crashes against his, your head now resting against his shoulder. He holds his breath, heart almost beating out of his chest. He never came this close to you, not without you complaining. From here, you look even lovelier, your steady breath brushing against his neck in a way that makes him see start.

But you don’t seem to mind. No, instead your arm wraps itself around his as you rub your head against his shoulder in order to find a comfortable position.

“Is she still sleeping? I hope this didn’t wake her up…”

“Nah, she’s asleep”, Satoru mumbles.

The urge to touch you becomes almost unbearable. How is he supposed to sit still when you are cuddled against him like this? How is he supposed to not stretch out his hand when your hair looks so inviting, when he wondered about what your skin feels like since knowing you?

A little touch can’t hurt, right? A simple, innocent touch…

Slowly, his trembling fingertip brushes over your cheek. It feels like electricity is running through his veins where his skin meets yours. You really are strikingly beautiful, even when your face is squished against his shoulder, even when your mouth hangs slightly open. And oh, the perfume you wear smells absolutely intoxicating. How is it possible he never realized how good you smell?

“Hello?”

He stares at you with his eyes wide open, movement stuck in its tracks while you blink away the sleep and gaze up at him in drunken confusion.

“Are we there yet?”

“No, we’re still on our way back”, he explains briefly.

You look around, the realization of where you are slowly but surely hitting you like a wall. Oh god, is this Satoru Gojo you’re resting your head on? And is it his hand that cups your cheeks.

“I-Im so sorry!”, you stutter, instantly lifting yourself up and stroking your hair.

Fuck, why is this so embarrassing? Even Gojo’s cheeks get light pink while he avoids your gaze, fumbling with his hands frantically.

“Nah I’m sorry. Should have pushed you back…”

You swallow hard, death silence hanging in the air. Even though you only slept for maybe 10 minutes, you feel like you haven’t had such a good nap in a long time. Was is because of him? Is it because you feel…safe?

“Your shoulder was quite comfortable”, you mutter before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah, you think so?”

“Somehow, yeah…”

Is Satoru Gojo maybe not as bad as you thought? He could have yanked your body back into the seat immediately if he wanted to. Hell, you wouldn’t have been able to even touch him if he didn’t allow it. So maybe, just maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought he does.

Just like you.

“Well, you can come over here anytime y’know.”

Your eyes dart towards him in an instant, looking for a single spark of dark humour on his face. But no. All he does is awkwardly smiling and patting his shoulder like he’s inviting you over.

Is this…Alright? Should you really do it?

“Your arm seems comfier than the window, so why not…”

Hesitantly, you loosen your seatbelt and slide into the middle seat right next to him. The warmth radiating from his body seems to swallow you whole in an instant, a yarn escaping you just by the thought of continuing your nap.

“Don’t you dare to tell anybody about this”, you mumble against his shoulder, eyelids already so heavy that you fail to keep them open.

“I will use this against you whenever I have the chance to.”

“Sato…”

Toge Inumaki

It’s hard to keep your eyes open when the old fart in front of you talks about his boring and made up adventures for over 2 hours by now. Not even the stinging fact that your crush is sitting next to you can keep you from holding your head in your hands, eyes slowly but surely closing.

Unexpectedly you feel a hand tapping against your forearm, ripping you out of your daydreams. Toge’s smile catches you off guard, sweeps you off the ground and almost off your chair. How embarrassing, did you really almost fall asleep while sitting next to him? Today was the first time you’ve had enough courage to ask him if he wants to sit next to you. How are you even able to be tired when he’s so close you can literally feel the heat radiating from his body?

With a firm smile, he slides a little note your way.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep”

You swallow, cheeks heating up in an instant. So he noticed? Oh no, earth should swallow you whole and get you out of this mess as soon as possible. Even though you can tell by his gorgeous eyes that he’s grinning, you can’t help but feel deeply ashamed.

“Thank you”, you mutter through gritted teeth, eyes darting towards the old fart in front.

Why didn’t you go to sleep early tonight, why did you read through all of those chapters when you knew that you’ll have a lecture early in the morning? That slow burn just really got you. Oh, but the main character reminds you so much of him. Him, the boy who doesn’t speak in anything but sushi ingredients in order to save all of you from getting cursed. Him, whose smile could enchant entire nations. Him, who stole your heart since you’ve joined Jujutsu High along his side back then.

But why do you have to make it so complicated, why do you have to act so damn strange around him? Toge must think you’re a total freak, always admiring him from afar while never really talking much with him. Even though he agreed on sitting next to you today, he might have done it because he feels sorry for you.

Your head sinks deeper and deeper, eyes closing themselves before you are able to stop them. When you get home, you’ll definitely finish that enemies to lovers story you’ve read all night. Maybe you’ll be able to be proud of youself for asking him out when you’re back in your room. And just maybe, you’ll be able to ask him out on a date sometime. Maybe stargazing? Or watching a movie together. Just the thought of cuddling with him…

Toge’s eyes dart towards you. Considering your slow breaths and how your head rests in your arms, you definitely fell asleep. Gently, he shakes your shoulder and back, taps your arm and slides a note your way.

“Tuna tuna”, he mumbles inaudibly.

But nothing works. No, your body doesn’t move an inch except for your head that searches a comfortable position. Slowly but surely, your head threatens to wander off the desk, sending you straight towards the floor.

His eyes dart around frantically. What is he supposed to do now? He can’t let the old man notice you fell asleep and risk that you’ll hurt your head. But on the other hand…

Touching you is something he imagined quite often. Since he first laid his eyes on you, it was over. Searching for you in every crowd, sitting next to you as often as possible, protecting you at any cost. Yes, Toge Inumaki fell head over heels for you.

But somehow it seems like you aren’t that interested in him, avoiding his gaze as good as possible, always mumbling short answers only. It surprised him when you came up to him today and asked him to sit next to you, his heart still beating out of his chest just by your presence. Would you be mad, disgusted even if he grabbed you, even if only to save you from falling to the ground?

He clenches his hands into fists, watching in horror as you begin to slide down your chair. What is he supposed to do?

In the matter of seconds, his hands grab your uniform just before you’re about to fall to the floor, catching you just in time and pulling your head onto his lap.

Onto his lap.

You are laying in his lap.

Oh god, this feels so right. No, he has to focus, what will you think of him when you wake up like that? And what will the others do when they catch both of you in this strange-looking position? His face goes pale in an instant, hands desperately holding onto your back so you don’t slide down. This is bad, very very bad. But on the other hand…

No, he can’t enjoy the fact that you’re laying in his lap right now, he can’t allow to let himself fall like that. You are asleep, it would be disgusting to use you like that. Especially when you clearly don’t like him the way he likes you.

He has no other chance but to wake you up.

“Sake”, he mutters along with gently tapping your shoulder.

“Sake.”

You don’t react. Instead, you cuddle yourself into his lap, arm now resting across his legs. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in and out.

“Sake!”, he hisses into your ear as loud as possible with somebody else noticing.

You jerk up, eyes darting around in confusion. What just happened? You must’ve fallen asleep. Urgh, that old fart is still talking…

“Tuna tuna?”

You blink at the boy next to you with doe eyes. He looks absolutely messed up, glossy orbs staring at you in pure horror. Oh no, did you do something embarrassing? Did you snore next to him? Or worse, did you drool?

Frantically, you wipe over your face. This is a nightmare and you’re still absolutely drained.

“I-I’m sorry”, you stutter.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just a idiot and went to bed way too late last night”, you blubber out.

Gently, Toge grabs the arm that is about to wipe over your face again mid-air and slides another note your way.

“You look cute when you sleep. Would you like to have a movie night when you’re fit again?”

You stare at the neatly written note with widen eyes. This can’t be real, right? Your crush didn’t just ask you out after you passed out on the desk during lecture. It’s like your tongue is stuck in your throat, mouth not able to move. This is way too good to be true, something you’ve dreamt about each and every night. Toge, having a movie night with you?

He stares at you nervously, how you blink over and over again in sheer disbelief. Oh no, was this a mistake, do you think he is a freak for asking you out on a movie night just after you fell asleep? What if you know that you laid in his lap, that he touched you without permission? This was a stupid idea, you made it clear multiple times that you aren’t interested in him like that-

“I…I’d love to”, you suddenly mutter so silently that Toge almost misses it.

“Salmon?”

“Yeah…I mean, if you’re still up for a meeting…”

“You two, will you shut up already? I’ll remove you from this class if you keep on talking!” the old man suddenly screams so loud that you flinch, sitting straight in your chair in an instant while your eyes dart towards him.

Toge shoves another note your way.

“I’m really excited about meeting you.”

Tags:

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sugarcoatedstarkey · 5 months

Text

Movie nights - Drew Starkey

Pairings - Drew Starkey & reader

Summary - movie nights with the friend group turns into reader and Drew not being able to control themselves.

Warnings - sexual intercourse, oral, language. 18+

A/n- this was a request but for some reason they have all disappeared from my inbox.

“I can just sit on the floor”

Everyone disagrees and chatter feels the room, your eyes fall on Drew who’s watching you from his seat on the couch. “Don’t be silly, just sit between Drew and I” Austin motions, he scoots himself further into the side of the couch and you stare at the gap.

It’s small, too small for your large bottom. You noticed Drew must have had the same thought as you caught him eyeing your lower half, he gave you a soft smile and patted the seat.

You stepped over Chase and Rudy who were sprawled out on the floor, snacks of various kinds sat between them. You slowly brought yourself down to the couch, you were definitely not going to fit.

Before you could stand back up, Drew’s hand snaked around your waist and pulled part of you onto his lap. You couldn’t steady your heart beat, it was going a million miles an hour.

“Comfy?” He questioned, all you could do was nod your head. Keeping your eyes in front of you, the movie had started but you had no idea what was happening.

All you could think about was Drew, your back pressed to his chest. His arm around your waist, your backside pressed to him.

You could feel his breath tickle your ear, his pointer finger rubbing soft circles into the exposed flesh of your hip. Your mind goes into overdrive, unintentionally you press back into him. Emitting a groan from his lips, your thighs squeeze together instinctively.

“You good?” Austin questions, he noticed your tensed body. You nod your head and give him a soft smile, turning your attention back to the movie.

You manage to focus on the tv for the next 10 minutes, trying to forget that you were nuzzled against Drew. The person you had been crushing on for the past 6 months, someone you had started to get to know slowly.

You met him at Austin’s birthday party, he had been praising the ground Drew walked on for months and finally you were going to meet your close friend's new buddy.

You both hit it off instantly, the conversation flowed between the two of you like you’d been friends for years. Austin loved that the both of you got on, he dragged you to everything for the past 8 months.

You had a hunch he was trying to set you up with Drew, he never said anything but the fact that you had been invited to everything was a telltale sign.

You knew you had caught feelings for Drew about 6 weeks after meeting him, you had stepped out of the ladies bathroom at lunch. Your eyes fell onto Drew who was chatting to a very attractive brunette, he had a cheeky grin on his face and he rubbed at his jaw slightly. You knew he was flirting with her, and that’s when you knew you liked him. Your skin felt itchy and your throat felt tight, you had to backtrack into the bathroom and calm yourself.

So it was especially difficult right now, lent against him. You were sure the absentminded circle he drew on your skin was nothing, the two of you had become affectionate. Usually you’d wrap your arm around his waist or he would hold your hand. It was friendly , affectionate, you assumed.

“You smell nice” he whispered into your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin. Shivers ran down your spine causing you to squirm against him, his hands steadying your hips against him. “If you move like that again you're going to be very uncomfortable” he whispered, his hand left your waist to readjust his crotch.

You visibly gulped, turning your head slowly to meet his eyes. His eyes were dark, full of what you assumed was lust. His lower lip was red raw, indicating he had been chewing at it. You couldn’t resist and you moved again, this time pressing your ass cheek to his crotch.

He was hard, so hard you were sure he was about to burst through his jeans. He let out another groan, but bucked his hips against you. “I’m not uncomfortable” you stated, pressing down onto him once again.

His hands held tightly onto the waist, the veins in his arms protruding.

“You don’t sound too good” Austin spoke, causing you to jump out of the bubble you had created around the two of you. He had a smirk on his face, you knew he knew exactly what was going on. “Y/n can you take him to the spare room?”.

“Oh yeah sure” you stood up quickly, grabbing a hold of Drew’s hand and practically dragging him out of her room. Patting him on the back to make it look like he had fallen Ill suddenly.

The moment the door closed, Drew pinned you against the staircase. His hands enveloped your face, his lips pressed against yours. You could hear your heart in your ears, thumping harshly as you kissed him. The blood running through your veins ran hot, your panties were soaking.

“Fuck.. I’ve wanted to do that for so long” he breathed, his breath was staggered and his chest thumped against your own. “You have no idea” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you against him, carrying you down the hallways towards the spare room.

He lay you against the bed, hovering over you. His eyes wandered your body, he seemed slightly nervous. So you made the move for him, unzipping your shorts for him. He gulped, pressing his lips to yours again. His fingers danced up the length of your thigh, palming your ass in his hand.

“Drew, please touch me” you whimpered, he squeezed your ass once more and moved to pull your pants down. You quickly reached up to bunch the material of his shirt in your hands and pulled it over his head, pressing a soft kiss to his pecks. “Fuck your so sexy” he groaned, you pulled your top over your head as he pulled his pants down.

You could see the hardness of his cock straining in his boxers, you're sure you saw it twitch but his lips were on yours again. Pressing his erection to your core, you whined into his mouth. Grinding your hips up and against him, his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips.

You undid the front of your bra, your breasts pooling out. His eyes went wide at the sight of your hard nipples, his mouth enveloping around it. His tongue licked and his teeth nibbled, his other hand massaged your breast. Whines and moans slipped from your lips, you needed more.

You pulled his head away, pushing against his chest. “Stand up” you ordered, reaching for the waistband of his boxers. His eyes were on your face, studying you. He just about came when your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, thick and long. “Shit” you moaned, lacing your hand around the base of his cock. “What a pretty cock”.

You took this moment to look up at him, widening your mouth. You sucked his pink tip, his pre cum sending your taste buds into a frenzy. His hips jerked slightly as you continued to take him in, only slightly gagging as he touched the back of your throat. “Holy shit” he exclaimed, you watched on as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

His hand came around to hold the nape of your neck, his animal instincts kicked in. Forcing himself in and out of your mouth, you loved it. Your pussy was dripping, tears streamed down your face. His cock had your jaw aching but you could feel he was close, the veins in his cock throbbed against your tongue.

“Wait, I don’t want to come like this” he stated, pulling his cock from your mouth. A trail of spit between you two, he wiped your chin and then your cheeks. Pushing you down against the bed, he kissed up your legs until his face hovered over your cunt. “You smell so good” he whispered, pressing his lips to your clothed pussy,

“Fuck Drew, please please touch me” you begged him, your pussy was throbbing. You needed to feel him inside of you, his fingers dipped into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs. A trail of arousal followed, any other time you might have been embarrassed.

But the look on his face had you wideneding your legs for him, his eyes drinking in the sight of your pink wet pussy. He pressed a soft kiss to your folds, pressing his tongue between them. Opening you wide for him, he pushed your legs up against your chest.

Your aching hole staring back at him, you just about came from his nose grazing your clit. His tongue slid up and down your pussy, sucking on your swollen nub. Your hips rolling against his face, he pushed two fingers into your hole. The sounds your pussy was making would have you cringing usually but fuck was it hot with Drew.

“Oh fuck, Drew! I don’t think-“ you cried out, he entered a third finger as his mouth sucked at your clit.

Your chest was heaving, the buzzing in your ear was deafening. Your hole fluttering around his fingers, arousal soaked his hand. “DREW!” You cried, your orgasm hit you like a wave. Swallowing you under, you struggled to breath as your body shook from such pleasure.

His kisses on your stomach brought you back to reality, you were dazed. His smile had you weak at the knees, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a condom, you watched as he ripped it with his teeth and rolled it down his cock. “Ready?” He questioned, hovering over you.

“I want to sit on you” you stated, you pulled yourself up and signaled for him to sit against the headboard. You wrapped both legs around him and hovered over his cock, he gripped the base and you both watched as you slid down him. “O-oh!” You cried, his size stretching your tight hole. You’d only ever been with a few other men and none of them the size of Drew.

“Take it slow baby girl” he whispered, running his hands up and down your naked back. His eyes trained on your face, he watched as your eyes screwed shut and you began to move up and down him slowly. “That’s it, just like that” he mumbles against your neck, kissing your skin and palming your breasts.

“I feel so full” you stated, his lips found yours. His tongue explored your mouth, drinking in your soft moans and whines. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, moving you up and down faster and faster until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Fuck y/n, I need you to lay down”.

He didn’t give you time to comprehend and move the two of you, he brought one of your legs above his shoulder and thrusted into you. This new angle hitting exactly where you needed him to, your walls pulsating around his cock. Sucking him deeper and deeper.

Drew was cursing and grunting above you, watching as his cock entered your pussy. The veins on his arms protruding with each thrust, your fingernails dug half crescent moons into his shoulder blades. “Drew!” You cried out, his cock hitting your g spot. “I’m so close!” You warned him, you pulled him against your chest. Wrapping both your legs around his waist.

His nails dug into your hips as he moved faster and faster. “Let go baby, come around my cock! I want to feel your walls suck me in” he groaned, his own orgasm catching up to him.

Once again your orgasm hit you, this time you're not sure if you’ll recover. Your body shook around Drew, choking back your words of encouragement.

His body began to shake against you, his cock twitching inside of you. He squeezed you tighter, cursing into your shoulder blade. The muscles in his back flexing against your hands.

He pulled himself out of you and collapsed, his eyes closed shut. Both your chests rising and falling heavily, your bodies sweaty and warm. You turned your head to look at him, you thought he may have passed out because he didn’t move for a solid 2 minutes.

“That was fucking amazing” he finally spoke, giving you his biggest smile. You nodded your head rolling into his side. “Those were the 2 best orgasms of my life” you admitted, pressing your lips to his.

“There will be plenty more where that came from”.

Taglist - @laylasbunbunny @h34rtsformilli @lydiasxxsworld @hallecarey1 @mountloverr @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @phoenixssugarbaby @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank @drewstarkeysbae

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popponn · 2 months

Text

from the outsider's view. [itoshi sae x reader]

notes: admittedly, no braincell here only "sae unconditionally lovey dovey" thought (ft. kaiser). i miss sae. and i want him to be happy for a bit. this guy seems like when he is committed he will become the commitment itself despite everything. cute in the way the sort of type who will put in the effort and worth the effort when he is the right person. also, happy cny ❤ warnings: cursings (it's kaiser). fluff. kaiser's pov aka outsider's pov, sae & you being lovey dovey, established relationship, reader's gender unspecified, post canon au, heavy hc that sae & kaiser doesn't get along (outside of the field esp). please don't look to closely into this. @doobea thank u for betaing beloved ♡❀

By any means, it is not as if Kaiser actively tries to murder Sae every time they meet.

But it also doesn’t mean he is buddy-buddy with him either. Honestly, Kaiser hates a lot of people’s guts—Yoichi and Noa currently contending for the #1 spot, sure, but Sae is pretty close up there if he has to list them down. The reason is not particularly complicated for this one, as anyone who has met Sae would agree he is a natural at making enemies. That mid-fielder is one of those people who will do better as a human being if they shut up and not pick up a fight with each breath they take.

So, imagine his surprise to meet the redhead—with you by his side, hand in hand—during a casual outing for some convenience store snack in broad daylight.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Kaiser doesn’t waste a second to ask the moment their eyes meet each other. Kaiser really doesn’t want to have a jerk greeting him the moment he tries to get into an aisle yet here he is.

Sae squints at him in a more offensive manner than usual and then subtly—but very obvious to Kaiser’s eye—pushes you slightly behind his back as if Kaiser might do something to you. Which is wrong—even if Kaiser is very aware he is not the shining beacon of goodness. “Shopping, clearly. What else?”

“Someone you know, Sae?” your voice asks from behind your assumed-boyfriend. Kaiser glances slightly at the blatantly color-coordinated casual clothes. Disgusting. Definitely a boyfriend then. “Oh! Is that Michael Kaiser?”

Kaiser raises an eyebrow as he meets your gleaming eyes. He certainly didn’t expect Itoshi Fucking Sae’s partner to acknowledge him with such enthusiasm. He expected someone who is more or less as bitchy as bitchy as the guy. A smile that has been trained for PR events forms itself on Kaiser’s face, “Why, hello—”

“It’s not,” Sae quickly cuts in. “Just some bugs. Let’s just get the drink and go.”

Fucking Sae.

“Now, now,” Kaiser sneers, his grin widening into an irritated smirk as he approaches closer towards Sae. Said dickhead responds by tugging you closer to him. Sae better be one of those types of unreasonably cutesy protective boyfriends or Kaiser might actually start taking offenses and maim him for real. “Is that a way to greet ‘a friend’, Sae? And—” Kaiser moves on to you, “—hello there.”

The quotation mark hangs heavily in the air. Sae scoffs while you finally get the chance to address Kaiser’s existence politely and introduce yourself, “Hello! Nice to meet you!”

How the fuck did someone who knows basic manners end up with Sae? Kaiser genuinely wants to know if you got paid for this or something. He will ask if it’s not for the fact Sae seems to be itching to claw the hell out of his face. Kaiser really doesn’t want to get lectured for a public incident if he actually gives in to the urge to sock Sae’s resting bitch face. So, instead, he keeps his focus on you even while keeping his sentence directed to you both, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Thought Sae is allergic to store-bought products.”

You laugh at that, whilst Sae sends you a sharp glare—that has a hint of besotted lovesick gaze in it what the fuck—that you promptly ignore in favor of answering Kaiser instead. “Yeah, he is a bit nosy sometimes, huh?” you muse fondly, “But he is open to some products, thankfully.”

Sae pipes in, “Hey.”

“Come on, it’s true,” you reply shortly. As your eyes meet Sae, the besotted lovesick gaze returns, this time reciprocated by your equally lovelorn affectionate one. Kaiser really doesn’t want to see this.

“Hmph,” Sae breathes out like some grumpy mangy cat. Then, as if he truly is some kitty raising up its fur and tail, Sae returns his glare to Kaiser. The way one of Sae’s hand wrap around your shoulder to press you close doesn’t escape Kaiser’s eyes. And the most annoying thing is perhaps the way that it evidently isn’t like Sae deliberately shows it to him like some territorial jealous dickhead. It’s like watching someone taking in a breath and that breath is some lovey-dovey fuckery. “We are going. Let’s go.”

As much as Kaiser wants to make Sae suffer a little bit more via playfully flirting with you or something, being a third wheel to the elder Itoshi sounds so awful it’s not even worth trying. Next time the two Itoshis duke it out by being on the opposite team, Kaiser genuinely considers rooting for the younger one just so he can see Sae fail. And also out of some twisted camaraderie because imagining being a witness to this frequently—one really either builds up some immunity or turns insane.

The sort of guy who casually must touch his lover all the time is unbearable to watch.

So, good fucking riddance.

“Shoo,” Kaiser waves Sae away. And the way you look at Sae like the redhead is the most wonderful man alive lowers Kaiser’s opinion of you enough for that wave to be directed at you too. Get a better taste.

You laugh nervously at their brief exchange as Sae drags you away. Kaiser too shifts his attention away from you. Unfortunately, turns out—fuck him—it isn’t enough to escape the barely audible whispers Sae shares with you as the two of you walk away from the aisle.

“You should be nicer. He is still someone you know.”

“He touched Isagi’s chin on their first meeting to fuck around—I’m not taking chances with that shithole.”

“Aw. I don’t think he will—he seems very aware I’m with you.”

“That guy is insane and it’s better to be ready to kick his dick when you have to. Don’t be too friendly with him next time.”

God. Kaiser wishes for a match with Sae soon just so he can duke it out with him without any repercussions.

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 7 months

Text

bioluminescence | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season one — you thought all bellamy blake wanted was sex and other women, but when you sneak outside of the camp walls at night, bioluminescent plants are not the only shocking discovery you make, and not everyone is happy about it.

warnings: fluff, swearing, jealousy, mention of sexual themes, (L/N) use, roma

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

word count: 4.1k

Sleep was a rare luxury after you and the other Ark prisoners were sent to Earth, especially since you were all crowded in a small camp surrounding the drop ship. Teenage hormones, anger, violence, and trauma were not a great combination for peace. So, it was either crying, fistfights, or the incessant moans of couples who couldn't keep it in their pants for more than five minutes that usually kept you awake at night.

You were certain it was Bellamy Blake and his two model-looking female companions who were often to blame for that last subject. Although to everyone in the camp, it was very obvious that their relationship was solely physical, neither Roma nor Bree seemed to appreciate when other women talked, interacted with, or even sat near him. Clarke was a heavy target because of her co-leadership with Bellamy. And so were you.

You were within the inner circle, the informal 'Earth council'. You were also handy with a rifle and knowledgeable in tracking, so it wasn't exactly surprising whenever Bellamy took you with him on various missions and hunts. Sometimes though, he would bring you with him even if the task wasn't within your skillset—those were the times you were left feeling a little confused.

Nevertheless, a small friendship sprung from it. You weren't best buddies, but you weren't opposed to each other's company either. That was a big no-no to Roma and Bree and they frequently expressed that fact through passive-aggressive tactics.

This night was no different from others. Thankfully, it was the never-ending fistfights that kept you awake instead of other's carnal endeavours. You opened the flap of your tent and stepped out into the crisp air; autumn was definitely approaching. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked around the camp, unsure of where to wait out the commotion. Everywhere was taken, so you decided a brief walk in the woods wouldn't hurt. Well, you hoped it wouldn't. At least if the Grounders killed you, you would finally get some undisturbed rest.

As you made your way over to one of the fence-wall openings, you ran smack-bang into a barely dressed girl with long brown hair. Roma.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," she spat, scrutinising your appearance from top to bottom.

Ignoring her lovely remark, you eyed her jeans and the way her upper half was only covered by a grey sports bra. "Aren't you cold?"

"Not now I'm not." She smirked, eyes flickering to Bellamy's tent.

You grimaced. I so didn't need to know that.

Right on cue, Bellamy emerged from his tent, fully clothed. He scanned the surroundings before his hardened gaze briefly landed on Roma and then settled on you; it was impossible to miss the way his face softened when your eyes met. Strange.

"Jealous?" she asked, regaining your attention.

"Unlikely."

You brushed past her, though she made an effort to forcefully knock your shoulder and spit another curse at you. Classy.

Bellamy took a step toward you. "Hey—"

But you simply moved past him, continuing toward the wall and saying, "A real gem you've got yourself there."

At least Bree was all bark and no bite.

You could hear him sigh as the distance between you both grew.

Truth be told, you were a little jealous. An unfortunate truth but still a truth all the same. You knew you were beginning to feel something deeper for Bellamy and it was becoming difficult listening to other girls brag about their nights with him. Not like you would ever tell him though—he wasn't a relationship type of guy and as far as you could tell, his feelings for you were platonic.

Never mind. You could settle for his friendship... for now.

You had made it outside the camp walls. At first, you planned on circling the fence for a while, but when your eyes caught on something glowing from the opposite side of a tree, you strayed from your path. Rounding the tree's trunk, you found a glowing neon-pink flower; the species of which you were unsure, but it was beautiful. Then, in your peripheral vision, there was something else lighting up your vision, something blue this time. There was another flower just a few trees away.

And again, you walked over to the strange plant, only to find yourself now on a journey that kept leading to more and more glowing flowers the deeper into the woods you trekked. They were almost everywhere and at this point, you were practically running with an excited grin on your face. In the near distance, numerous radiant colours lit up an area covered by a thick cluster of trees. You wove yourself through branches and leaves, pushing your way into the bright section of the woods.

Once you emerged from the trees, amazement morphed into your expression. You had stepped into a small meadow filled with glowing flowers of various colours that covered the forest floor. There were countless species, but they all shared the same mesmerising radiance. Much to your disbelief, there were even electric blue luminous butterflies that concealed the tree trunks and fluttered in the air.

"Bioluminescence," you whispered to yourself.

It was so beautiful, you could have cried.

Maybe you should just leave the camp and build a hut here. It would certainly beat living with the others.

As you moved further into the small clearing, the butterflies flew closer around you. Holding out an arm, one butterfly tentatively circled your hand before landing in your palm. You laughed in amazement, watching as the small creature curiously crawled across your hand and ticked your skin. Okay, that settled it—you were definitely a Disney princess.

The sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling suddenly pulled you from your amazement; it was coming from where you had entered the clearing. You reached down to your belt only to find the knife holster on it empty. Of course, you didn't bring your knife. You had left the camp's safety and didn't even think to bring a weapon. So stupid.

Before you could reprimand yourself any further, a tall figure emerged from the tree line. The tight dark blue shirt was an easy identifier as to who the figure was. And so were those deep brown eyes.

It was Bellamy. "Woah."

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling your tensed body relax again.

His gaze swept across the vivid tree-encompassed meadow, sharing the same wonderous expression you once had. The overpowering glow from the butterflies turned his tanned skin a light blue, defining the contours of his face and arm muscles. He sort of looked otherworldly.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked.

The incident before you left camp quickly returned to mind and it was evident in the slight irritation etched on your face. He didn't need to respond for you to realise that he had followed you. Great. His little girlfriends were going to have a field day tomorrow if they saw him come after you.

Bellamy's eyes found yours, taking note of your negative reaction. His steps were cautious as he began walking towards you. "I could ask you the same thing."

He stopped in front of you, peering down through a few stray strands of dark brown hair whilst wearing his infamous lazy smirk. No wonder girls were always fawning over him; he was gorgeous, and he damn well knew it too. Even you were falling into the very same trap. Unlike them, though, it was the moments you shared with him when you were alone that conjured your attraction to him. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but you had also learnt that he was surprisingly a decent human being. More than decent actually, despite how he presented himself to others.

He treated you with respect—a lot more than many others had ever done. You had learnt to trust each other, communicate effectively, and work as a team. Sometimes, you would even find yourselves discussing things that you both intended to keep within till the day you died, things that felt too intimate to share with anyone else.

No matter how much you hated it, you couldn't help but develop feelings for him. Even when it seemed he was preoccupied with other women.

Bellamy eyed you, waiting for the snarky retort he knew you were putting together.

You sighed and turned around, crouching on the floor to inspect one of the neon-pink flowers. "Shouldn't you be teaching Roma and Bree gun handling safety in your tent right now?"

That line was dangerously close to sounding like jealousy and you knew it. You bit your tongue because Lord knows you were most likely to expose your feelings for Bellamy through word vomit.

If only you had been facing him to witness the shame washing through his eyes.

"Funny," he said. "But no. I've got more important things to do."

"Like what? Making sure your best hunting partner doesn't get killed by glowing plants?" you joked, glancing over your shoulder to see his reaction.

It wasn't a grin or smirk like you expected. Not even a little chuckle. Instead, he simply stared at you with this intense look in his eye; it was almost sad but also like he was trying to communicate something to you telepathically.

"Something like that," he murmured.

After those words left his mouth, something about the atmosphere shifted. You suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion and his soul-piercing stare was not helping. There wasn't a wide selection of movies on the Ark, but you had watched them all, including all the romance movies. The only thing you could compare Bellamy's gaze to was Mr. Darcy's in Pride and Prejudice. Reluctance. Longing. It was all there. Had you been completely wrong about his feelings for you? Or were you just imagining it?

The likelihood of Bellamy sharing your same feelings seemed impossible, so you chalked it up to your wishful imagination.

You stood back up, facing him but avoiding making eye contact. "Well, I—uh," you stammered. "I'm not going back. Not yet."

"I didn't come here to take you back."

That made your gaze meet his.

Why did you come then, Bellamy? you thought.

He side-stepped you and you turned to see him wandering deeper into the meadow. He began observing each and every beauty and oddity the small sanctuary held, touching the petals of every flower with a delicateness you had never witnessed before. Soon enough, you felt compelled to join him.

The two of you must have spent an hour in that meadow, inspecting each species of flora, hovering your fingertips through the glowing cusp of each plant as if you could feel its light on your skin, laughing together when a butterfly landed on the tip of your nose. Sometimes you caught Bellamy watching whenever your face lit up with excitement as you discovered something new. He never really looked at what you had found; he just looked at you, but you were too overjoyed to even contemplate why.

You felt like you had entered a dream, protected from the outside world where there were Grounders, war, and bitchy brown-haired girls. Everything real was forgotten, even your unrequited feelings for Bellamy. You just enjoyed his company in this dream and pretended it would last forever.

Somehow, you had both ended up lying on the forest floor side-by-side, surrounded by flowers as you stared up at the starry night sky through the tree crowns. It wasn't as cold as before; you guessed it was because of Bellamy's close proximity to you. One of his hands was behind his head, the other on his stomach. His warmth was radiating off his skin and onto your own.

You could have fallen asleep if you closed your eyes. Probably not the most logical idea though.

Bellamy's quiet, yet deep voice disrupted the silence. "It's just a distraction, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Those girls," he clarified, and you watched as his words turned to mist, carrying into the black sky. "If I focus too much on the fact that I have to control an entire camp of teenagers, fight a war against the Grounders, while taking care of Octavia and y—" he cut himself off, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I just feel like I start to lose myself."

Your focus shifted from the sky to him. Even he didn't seem to be looking at the sky anymore, despite his gaze still being pointed straight upward. He looked lost in his own thoughts. Serious and sombre—much different compared to how they had been just a short while ago.

"Well," you began softly. "We can't have that. You already seem a little rough around the edges, Blake."

A grin slowly formed across his lips and he shook his head. He turned his head to the side, looking down at your smiling expression from where he lay. The weightiness from before had melted from his demeanour. Because of a little distraction.

You had thought those two girls he spent most nights with were there purely for his own physical needs or because his attraction to them was greater than his self-control. Never had you contemplated the fact that it might have been because he was mentally struggling with the hardships of being a leader. Of course, how could you have? He had never told you before now.

Your brows furrowed. "Why tell me?"

The muscles in his jaw clenched and the grin fell from his lips. A sense of seriousness returned but this time it was less heavy. It seemed more like a weight was lifting from his shoulders. Like a declaration. Like a long-awaited confession.

You felt something warm brush against your hand; it gently grazed over your knuckles, lighting a fire beneath your skin. In Bellamy's dark eyes, you could see the reflection of his hand caressing your own and your heart leapt to your throat.

"Why do you think?" he murmured, his eyes flickering between your own, urging you to connect the dots instead of making him say it aloud.

Your lips parted and the crease between your eyebrows deepened.

Every time he picked you first to be his partner on a mission, every deep conversation you shared when no one else was around—they all had a hidden meaning. All the times his hand brushed against yours as you walked in sync side-by-side, the times you caught him staring at you through a one-hundred-person dense crowd, or the way he would step in front of you as if to shield you whenever there was even a hint of danger—it was all because...

"Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah." His eyes flickered between yours before he turned back to the stars. "And I—I understand if you don't feel the same way; I know I haven't given you much reason to. From those girls to the... the radio, and the culling on the Ark. If I could take—"

His sentence was cut short as you leaned over him, pressing your lips to his. You could feel his pulse racing in his lips. Or was it your own? Probably both. Your hair fell to the side and his mouth started to move against your own. He began to rise, moving you up along with him until you were both kissing in a sitting position.

Bellamy's hand moved to cradle your jaw, his lips slow and tender. Everything felt like it had fallen into place, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be, with his lips on yours in the middle of a fairy-tale-like meadow whilst surrounded by a field of glowing flowers and beautiful winged creatures.

The butterflies weren't just circling you now, they were somehow fluttering around in your stomach too and it felt exhilarating.

Unfortunately, the kiss did have to come to an end at some point. Even so, the warm fluttering in your stomach never ceased. Bellamy had pulled away first, his hands gently falling from your jaw and back into his lap. He was looking at you and at first, you were afraid he would get up and leave, or tell you he had changed his mind. But he didn't. A smile crept across his lips—not a self-satisfied smirk or a tantalising grin, but a genuine smile.

Forget the butterflies; your stomach was doing somersaults now. He found your hand once more and interlocked it with his own in your lap. His thumb drew small circles on the side of your palm almost as if he knew you needed a reminder that this moment was really happening.

"That was my first kiss," you admitted.

His smile became a little nervous. "Was it okay?"

Was it okay? This boy was a little clueless if he couldn't tell that you thoroughly enjoyed having his lips on yours. So, you answered him with another soft peck to his lips, then pulled back again to see his reaction. He chuckled, nodding his head to say he understood.

"We can always come out here to practice if you want," he said, this time with a smirk.

You laughed. "I think that's a good idea."

He tucked a lock behind your ear and gently brushed pieces of hair away from your face. You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks, turning them a rosy pink. Well, it was probably more of a violet hue due to the intense blue glow from the plants and butterflies. Either way, it still revealed how nervous he made you feel.

"It's getting late. We should probably head back and sleep," you said. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, creating his own little innuendo with your words and your eyes widened. "Not together! Alone, I mean. In separate tents. With clothes... on..." you trailed off, realising you were only digging yourself a deeper hole.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment.

He just chuckled and rose to his feet. "Come on, (L/N). Let's go sleep."

You rolled your eyes with a smile as he helped you stand up with him.

For a brief moment, you gave the area one last look, imprinting the memory into your mind. Who could have guessed that when you left the camp walls you would enter a fairy tale of vivid colours and electric butterflies? Or, even more surprising, that Bellamy Blake would later confess his feelings for you? All you had wanted was an escape; instead, you got a dream come true.

Bellamy pressed a hand to your lower back, guiding you with him towards the tree line in comfortable silence.

The walk back to the drop ship was pretty quiet. No more words needed to be said; a conversation that clarified what you two were now could wait for tomorrow when your brains weren't clouded by fatigue and the fresh excitement from confession. Some things hadn't changed though. Bellamy still stole glances at you every now and then, as you did him, earning a nervous smile and blush each time either of you got caught. Your hands alternated from brushing against one another to ever-so-slightly linking pinkies.

Okay, maybe things had changed a little.

You passed each flower that had led you to the meadow and this time, they became less and less as you grew closer to the drop ship. As you came up on the camp walls, the sound of fighting and conversations had died down and was replaced by the faint crackling of dying fires.

Finally, you both stepped through one of the openings and were within the camp. There didn't seem to be anyone awake; with the way the moon was shining down straight overhead, it was clear why.

Your pinkie fell from Bellamy's and you moved in front of him, taking a few slow steps backwards. "Uh, that's my tent over there," you said, gesturing behind you.

His eyes never left yours as he continued to walk toward you. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh, you know, do you?"

A grin stretched across his lips as he hummed and reached for your waist, pulling you against his body. Your hands wound around his neck, a smile present on your face as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your own. His lips had just brushed against your own when someone behind you cleared their throat and you both jumped apart.

Bellamy peered beside your head, semi-glaring at the interrupter behind you.

What a surprise it was when you turned around to see Roma, arms crossed—clothes on, thankfully—and looking severely unhappy.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said with a scowl.

Perfect. Great. Absolutely fantastic. Looks like her field day had come early.

No way. You were too tired to deal with this. You gave Bellamy an apologetic glance before attempting to slip away through the gaps between tents. Unfortunately, it wasn't in Roma's best interest to let you off so easily. She caught your wrist and jerked you back toward her.

Bellamy looked like he was about to step in, but you beat him to it.

You tore your wrist from her grasp, words dripping with bitterness as you said, "Never do that again."

For a split second, she looked the slightest bit intimidated, but then quickly covered it up with disdain. Her gaze flickered from you to Bellamy; it was hard to miss the way she straightened her posture and tried to look more presentable for him.

And for a split second of your own, you felt the slightest twinge of fear that Bellamy would change his mind about you and leave with her again. But at that very same moment, he gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to his side, dissipating all your previous worries.

Both you and Roma looked down at your interlocked hands in disbelief.

"Listen, Roma." He sighed, sounding like he was desperately trying to keep his cool. "I think it's best if you and Bree find another tent to sleep in from now on."

Her disbelief turned into pure astonishment. "What? Are you serious?"

Bellamy lightly squeezed your hand.

God, he was putting this girl through the five stages of grief. You almost felt bad. Then you remembered the daily torment she had been putting you through just for existing and the remorse immediately washed away.

"Because of her? She's not even—"

"Choose your next words very carefully," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she realised any insult thrown at you would end badly for her. It's not like Bellamy would hurt her, but he did have power over the camp, so he would probably force her to share a tent with Myles or something. His non-stop babbling would drive her to insanity.

She gave him a defiant look. "What if we don't want to leave?"

"I'll take the tent down and move it somewhere else."

"Then Bree and I will make both your lives a living Hell."

You could hear Bellamy suppress a laugh. "Unlikely," he echoed your previous words.

Roma looked to you as if you could help her case—the audacity. You gave her a sarcastic 'what-can-you-do?' shrug which just enhanced her seething temper. It was obvious that she was getting nowhere and the moment she realised, you swore you could see her ego literally deflating.

She made a short high-pitched noise of frustration and spun around, her hair whipping melodramatically through the air as she practically stomped back to Bellamy's tent. You could hear her call out to the other girl inside, telling her to 'pack her shit' and that they were moving tents. Not long after, the blonde-haired girl emerged from the tent flap holding a bundle of clothes. Roma must have explained to her what happened because they both shot a venomous glare in your direction and then walked off in search of another tent.

You sighed in relief as they disappeared out of sight. You were about to walk back to your own tent, but Bellamy tugged you back to him once more, his arms wrapping around your torso as your hands fell on his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought she'd handle it better."

You fiddled with the material of his shirt, half-smiling. "I told you she was a gem."

"Yeah." He chuckled. "My taste of women has been a little... questionable."

Your hands moved up to his shoulders, pulling your body up against his. His fingertips grazed the exposed skin of your waist, sending a wave of goosebumps across your body.

"You should really try breaking that trend."

He had that same intense look in his eye as when you were both in the meadow. This time it didn't hold any sadness or longing, but rather a sense of finality and affection, like his greatest wish had finally come true—that would make two of you. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb as his face grew closer to yours.

The heart thumping in your chest almost gave out as you reflexively leaned further into his warm embrace.

"I already have," he murmured before his soft lips descended upon yours.

And the butterflies returned.

#yes roma is a warning #wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake #bellamy x clarke #bellarke #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake x reader #bellamyblake #the100edit #the 100 #bellarke fanfiction #bob morley smut #bob morley #bellamy blake x oc #bellamy blake x y/n

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ruwriteshours · 8 months

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CHASING PAVEMENTS (PART I) 𓇼 (P.JS)

✎ PAIRING: park jisung x fem! reader

✎ GENRE: angst, smut, brother's best friend trope

✎ WARNING: !!sexual content!! (minors dni) fwb relationship, jisung is slightly an asshole, reader is naive, ambiguous ending, might do a part two???

✎ SUMMARY: In which jisung's derived thoughts leads him to an unlikely arrangement with chenle's sister, where he fucks up (quite literally) when he realises how deep in the feels he has for the girl he is suppose to show disinterest to, in honour of 'BRO CODE'.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: since a few of you guys voted for jisung fic, here it is! it def took longer than i expected but i hope you like this one! <3

part two

PARK JISUNG HAD NO BOUNDARIES.

A man with desired sexual hormones isn't one to back down on steamy hook-up sessions, especially ones which are deemed promising. However, he didn't exactly knew how to draw the line when he began banging his best friend's sister.

(He thanked the heavens that Chenle had gone out that night to not witness the sinister act.)

But to be fair, the male didn't exactly plan to go black-out drunk at their usual dorm party on that particular Saturday night just to wake up naked with his best friend's sister on his side of the bed.

Especially since it's the same girl who had a thing for the said boy since their childhood, so much so that it was excrutiating for Jisung to watch her poor attempts at making a move on him. Even Chenle was used to it and was completely fine with your lovesick crush for his best friend, from the way you would stutter around the boy or the fact you used to give him flowers every Valentine's day, knowing deep down that your little feelings would fade away eventually.

But now, it's different because it's no longer a one-sided pining from you, rather a completely mutual friends-with-benefits situation. Though, it's far fetch to consider you and Jisung to be friends. He was always disinterested in you and even with this new arrangement, he only seemed content with finding a buddy he could released his pent-up sexual frustations with. Despite this, Jisung wouldn't initiate anything other than sex, making it clear that his intention with you is strictly for his selfish desires. His dirty little secret to be kept from Chenle.

You, on the other hand, couldn't be more happy than to pass up the only opportunity to be closer to Jisung. It was silly for you to expect anything more, but this was better than nothing. Jisung had fuck boy tendecies, it was nearly impossible for you to make him stay committed. However, a part of you was determined to make him fall for you.

No matter how wrong it was, it seemed that both of you can't get enough of each other.

Which is how Jisung ended up in your dorm room on Wednesday night, currently his cock buried deep inside of you as you suppress your moans. His hand digging your inner thighs as he lift you up to get a better angle, half of your body up in the air.

Grunting in frustation, his hair glued to his forehead from the layers of sweat. Rounds and rounds of endless pleasure. You could tell his anger that was built up a moment ago, was slowly dissipitating from the way his thrust begins to slow down, pausing briefly to brush the strands of his hair back. The view making you squeeze around him tighter.

"S-Shit. Do that again." He demanded, his hand coming up to grab onto your tits harshly as he pushed himself further inside you.

Squeezing once again, you made an attempt to wrap your hands around his neck only to have it shoved aside. His hands clutching your wrist to prevent you from touching him.

"I'm close!" You mewled, hip trusting against his as you made an attempt to inch closer towards him— if that was even possible.

"Me too!" He groaned.

With one powerful thrust, the both of you reached the awaiting orgasm. His breath close to your face as you stared into his eyes, entranced with the way he looks. Biting your lips, you lean in for a kiss only to have his warmth ripped away from you. Standing up to get himself dressed, much to your disappointment.

"You're leaving, already." You asked, not wanting to sound too desperate.

The male could only give a brief nod, "Yup, I have to get back before Chenle suspects something's up."

But you knew it was bullshit. Chenle didn't care if his best friend didn't show up to their dorm late at night. It was normal in a college settings. You knew that he was coming up with an excuse to not indulge further and as much as that should give you a blaring warning in your ears, you were still as stubborn as ever.

"Okay! Get back safely." You said cheerily, watching as he quickly buttons up his shirt.

Getting nothing but a hum of acknowledgement as he made his way out of your dorm, not even glancing back.

Laying down on your dishelved bed, you could only have the same feeling of regret wash over you. You wonder why you would let yourself seek love from someone who clearly could not care less about you. It had been four months of never-ending sneaky hook ups and there was still no hope that he was semi into you. You were stupid for thinking like a child.

Perhaps, you could let this go once again.

Again.

WEEK ONE.

Sitting from afar, you watch in subtlety at the disgustingly appaling view from a couple feet away. There stood, Jisung smiling with such admiration towards NingNing, a girl whom he was talking to. Her giggles echoed through the cafeteria as his friends were teasing him from the side. The sight of the sweet interaction made your heart clench, ultimately feeling defeated as you had once again expected too much of Jisung to reciprocate his feelings.

Too indulged in your thoughts, you didn't bother taking notice of the pity looks you were received by your friends. Chaeryeong glared at the audacious boy while Yunjin patted your shoulder comfortingly.

"You should move on." Yunjin mumbled.

"Yeah, you deserve way better." Chaeryeong chimed in.

You could only offer a meek shrug, "It's probably nothing, guys."

But even your own voice couldn't believe the words, knowing well enough that it was hopeless to string onto a thread that was never held onto on the other end.

It was evident from your persistence that you were determined to hold onto the shred of hope that maybe, just maybe it could work. That those years of pinning would be worth it.

"You know the guy from Econ is totally into you." Yunjin spoke up, redirecting the topic.

You perked up but remained an uninterested expression.

"Oh, come on. I'm not asking you to fuck him or anything." She said. "Maybe try get to know him, he's really sweet."

"Are you talking about that guy that helped her carry her stuff to class." Chaeryeong voice raised excitedly.

"Seungmin? He's nice to everyone." You justified, dismissing your friend's exaggerated story.

"But he's more nicer to you." Yunjin rebutted, earning an agreement nod from your red-haired friend.

"And I may or may not have heard him talking to Hyunjin about wanting your number." She added.

You scoffed playfully, "Thanks but no thanks. The last thing I need is another migraine from boys."

That was the end of the conversation. Luckily, your friends didn't push you further, allowing the three of you to eat in peace before the bell rang.

Bidding 'goodbyes' to each other as you parted ways to your assigned schedule. In some twisted way, you were glad that you were sharing this one particular class with Jisung. Both of you having similar major. Feeling the excitement rush through you as you made your way to the class. Students swarming in, looking for seats as you watched around in hopes of spotting the black haired boy.

To your luck, he was seated near the window with an empty seat beside him. In queue, you made a beeline towards his direction, only to have another bag placed itself against the wooden desk. Slightly flinching from the sudden intrusion, you looked up and saw the same girl at the cafeteria. Her sun-kissed face contorted into confusion.

"Oh, did you plan sitting here?" NingNing removed her stuff, "I can mo-"

"No!" Jisung interrupted abruptly, standing up to hold onto her wrist. "Sit here."

You couldn't help but watch with dull eyes as Jisung completely ignored your presence. His eyes gazing onto the girl as both of them shared a look of something that held a cruelly familiarity; a look of mutual liking.

"I-It's okay, I can find another seat." You stuttered, turning around quickly and grab onto a chair that was available and plopping down on it without looking back.

Biting back your tears, you didn't notice that the whole interaction was being observed by your classmate. Some whispered among themselves while others ignored it as if it was some normal occurence. You didn't have shame left to be bothered by their comment.

It wasn't news that your crush for Jisung was evident. Everyone knew, and you didn't bother to hide it because you were happy to admit it. You would broadcast to the whole street for your undying love for the boy and not a glimpse of embarassment would overcome you. However, Jisung would only continue to ignore you, of course, only on the outside. Afterall, it would ruin his pride for the class to know what he did to his best friend's sister behind close doors.

Staring distractedly at your unwritten paper, it was as if today wasn't one of your best when your lecturer had called you out, waiting for your answer.

Gulping nervously as you looked around to see students watching you, wanting nothing more than to burn a hole through the ground.

Just as you were about to utter your response, a hand swiftly moved a piece of paper towards your table, giving you a chance to catch the answer, making you read it aloud.

Your lecturer gave you stern look, as if reprimanding you before moving on to the next portion of the lesson. You sigh in relief, turning your head to the side to thank the person who helped you.

Seungmin chuckled at your flustered state, waving off as if it was nothing. He went back to his notes, scribbling down a couple of words before sliding it back to your desk.

'You okay?'

You smiled and began writing down before handing it back to him discreetly.

'I'm good :)'

He stared at the note for a moment before writting down a couple of sentence. You glanced slightly towards him, not wanting to make it obvious and pretended to focus on the lecture. Not a second later, the same yellow note slid itself towards your desk.

'Good enough to give me your no?'

You giggled silently at his bold flirting before deciding to give him your number. It was harmless, anyways. You thoughtlessly scribbled down. Little did you know, your little interaction didn't went unnoticed by the black-haired boy at the back of the class, who had been glaring holes behind you unknowingly. A sudden vision of green clouded his mind, a feeling that he hated deeply.

Jealously.

Pounding furiously against you as you were pressed up against the door to the janitor's closet. The cleaning tools were left scattered on the floor as he kept pushing himself closer to you, his hands snaking itself around your neck making your hips arched towards his cock.

Jisung moaned deliciously at the contact as he began placing love bites down your throat, slowly turning you around only to hoist you up by the thighs. You gasped at the new position, your legs wrapping around his slim waist, his hand coming to find itself in your hands, trapping you completely.

Just as you were about to release, Jisung completely removed himself away from you. His hands made is way to the zipper of his pants as he tidied himself up, you were left shocked as you watched him crossed his arms, as if waiting expectedly.

"Finish yourself for me. I want to see how you make yourself cum." He demanded, his demeanor not changing even for a moment.

You were hesitant with your moves, which only angered the male above you. Grabbing your wrist as he guided it towards your wet cunt, you maoned at the harsh contact before he lets go. His eyes urging you to continue.

If it was any other day, you would have felt shameful but considering he had denied you pleasure, you were more than eager to finish. Quickening the pace on your fingers as you shoved it deeper, scrunching your face in pure bliss, watching the way Jisung eyes were trained onto yours. His hard-on was evident yet he was more focus on the view in front of him, not bothering to fix his big issue.

Just then, the sense of euphoria came and your hand were painted with the colourless liquid. As you were about to wipe away, his hands held yours, stopping you. Inching his face closer to your cum-covered hands, he stuck out his tongue to lick it clean off. Your eyes widened at his actions, not expecting him to act so scandalous.

Once he was done licking like it was some popsicle, he gargled the remaining liquid and swallowed it down as if it was something tasteful, letting out a content sigh. Without saying a word, he left the room to leave you in a confused mess.

WEEK TWO.

Ever since that incident, you were only fueled by the same feeling in your stomach, the heart-fluttering butterflies aching your vulnerable heart. That had been the most intimate he's been and you were only craving more for his affection which, unbeknownst to you, was only the beginning. His texts were now more engaging and he seemed to want to make time whenever he would get. Despite your friend's disapproval, you were blinded by Jisung's false hope. You had even forgotten about Seungmin, ignoring his message on whether you would be available to hang out. All your mind could think of was Jisung.

Only getting disappointment when he would go back to a cycle of ignoring your existence and talk to NingNing on campus.

Oh well, it's a progress at least.

Though that meant that you were playing a very dangerous game when Chenle began suspecting the marks on your neck that were very prominent. Thankfully, he wasn't one to be nosy, passing off insults before walking off.

"Yo, could you stop staring at Jisung." Your brother snapped you out.

You had conveniently left your keys inside your dorm room and your roommate was not able to come back home as she was visiting her parents, which only gave you the only option to bunk in with your brother and his roommates. You would've slept with your friends, if it weren't for the fact that the both of them hadn't been home as well, making plans with their boyfriends. Luckily though, the boys had been kind enough to set up a room for you, which in exchange, meant that they were all sleeping outside to avoid any awkward circumstances. Hours had passed and you were getting bored with their loud cheering in the living room, struggling to tug yourself to sleep, you decide to observe the commotion.

Even without facing your way, his gaze focused on the video game in front of him, he could sense your unbearing stares for his best friend. Chenle groaned when he lost against Jisung, Mark offering the younger a high-five while Haechan cackled at Chenle's frustatated expression.

"Could you like, not be so weird around my friends." Chenle turned towards you, his friends watching you as you blushed deep red, walking off in a rush.

"Your sister's kinda hot." Haechan spoke up, earning a smack from Mark.

"What! It's the truth. Jisung, you're kinda lucky."

Chenle gagged, "Don't make me throw up. She's a nightmare."

"Well, you're saying that 'cause it's your sister. If any one of us has a hot sister, you would've totally went for it."

"I'm not having this sick conversation." Chenle dramatically declared before making his way to the kitchen, Mark following suit to grab a snack.

"You're lying if you're not in the slightest bit interested." Haechan whispered, taking extra precaution despite being away from their earshot.

"Of course not." The younger denied.

"Sure." Haechan's voice dragged on, indicating that he wasn't convinced. "So you wouldn't be bothered if she was talking to someone else, right."

Haechan provoked, smirking when he noticed that Jisung's hand tightened around the console. Despite his calm appearance, the older knew he was bothered by that thought.

"Less of a headache for me then." Jisung focused his gaze on the screen, not wanting to give Haechan the attention.

The older, of course, didn't like that. "So, if Seungmin were to make a move on her. You would be fine."

"No!" He blurted out.

That was when he could see the older's smugness through the screen, backtracking himself. "I mean— yes, I don't care! Why are you so worked up over this." He accused trying to keep the facade that was already cracked.

"Yeah, like I'm the one with the beet red face." Haechan fired back, finding humour in his reaction, happy that he has successfully got through him. "Dude, you know Chenle would be okay with it, right?"

"Shut up!"

Jisung rolled his eyes before throwing his console towards the older, facing the screen in a attempt to cover up his embarassed face. His heart accelerating from getting caught by a loudmouth like Haechan.

Luckily his embarassment was cut off short when Chenle and Mark came back in with snacks on their hand.

"So, you guys going to Sunwoo's party next Friday." Mark munched on his chips.

The sudden silence as the group checked their schedule.

1:56 am

"Oh, shit! We should probably stop soon."

"Yeah, soon!" Haechan mumbled, too engrossed in his game.

"But you guys are going, right?" Mark confirmed.

Earning a collective hum before the four of them went back to their video game, reminding themselves that it was only one game and that they would go to sleep afterwards.

Newsflash: It wasn't one round of gaming.

Which is why the three of them ended up being knocked up in the couch, Mark's loud snoring annoyed Jisung as he twisted his body back and forth, groaning when he realised he couldn't sleep.

Suddenly, a devious plan came to mind. Removing the blanket off of him, he tip-toed towards the closed door. Luckily, you were still wide awake, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. You perked up when you heard the sound of the door opening, Jisung's head peeking in. Stepping inside, you knew what he was in for...

Morning soon kicked in, rubbing your eyes. You wrapped the blanket around your bare body tightly, looking to the side to find Jisung no longer by your side. Groaning from the slight ache, you made your way to the bathroom, which was thankfully connected to the room, sparing you the intrusion.

All of your classes were in the afternoon, which gave you time to prepare breakfast. It didn't take long for you to find some ingredients, which was thankfully, not expired, knowing how lazy Chenle would get in cleaning up his stuff. The smell of freshly cooked pancakes awakened the boys. Yawning aloud as they sat down, as if awaiting for their meal. You rolled their eyes before setting a stack in front of them.

"Mm, you're the best." Haechan moaned dramatically, taking a bite. Mark humming in agreement.

"Don't you guys brush your teeth?" You asked in disgust, ignoring his compliment.

"We usually brush after."

"Gross."

A noise of protest erupt, which made you laugh. Just as you were about to make another one, in came Jisung. The last to be awake.

"Ji, come try this. She's such a good cook!" Haechan praised.

"It's just pancake." You humbled yourself.

"Yeah, you can chill out. This taste like ass." Chenle called out, which made you glare at your brother.

"Well, give me then!" You held your hand out.

Chenle only took the plate further from your reach, sticking his tongue out in mockery. Annoyed, you grabbed the spatula and whacked him across the face. Mark and Haechan laughed as Chenle began to chase you around, threatening you with a string of profanities escaping his mouth. You retaliated further by shoving him away. The sight of bickering between the siblings made Jisung smile, finding you adorable... wait, what?

"No thanks." He mumbled, quickly changing his mood back before you noticed.

"Oh, by the way, you should check your phone. NingNing's been texting you." Mark informed.

You tensed at the mention of the girl, pausing you actions briefly.

"Oh, right. I'll check it later." He said dismissively.

"So, what's your status with her?" Chenle asked, panting slightly from exhaustion.

You pretended to busy yourself in the sink, tuning in into their conversation without making it obvious.

"I don't know." He replied dryly.

"Oh, come on. She probably likes you, you've been pinning her since, what, last year?" Mark prodded.

You didn't want to hear the rest as you quickly excused yourself, telling them you had to meet your friends. Grabbing your stuff as you dashed out, in a hurry.

"Dude, we totally forgot your sister likes Ji. Oh, she's gonna be crushed." Haechan pointed out, his eyes widened comically as he pointed at the younger.

Chenle was the one to speak up, shrugging, "Who cares? She'll get over it." Chenle patted Jisung's shoulder, "Besides, we should be more worried about helping him ask the hottest chick out."

Jisung awkwardly chuckled.

"Right."

The day passed by unusually fast and Jisung still hasn't gotten a text from you. Don't get him wrong, he hated when you would get too clingy and risk the both of you getting caught but you would have usually been online by the time he opened his messaging app. It was rather impressive that you would be able to know the perfect moment to predict when he would text you. However, this time, Jisung saw that you were active three hours ago. He didn't think too much of it and switched off his phone, redirecting his attention back onto the lecture. Passing by the day as per normal.

Little did he know, that you were sulking on the other side of campus. Chaeryeong and Yunjin sitting on either side of you as you began to overthink.

"I thought we were doing okay." You mumbled, pulling your hair out in frustation.

"It's not you. You know what Jisung is like, you can't blame yourself." Chaeryeong scolded.

Just then, you watched as NingNing made her way towards campus. Her head hung low as she was focused on her phone. You could see her smile brightly, indicating that she was probably texting someone. For some reason you knew exactly who it was from how giddy she was acting. A part of you felt guilty for being selfish.

"Do you guys think I should really move on?" You asked meekly.

The both of them shot you a deadpanned look, as if ridiculing you for asking a dumb question. But the they didn't get to answer when you sat up straight, as if a lightbulb appeared on your head. "You know what?" You stood up, "I am going to move on!"

"Really?" Yunjin asked excitedly, standing up as well.

"Yes! Afterall, he only arranged this ordeal to get over his one sided crush." You waved off.

"What!" Both of them yelled in unison. "Yeah," You shrugged as if it was nothing. "He even moaned the wrong name in bed but that's besides the point."

"And you're only telling us this now?!"

You looked confused, "I thought I told you guys already."

"Uh, no you didn't. You said you guys hooked up accidentally and that's what made him want to do it again." Grabbing your shoulders, shaking them vigorously as if she was trying to wake you up, "You didn't tell us he was blatantly using you as a rebound." Yunjin said in fury, having been shocked by the sudden discovery. Chaeryeong, on the other hand wanted to punch the boy whenever he is on sight now.

"I mean, at least he got what he wanted now." You smiled, "It's totally fine, I should be happy for him."

Your friends looked at you in pity as you try to remain cheerful, not wanting to break down.

"I say we should forget about him completely."

WEEK THREE.

A few days went by and you were out hanging with your friends. Though, it would be a lie to say you weren't tempted when Jisung were to text you. It has been days without your usual sessions but he wouldn't really push the matter further, making you think that he didn't really care. In fact, you swore you saw him walking with NingNing on campus the other day. That thought had lessened the heartbreak and you soon got better at ignoring him completely.

Little did you know that Jisung began to worry about your absence. Growing more annoyed when you refuse to look at him whenever the both of you crossed paths in the hallway, even when you shared the same class, you weren't as eager to sit beside him. In fact, choosing a seat that was far from where he could see you. But in Jisung's classic way of dealing things, he ignored it, thinking that he might be exaggerating and that you were probably busy, opting to wait for you to approach him. Like you've always have.

Which was why you were fine with going to a party with your friends, knowing that if Jisung were there, he wouldn't even make an attempt to be near you.

But boy, were you wrong.

To say you were uncomfortable was an understatement, but to be fair, you hadn't had the best experience with parties. The first time you had gotten black-out drunk that you threw up all over Yunjin (you apologised later on, of course) and was forced to go back home earlier, with a massive hangover the next day. The next couple of times were consists of awkward mingling, considering you weren't one to be social. You vow to never attend a party ever again. Of course, until a few circumstances had changed.

Now, here you are, standing awkwardly while your friends were having the time of their lives. They were quite experience with the whole lifestyle, while you, on the other hand, just watched with a forced smile and they greet other college students. The liquid in the red solo cup was left untouched in your hands.

Walking through the crowds, you had lost your path with your friends, leaving you alone. As you frantically look around you, a hand clasped onto your shoulder. Turning around, you saw a beaming Seungmin.

"Didn't know you'd be here."

"Never really thought this through." You laughed awkwardly, "I didn't know why I bothered coming here."

"Parties are not your thing, huh?" He concluded, grabbing your hand as the both of you went to a more quieter area.

You didn't answer because if was fairly obvious, instead asking him back. He looked away before giving you a cheeky smile, "My friend dragged me here."

"The one making out with that girl." You pointed, watching his blonde-haired friend, Hyunjin, getting handsy.

"Yup. That's him." He scratched his head.

A moment of silence takes place before you decided to speak up, "I'm sorry for ghosting you, by the way."

He perked up, "It's alright."

"No, I'm serious. An asshole move on my part."

"Well, I can't blame you. You seemed pretty smitten with Jisung." He said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Yeah." You admitted, "But I'm over him now, well— in the process of."

He smiled, "Finally finding dignity for yourself, huh?"

"Hey!" You hit his arm, taking an offense at his words.

His laughter fueled in your anger but you soon find humour as you too, laughed along with him. And just like that, you spent the whole party talking to Seungmin.

That view alone made both of you appear to look like a couple, which was harmless. But in Jisung's eyes, it is deemed as a threat. Having had arrived an hour prior to the party, his gaze like a hawk as he eyed the both of you laughing away, ignoring Chenle's ranting.

"What have you been staring at?" Chenle moved his head towards the male, trying to match his view.

Just as Chenle eye's landed on your figure, he hummed in amusement, "Guess she finally got over you."

He joked, patting the male. But Jisung couldn't pick up on his words, not when he was fuming in anger.

Luckily though, Chenle got distracted by Haechan calling out to him, which served as a great escape for him to march towards you.

"You want to go outside?" He heard the voice of the sickening male, Seungmin's hands carressing your arms.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take you away.

Which was what happened, because the next thing you could register was a sudden pull on the arm, dragging you away. It happened to quickly that not even Seungmin could utter in protest, which resulted you getting sucked into the mysterious hand. You didn't put up a fight though, knowing deep down the hand that it belongs to.

You sigh, getting tired of Jisung's mixed signals and wanting nothing more than to end the madness once and for all.

He pushed you towards an empty room before making his way in, locking the door while he slammed it shut. His back was turned towards you and you could only let out a grumble of complaint.

"So you dragged me here to give me the silent treatment." You provoked, "If you want to fuck me, just get it done and over with."

He turned around, facing you with eyes you could never read. Jisung was hard to understand and you couldn't figure out what he was thinking at the moment.

"That's not what I want to do."

"Then what is it, surely it isn't to talk. We never talk anyways, we just fuck." You scoffed, "So, try again." You scoffed, taking a step towards him.

He grabbed his hair in frusatation, "I don't know— fuck! I don't know, okay!"

"No! It's not okay because I'm sick of you treating me like a side piece. You got yourself a girlfriend now so why the hell are you still with me!" You yelled out.

"Because I like you too!" He blurted.

You widened your eyes at the sudden confession. "I like you, okay? I always have since we were kids too and I got scared so I tried to get over you by talking to her. I didn't realise how far I have gotten."

You shook your head, "Well, that's the thing. You don't think, you just do. I have made it clear from the start about my feelings but you just use it against me to fuck! You have never liked me so don't you dare fucking lie to me!"

"I'm not lying." He took a step forward, which only made you back away in disgust.

He didn't made an attempt afterwards, his eyes pleading as he watched you shuffle away.

"Well, isn't that a fucking useful information." Your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fuck me then."

"What."

"You heard me, I said. Fuck. Me."

For the first time, it felt that you had the upper-hand. From the way Jisung seem to be more intimidated by your voice. You wanted him to feel the pain that you felt. Used like how he used you. You wanted to get back at him.

"If you don't, I'll leave."

That seemed to set a fire alarm in his ears because he was quick on his feet. His hand coming up to harshly grip onto your shirt to pull it off. You obliged, moving your hand to his neck to wrap it around his neck. With a quick tug, you pulled Jisung onto the bed, his back landed on the soft matress as you straddled his hips.

He groaned when you hastily reached his zipper, pulling down his cock. which slapped against his stomach in an instant. Veiny and red.

He was about to lean in for a kiss before you covered his lips, pouting slightly at your refusal. A smirk played on your lips as you whispered against his ear. "It doesn't feel nice, does it?"

He was about to utter your name when you began pumping his length harshly, causing him to let out loud moans.

"How pathetic, I haven't even started putting my pussy inside." You mocked.

Sliding your panties to the side, you guided his hardened cock towards your wet slick, quickly slammed your hips against him once it was slid in smoothly. Both of you moan at the contact.

Bouncing against him with such speed, you could only struggle to let out few whimpers as he held tightly onto your hips, urging you to move faster.

You could tell he was nearing from the way his grip tightened. You were sure that it would leave bruises the next day. However, that was the least of your worries as you removed yourself away from him. He groaned in frustation at the sudden loss of contact.

"Why did yo— ah!" He was interrupted when you began sucking him without warning. His noises began to grow increasingly louder, which only made you shove your throat deeper, determined to take him in completely.

He moaned aloud your name in ecstasy, finally being able to release. His load painting your mouth as you swallow it clean.

He was panting from the pure bliss, having had one of the best blow jobs he had ever gotten.

He watched as you began to clean yourself up, slowly putting on your clothes. "Wait— where are you going?" He asked, grabbing your arm to stop you.

"We're done here." You said coldly.

"But—"

"You got what you wanted. I hope you're happy so don't ever contact me again." You began, making your way towards the door.

"Consider this our last session."

And with that, Jisung was left shock. Sitting alone in a stranger's bed as he was left defeated with the fact that you were never going to feel the same way for him again.

He knew he had fucked up. Badly.

©ruwriteshours

#park jisung #park jisung imagines #park jisung smut #park jisung fanfic #jisung smut #nct smut #nct fanfic #nct dream smut #nct dream imagine #nct x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #park jisung fluff #jisung fluff #nct dream fanfic

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seancekitsch · 18 days

Note

Hazbin Hotel—Lucifer x Reader where he’s a love struck fool for reader? May or may not be inspired by that little imagine you posted not too long ago \(//∇//)\

uhhh this kinda got away from me. enjoy!!

You’d have to be a fool not to notice how the King of Hell acts around you, even Angel and Husk told you that. But you’re not blinded to situation, you know exactly what’s going on. You rest your elbow on the bar next to Angel as Charlie gathers the hotel residents and staff, a job not unlike herding cats. Everyone trickles in slowly, waiting for the next odd trust bond activity Charlie has come up with now. Last week was heartfelt letter writing, and the three of you at the bar had not taken it seriously. You handed Husk a comedic inner monologue about how much you needed to pee, Husk handed Angel a surprisingly detailed made up story about a talking whisky bottle, and Angel handed you a list of what roles he’d cast the entire hotel in a porno.

“What do you think they’ll have us do this time?” Husk mumbles to you, topping off your drink.

“Honestly, not a fan of the way Princess is smiling right now,” you answer.

Charlie waves everyone over, and Vaggie smiles uncomfortably, ready for everyone to start.

“Okay Good Afternoon,” Charlie starts, practically bouncing, “Today we’re going to try to form new bonds!”

Immediately, she’s met with groaning and mumbling, but thats never stopped her and it won’t today either.

“So what better way to do that then having a buddy for the next twenty four hours!” She shouts, and Vaggie’s face immediately makes sense.

“I’ve separated everyone from their regular group so they can build these bonds and be open!”

“…got something you could open…” you hear Angel mumble under his breath.

Charlie gives her dad a thumbs up.

“The first pairing is… my dad and Y/n!”

The Morningstar family sucks at being subtle or lying.

“So what did you have planned for the day?” Lucifer asks while sitting beside you, his voice short and clipped, his entire demeanor like he’s on high alert. It’s cute, really.

“Ah don’t worry about it,” you shrug, “What does the areat King of Hell do with his day?”

Lucifer rubs his neck, fidgeting under your question.

“It’s not… Its not actually all that interesting,” he admits, “You’ve probably got something cooler going on.”

There’s something he’s avoiding besides your gaze, but you don’t press the issue.

You look across the lobby to Angel, who pauses his conversation with Vaggie to mouth something that looked like the word “fart” to you, and then wink.

Your art gallery. Right.

“Have you ever been to Pentagram City’s biggest art gallery?” you ask him.

Lucifer is a gentleman. You understand how he stole the first man’s first two wives from him. Sure, he’s stumbling and stuttering and a nervous wreck, but he’s holding doors open for you and asking about your thoughts and feelings about the pieces on display, he’s accidentally on purpose almost held your hand three times now. Next time he does it, you’re just going to grab his damn hand.

You stare at the sculpture in front of you, noting that you should have someone move this to a different room. In fact, there’s a few things you’ve noticed while showing Lucifer the art that you should have moved around. Maybe you’ve been neglecting the gallery a bit more than you thought now that you live at the hotel.

“Hey, Can I ask you about these?” Lucifer’s voice booms from the next room over. Sighing, you type a quick note into your V-Phone and turn.

Oh shit.

Lucifer found THAT room.

You cross the threshold into the room you never go into, the room with your own work. Honestly, it’s not even curated the way the other rooms and floors are. This is where you put anything that you think can leave your studio. He’s in front of one of your biggest paintings, and one of your newest. It’s an abstract piece about your feelings about redemption, about your past sins, about adjusting to the hotel. Which it sounds stupid when you put it like that, but it made sense in the moment and you’re proud of it.

He turns and smiles before looking back at the painting.

“Is the uh, is the artist willing to sell this piece?” he asks, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red.

Now it’s your turn to get nervous. You’ve never actually sold any of your own pieces before.

“I uh- I’m not gonna sell it to you,” you tell him, “You can have it.”

It would be weird to take money from Lucifer, even if he is offering. You like him a decent amount and a transaction between the two of you would make it weird. It would feel like you owe him, even though your art would technically satisfy that. If he was one of the Vees or someone you dislike, you would have immediately taken money.

“But the artist-“

“Me,” you clarify, and you finally remember you don’t tag your own art. Lucifer’s jaw drops at your admission.

“I’d really like to support your work, it’s magnificent,” Lucifer insists, and you feel your cheeks burning. He turns to gesture to another piece, and his knuckles brush your own.

Fuck it. You told yourself you’d do it. You grab Lucifer’s hand in your own, a bold move.

“Just think about it as a gift,” you tell him, “A thank you for the lovely day we’ve had.”

You inwardly cringe, knowing that when you recount today at the lobby bar your drinking buddies are going to tear you a new one for that corny line. But it fits for Lucifer; he’s bringing out a side of you that you really haven’t seen in a while.

“Thank you uh, gorgeous,” he tacks on the pet name like even he isn’t sure about it, and with his hand still in yours, attempts to lean against a sculpture, stumbling as he misses it and bringing you along with him. He tugs you by the arm, jerking you closer to him. He’s majorly out of practice.

“I have a studio upstairs if you want to see more?” you offer, not really sure if you thought that through.

“More art? Absolutely!” He recovers quickly, enthusiasm dripping from his voice.

You smile as you pull him towards the hallway, butterflies in your stomach as it dawns on you that he’s going to be the only person besides you to see the studio.

You and Lucifer end up staying there until Charlie calls him the next morning.

You notice paint on his chin after you get back to the hotel.

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader

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bimbobaggins69 · 3 months

Text

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐱 “𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭” 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Three light taps on your window pull you out of the reverie of your favorite romance novel. You can’t help but to clutch your pink nightie closer to your icy skin as you tiptoe across your room and slowly with shaky hands move your curtain to the side to get a good look at who the silhouette belongs to. It’s none other than Steve Harrington, the king of Hawkins high and your bully.

It started about a week ago, you were lucky to get through most of high school with your head down and completely unscathed by the bitchy hierarchy of teenage popularity. That was until Steve who sat behind you in English, noticed that you aced the mid semester test; which cost half your grade.

Since then you’ve been doing all of his book reports for him, you couldn’t deny you didn’t like the attention, even if he did make fun of you for being a prude nerd. So, this last book report you had devised a plan. Steve was always threatening to punish you and you wanted to see if he’d follow through with said threats, which left you to purposely bomb it.

You slowly lift your window, letting the cool air and the chirps from the crickets fill your room. “Hurry up!” Steve pressed, before climbing through rather clumsily. After he fully stood and dusted off his knees, he took a folded paper out of the back of his jean pocket. “What the fuck is this? Huh?” You can’t help the excited chill that runs through your body from his tone.

“What’s what?” You say, feigning innocence as you blink up at him with your biggest doe eyes. You were so close, you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. “Don’t play stupid, me and you both know you’re not.” Steve chides, as his brows furrow down at you. “Why’d you purposely fail my book report, huh? Didn’t I tell you there’d be consequences if you don’t do what I say?” He grits and his jaw tenses before his eyes fall to your tits that are now peaked from the cold, the thin fabric of the nightie isn’t doing the best job at concealing them from the jock.

“I fucking meant it, okay? I’m gonna have to punish you.” His harsh tone doesn’t match the soft touch of his fingers that slide over your clothed nipples. “What do you want me to do, Steve?” You purr up at him as you bat your lashes. “You know how I’m always calling you a prude, baby? Well today’s your lucky day. I’m gonna show you how to suck a cock. Get down on your knees.” Steve demands.

Little did the king of Hawkins high know, you knew how to suck cock; you were experienced in pretty much everything sexual. Thanks to your fuck buddy and drug dealer, Eddie.

But you indulge his delusions by keeping up the innocent virgin act, just for a bit longer.

You quickly pop the button of his jeans and slide the zipper down its track, being met with a pair of tighty whiteys that you assume by the deep flush of his cheeks; he was just remembering he had on. “Cute.” You giggle, making him fist a hand in your hair and pull until a stinging sensation has you whimpering as tears sting your eyes. He finally removes himself from his confines—

His cock is huge, but you show no traces of even acknowledging that fact, last thing king Steve needed was an even bigger ego.

“Open up you fucking brat.” He hisses while his hand still tugs at your tresses. The soft tugs cause you to soak through your panties and leave you eager to rub your needy clit on anything for some relief. “That’s it, good girl.” Steve praises as he rubs his leaking tip across your wet tongue. Your lips finally close around it, before inching down and taking him expertly into the back of your throat. “Holy shit!” He jerks at the unexpected pleasure, as you continue to bob and gag on him. It’s almost too much considering he thought not even two minutes ago that he was going to have to guide you and talk you through it. No fucking way were you a prude virgin like he suspected, he’s been with plenty virgins. Nah, you were a little cock slut and fuck did he love the thought of his own personal whore who milked his cock and did his school work so he could stay the captain of the basketball team.

A deep groan falls from his lips when you begin to fondle his balls while you continue to suck him for all he’s worth. Spit falls onto the carpet below and you’re canting your hips as if a bitch in heat. You take two hands and twist around his shaft as you suck the tip, working him like a fucking pro. You look up at him with tears running down your soft cheeks and hunger in your eyes, and that absolutely does the jock in. You quickly notice the way his thighs shake and his moans grow louder, leaving you to lull your tongue out as you lick at his frenulum and continue twisting your hands around his spit soaked cock, ready to catch all of his warm creamy spend. Steve watches as his come shoots onto your tongue and down your throat, you swallow it all before sticking the pink muscle back out to show him how good of a girl you’d been by swallowing everything he’d so graciously given you.

“You’re a slut.” Steve states, with a blissed out look on his face. “I thought you were a virgin, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t a fucking prude?” He can’t help but smile from just receiving the best blow job of his life. Something about the little innocent girl who he makes do his work, but is actually a secret slut has him feeling possessive and as if he now has to assert some kind of claim over you.

“You didn’t ask.” You shrug as you wipe your chin. “Now can we move this along? The guy that taught me how to give that dynamite blow job will be here soon and I don’t wanna screw up my chances of getting fucked because he finds King Steve in my room.” You hand him his paper and push him back towards your window. “Your- wait what?” He asks in disbelief.

“This was fun, but you have to go. See ya later, Stevie.” Steve moves down your trellis in shock at what had just transpired. There was no way he was letting you go that fast, so when he made it to his car he decided to sit for a few, in order to catch a glimpse of who you were talking about. Just as Steve got comfortable against his leather seat, a beat up van was pulling up to the side of your house. But it wasn’t just any van, no it was Eddie Munsons van.

Well that just won’t do, come tomorrow morning you’re gonna know exactly who you belong to, no matter what Steve has to do in the process.

#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #steve harrington moodboard #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve stranger things #steve x reader

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jupitercomet · 5 months

Text

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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