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geminiwritten · 2 months ago

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punishment ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: after performing an impressive but reckless stunt in front of an admiral, you're sent to be babysat by maverick under the cover of a 'tactical training specialist' which means no one can know just how legendary you are... but hangman isn't playing nice and rooster is too nice to ignore

notes: there are no words in any language (real or fictional) for how much i love this man, it's genuinely consuming... but anyway! have some fighter pilot fun! when i reread this, i felt like it didn't hit the way i hoped, but i can't keep rewriting bradley stuff just because i want everything about him to be perfect... so please be kind! and please, please let me know what you think! i actually worked super hard on this (lots of research) and i absolutely love hearing from y'all!

warnings: swearing, italics, hangman is a proper dick, the word 'cannibalism' is used (as a joke), kind of super cheesy, and it gets a bit horny in some places (no actual smut) so 18+ ONLY please!!! (let me know if i missed anything)

disclaimer: there is a lot more navy / pilot wording in this than i usually write. i do not claim that any of it is accurate or correct. i google things and i watch youtube videos, tv shows, and movies. as long as it sounds like it could make sense, i don't care. but please do not assume any of it is absolute fact, and please don't come for me if it's laughably incorrect or unfeasible.

word count: 13863

The bar smells like leather polish and beer. It sounds like a rowdy dive, full of off-duty naval officers and a few old veterans, but it doesn’t look like a dive. It’s clean and full of light, the sun pouring in through the beachside windows and bouncing off every shiny surface it can find.

You tuck yourself onto the furthest stool at the bar, hiding behind a well-placed pillar to quietly sulk and sip your beer. You’re not interested in conversation today. Not after the ass-whooping you took last week, which landed you on this stupid island in the first place.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out to check the text. It’s from Maverick: “0700 sharp. Don’t be late. Khakis.”

You scoff and stuff it back into the pocket of your leather jacket. Does he really think you’re that dumb? That you’re not going to wear your service khakis on your first day? You’ve got a full day tomorrow of getting chewed out by a whole new slew of admirals. Why would you possibly want to piss them off?

A smirk tugs at your lips, but you quickly hide it behind a sip of beer. Not that it really matters if anyone notices—they’d probably just think you’re a little crazy, smirking to yourself. No one here knows who you are—at least not by looking at you. Except Maverick, of course. Your new babysitter.

Just because you pulled off a high-speed, low-level flyby mere feet from the deck of an aircraft carrier while some snooty admiral and a group of very important people were onboard for a very serious demonstration, you get booted from your squad and strapped with a babysitter.

You didn’t even hit anyone. It was just a very close call. A few people toppled over. But it’s not your fault they didn’t see you coming and brace for jet wash.

It was actually quite an impressive stunt.

But the admiral didn’t see it that way. He sent you to learn from one of the Navy’s most notorious rebels about what happens when you break the rules. You’re still not sure why they stuck you with Maverick. Maybe they’re using the logic of ‘two wrongs make a right.’ Either way, that’s one part of this whole shitshow you’re actually relieved about. Maverick’s not a total stick-up-the-ass.

A voice pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts and back to the bar. “You here alone?”

Your head snaps toward your personal space intruder, bringing you face-to-face with a rather handsome man who is almost definitely too cocky for his own good.

“That your big opener?” you ask, twisting on the stool to face him. “Because it’s giving more serial killer vibes than fuck-me vibes.”

He smirks, unbothered by your prickliness. “Enlighten me, then. What would make you wanna fuck me?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you take a deep swig of beer, then glance back at him. “About fifteen more years of age and a nice, salt-and-pepper beard.” You slide off the stool and smack your empty pint glass down on the bar. “Sorry, pal. I’m only into DILFs.”

He rears back, finally unsettled. You flash your prettiest grin and a wink before heading for the doors.

You almost make it out without looking back—almost.

Glancing over your shoulder, you spot the man rejoining his table of friends, all of them giggling like idiots.

All but one.

He’s got honey-brown hair that curls in the most mesmerising way, catching the sunlight like spun gold. His lips are tipped up at the corner beneath a moustache that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. And when you meet his big brown eyes, you can’t help but bite your lip like a shy little schoolgirl.

Now, if that man had approached you, you’d probably be halfway to his bed by now.

You had your khakis dry-cleaned at the seedy little place next to the equally seedy fish and chip shop you found after sulking at the beach for most of Saturday.

The studio apartment you’re leasing for your three months of punishment is in a block right by the sand—another small win in the grand scheme of things. At least you’re not stuck on base.

You thought it was a small fuck you to the system to skip the official base dry cleaners and take your uniform somewhere else.

But it wasn’t worth it.

Now your khakis are super fucking itchy. They look fine, but every inch of fabric touching you—which is a lot—makes you want to peel your skin off.

“What’s wrong?” Maverick asks, frowning as he watches you twist and turn in your front-row seat in the training room.

You sigh, rubbing your back against the chair. “I took my uniform to a dry cleaner near my apartment. Now it’s fucking itchy.”

Any other CO would rip into you for swearing, but Maverick just chuckles. “Serves you right.”

Smug prick.

You take a deep breath and try to settle, ignoring the prickling fabric scraping against your skin.

“Don’t worry,” he says, shuffling through papers at the desk, “you’ll be in a flight suit soon enough.”

Your eyes widen. You jump to your feet and step closer to where he’s hunched over the desk at the front of the room.

“You’re going to let me fly?”

He chuckles. “Of course.”

“But-”

“I cleared it with Admiral Simpson,” he says, flipping a page. “As long as the squad doesn’t know who you really are, and you don’t pull anything totally reckless, you’re cleared to fly.”

For the first time in two weeks, it feels like you’re finally breaking the surface of the water. “Oh my God. Thank you, Mav.”

He straightens up, finally giving you his full attention. “You don’t have to thank me. I trust you. Just don’t prove me wrong. And for the record—” he adds, a teasing glint in his eye, “—I know you’re a damn good pilot. In fact, you remind me of someone.”

The cheeky grin on his lips is completely readable.

You quirk a brow. “You?”

He laughs—low, light, and smug. “How’d you guess?”

You shrug one shoulder, slipping back into your seat. “Because I know Admiral Cain has it out for you. Why else would he saddle you with me if not to punish both of us?”

Maverick sighs, but the grin stays on his face. “You’re not stupid, I’ll give you that. But you’re dangerous. And honestly, I’m not sure Admiral Cain really thought through what happens when you throw two dangerous people together.”

You drop your voice low, just in case anyone else is listening. “Maybe Admiral Cain is the stupid one. Underestimating both of us.”

Maverick tries—and fails—to hide his laughter behind the stack of papers, and you realize that maybe this punishment won’t be quite as punishing as you first thought.

A few minutes later—and after completely shattering all professional boundaries by getting Maverick to scratch a spot on your back you couldn’t reach—the aviators who make up his special detachment start to arrive.

You stay low and still in your seat as they file in, one by one, filling up the rows while Maverick stands grinning at the front of the room. Two aviators across the aisle glance at you curiously, like they almost recognize you. God, you hope not.

“Good morning,” Maverick says, grinning at the room. “Apologies for the late start. I had a meeting with Admiral Simpson this morning because today..." He glances at you and nods for you to stand. “We have someone new joining us.”

You plaster on a polite smile and scan the room—only to freeze when your eyes land on a familiar face. The guy who approached you at the bar last night. The one you all but told to fuck off.

A snort of laughter escapes before you can stop it.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, his face turning redder by the second. You almost feel bad. Almost.

“This is our new tactical training specialist,” Maverick continues, oblivious. But then he hesitates, glancing down at his paperwork before looking back up and saying your name—your first name, not your last, and definitely not your callsign.

Just like Admiral Simpson ordered. No one can know who you really are.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get stuck when your gaze drifts a few seats over... and lands on the moustached sex god you locked eyes with across the bar before you left. The one you shamelessly eye-fucked before blushing like a fool, ducking out the door, and mentally writing a very detailed fantasy about that moustache between your legs.

He’s even hotter in a flight suit. Shit.

“Uh, anyway,” Maverick says, clearing his throat, “let’s get on with the briefing so we can fly.”

You sink back into your chair, cheeks burning and heart thudding way too fast against your ribs.

Maverick drawls on about a few mission updates, occasionally throwing in extra context just for you—over-explaining like you hadn’t already gotten the full briefing before being flown in. You’re still too stunned to speak—or correct him—so you just press your lips together and nod along.

An hour later, when you’ve almost completely forgotten about your itchy khakis, Maverick dismisses the group and tells them to meet Hondo in the hangar. He calls on the woman seated across the aisle from you—Phoenix—before she can leave with the others, and asks her to show you to the women’s locker room.

She nods, then turns to you with a small smirk. “It's Natasha, by the way. Feels a little weird calling you by your real name if you don’t know mine.”

You return the smile—genuine this time—and keep your eyes on her instead of following the sex god in a flight suit walking out the door. “Nice to meet you.”

She leads the way out, and you follow, assuming she's heading toward the locker rooms.

“So, you fly?” she asks, nodding at the shiny wings pinned to your chest.

You nod. “Yep.”

“Where were you before this?”

You hesitate, wishing you’d hashed out a backstory with Mav. “Uh… around. It’s… mostly classified.”

She raises an eyebrow, sharp curiosity gleaming in her big brown eyes. “Or you've been ordered not to tell us.”

You snort softly. “Yeah, something like that.”

She guides you down a set of stairs and a short hallway before gesturing toward the women’s locker room. “Just in there. If they’ve assigned you a locker, your flight suit should already be inside.”

“Thanks, Phoenix.”

“Anytime.” She turns to go, but pauses, casting one last curious glance your way before smiling, nodding, and walking off.

You like her. No bullshit.

With a deep breath, you push the door open and step into the locker room. Sure enough, your flight suit is hanging beside a locker with your first name written in Sharpie on a piece of masking tape slapped across the front. It’s strange, seeing that instead of your callsign—but it confirms that Admiral Simpson is serious about keeping your identity buried.

You’d heard your little stunt had made waves, but halfway across the country? If they’re hiding your name out here, then yeah—no wonder you’re in trouble.

Your flight suit doesn’t have your name on it, either. Just a worn Velcro patch that reads ‘INSTRUCTOR’—the kind that looks like it’s been passed around longer than you’ve been in the Navy. Lovely.

You peel off your khakis, relieved to shove the itchy green material into your locker, and slip your legs into your flight suit. You leave the top half hanging loose as you re-lace your boots and check your reflection in the mirror before heading out of the locker room.

You turn down the hall without a second glance, awkwardly trying to shove your arms into your suit—only to carelessly bump into someone coming from the opposite direction.

“Shit, sorry, I-” You choke on your words when you look up at the prettiest damn smirk you’ve ever seen.

“You’re good,” he says—the moustached sex god. “Need a hand?”

Normally, no. But right now, your traitorous body is practically catatonic, pretending it’s forgotten how to function just so the sexy man will help you into your flight suit. You’re supposed to be a tactical training specialist, not an inept fool who can’t dress herself.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” you say, ignoring the screaming voice of feminism in your head. “I don’t know how I got so twisted up.”

He chuckles—deep and warm, like smoke curling around you, pulling you closer.

“I’m Bradley, by the way,” he says as he steps behind you. “Or Rooster.”

Your brain completely short-circuits. You don't even think to respond as his fingertips brush your bare arms, sliding the suit up over your shoulders. Even through your thin t-shirt, the heat of his touch sends a riot of butterflies through your stomach.

“Thanks.” You turn to face him, digging deep for the confidence that usually fools people into thinking you’re calm and collected. “I might need your number… in case I need a little help undressing later.”

His face breaks into the most breathtaking grin you’ve ever seen. His cheeks flush pink, his Adam’s apple bobs with a soft chuckle, and when his brown eyes meet yours again, they sparkle so brightly you forget how to breathe.

“Before I say yes, I need to know… do you usually ask your trainees to help you undress, or am I just special?”

You laugh softly, your confidence flickering, and start down the hall—walking backward so you can still face him. “Right, because I’m technically an instructor.” You tap the Velcro patch on your chest. “And that would be highly inappropriate.”

Bradley stands with his hands clasped behind his back, a look of amusement tugging at his mouth. “Highly.”

“Good thing I’m not exactly known for my propriety.” You flash him your cheekiest smile, then spin around and quicken your pace down the hall.

You make your way to the hangar—a little breathless from your run-in with the hottest man you’ve ever met—only to be intercepted by Maverick before you can reach the rest of the team.

“Nothing fancy today, alright?”

He hands you a dark green, slightly scuffed helmet.

You frown at it. “But my helmet-”

“Has your callsign on it.”

He gives you a pointed look—a silent warning wrapped in patience—before shifting his attention to the squad.

You roll your eyes as he walks off, then inspect the helmet in your hands, cringing at the cracked lining inside. At least it smells clean.

After he picks the pilots flying the first drill, everyone heads to their jets. Your fingers twitch with anticipation as you climb into the cockpit, stomach flipping with that familiar mix of nerves and adrenaline. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like a lifetime.

Once you're in the air, you follow Maverick’s orders to hang back, constantly reminding yourself that one more slip-up could ground you for good.

First up: Hangman, Payback, and Fanboy. They’re good, but Hangman is cocky—and there’s a difference between cocky and confident. You’re confident. You know you’re good. And it’s borderline painful to fly like a rookie while he runs his mouth over the comms.

“Hey Mav,” Hangman says, his voice crackling in your ear. “I’m curious—why do we need a tactical training specialist?”

“Because you’re not good enough, Hangman. You need to be better,” Maverick replies coolly.

“With all due respect, sir”—you can practically hear his smirk—“what are we supposed to learn from someone who flies like my grandma drives her Honda Civic?”

There’s muffled laughter from Payback and Fanboy.

“Maybe that’s her callsign,” Payback says. “Honda Civic.”

“I was thinking Grandma,” Fanboy adds.

More laughter—like they’re the funniest assholes in the sky.

For a fleeting moment, you consider soaring up in front of them in an admittedly reckless inverted climb just to scare the smug off their faces. But you grit your teeth and bank slowly through a patch of low, cottony clouds instead.

“Cut the chatter,” Maverick says, voice sharper now. “Or I won’t go easy on you.”

You almost wish he’d let you off the leash. Let you show them exactly why you’re here. But he’s right. As excruciating as it is to fly like a grandma driving a Honda Civic... this is what you have to do right now.

By the end of the day, you're bored out of your brain. You've heard so much trash talk from the pilots that you're not only feeling more defeated than after your reaming from Admiral Cain, but you're seriously considering punching one of them square in the face.

You know it's just banter. They're not really trying to upset you—test you, maybe. Haze you. But it still grates, especially when they keep jabbing at your flying—the one thing you’re damn proud of.

It sucks hiding your superpower. Is this how Clark Kent feels at the Daily Planet?

When it’s finally time to hit the showers before Maverick’s afternoon briefing, you’re relieved. You drag your feet down the hall ahead of the others, not in the mood for post-flight chatter. You slip into the locker room, peel off your flight suit and underlayers, and step into the nearest stall.

The water warms almost instantly, and you sigh in quiet appreciation. You’re just starting to relax when—

“Get your shit outta my way, Fanboy.”

You flinch at the voice—Hangman’s—closer than it should be while you're stark naked and dripping wet. Then you glance up and spot a vent high on the wall. It must connect to the men’s locker room.

“You have a locker. Use it,” Hangman snaps again.

You roll your eyes and duck back under the stream, letting the hot water drown him out. Or trying to.

“So, what do we think the deal is with our new tactical training specialist?” one of them—Coyote, you think—asks.

Hangman scoffs. “She’s no specialist. I’d be surprised if she’s even a fully trained aviator.”

“She didn’t seem like she had any trouble flying,” Bob says, voice soft but clear. “She just seemed like she was hanging back. Laying low.”

“Yeah,” Bradley adds—and your stomach does a little somersault. “Maybe she’s a total gun and just waiting to embarrass us all.”

You smirk. He’s not wrong. If they ever take the leash off, you definitely plan to humiliate them.

“I doubt it,” Hangman grunts.

“She’s probably just here to babysit Maverick,” Fanboy says. “We all know Cyclone doesn’t trust him.”

You snort quietly.

“You’re not wrong,” Payback chimes in.

“Probably some admiral’s daughter, too,” Coyote jokes.

Hangman laughs—smug and overconfident. “I don’t care who she is. One way or another, I’m gonna find out why she’s really here.”

The rest of the week passes in much the same way. You fly like a rookie, listen to Jake—yes, you’ve learned all their real names now—run his mouth like the class clown he insists on being, and endure Maverick assigning you to lead post-flight reviews breaking down the squad’s tactical performance.

Your nights are spent reading, studying, absorbing everything you can about the thing you’re supposedly a specialist in. You already know your stuff—you like to think you’re pretty sharp tactically—but now that Jake is gunning for you, your cover needs to be airtight.

The rest of the squad has been decent, if a little wary—not that you blame them. And then there’s Bradley.

Bradley is nice to you. Like, really nice. Almost suspiciously nice, despite Jake’s constant digs. You catch him looking your way more often than not—though, to be fair, you’re not exactly subtle about your own ogling. He backs you up when Jake crosses the line, and so does Natasha—which only confirms why you liked her from the start.

But Bradley? Bradley is a problem. The man is a walking, talking hazard to your mental, emotional, and physical well-being. Just hearing his voice over the comms is enough to make your heart skip.

And the worst part? You have absolutely no idea how to act around him. Cool confidence is second nature when you don’t care what anyone thinks—but with him, you’re suddenly a fumbling schoolgirl with a colossal, deeply inconvenient crush. He’s kind. He’s hot. He’s got that easy swagger of a guy who knows he’s good—and he’s right. It’s not too much; it’s the perfect, dangerously attractive amount of confidence.

Honestly? He might be the most punishing part of your punishment.

You spend most of the weekend trying—and failing—not to think about what it would feel like to have that stupid moustache between your legs. Or worse: on the pillow beside yours, with his arms wrapped around you while you sleep. Just sleep.

Dating seriously in the Navy—or any branch of the military, really—is notoriously difficult. You’ve made peace with casual, mediocre—often infrequent—sex. You’ve learned to ignore the craving for real connection, to smother it under adrenaline and the thrill of flying. But when you look at Bradley—stupid, hot, kind Bradley—you wonder what it would feel like to love him. And to be loved by him.

Ugh. Gross.

“You alright?” Maverick asks, brows pinched as he holds out a stack of paperwork.

You blink, realizing you’ve been zoned out. You’re not sure how long he’s been standing there.

“Yeah, sorry. Mondayitis,” you mumble, shaking your head and reaching for the stack.

He rolls his eyes and glances toward the spot you’d just been staring at—where Bradley is talking to a maintenance tech beside his jet.

“Yeah,” Mav chuckles. “Sure.”

You snatch the paperwork with a little more attitude than necessary, but at this point, you’re comfortable enough with Maverick to get away with it. He knows the difference between you being genuinely annoyed—usually whenever Jake is within twenty feet—and just being a smartass.

“You sure you’re good to stay back tonight?” he asks after a beat. “It’s just a routine FOD sweep, but the techs like having someone around who understands the tactical systems, just in case.”

“It’s fine,” you say, hugging the paperwork to your chest. “I’ve got nothing better to do. Honestly, I’ll take any excuse to speak to humans outside the hours of nine to five.”

Maverick chuckles, but then tilts his head, studying you. “You’re really not doing anything else? You don’t even go out? Or, I don’t know… do Tinder?”

You raise a brow at him, trying not to laugh. “No, Mav. I don’t do Tinder.”

“Oh.” He nods like that’s good news, but then frowns. “Still, you should go out sometime. Grab a drink, meet someone. This is a Navy town—there’s plenty of-”

“Are you seriously giving me advice on getting laid?” you interrupt, eyes wide with disbelief.

A faint pink tints his cheeks, but he doesn’t backpedal. “Not explicitly. But I just don’t see the point in making this punishment even more miserable by ignoring the outside world.”

“Punishment?”

You both freeze. Bob is suddenly beside you, looking wide-eyed and flushed—like he knows he shouldn’t have overheard but absolutely couldn’t help himself.

You turn to him, panicked. “He—uh, what Mav means is-”

“Bob!” Natasha’s voice cuts across the hangar. “Move it or you’re walking to The Hard Deck!”

He gives a polite nod and bolts before either of you can say more.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath.

Maverick waves it off. “It’s fine. Bob’s a vault. Even if he does say something, we’ll spin it.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m starting to think you’re the one trying to blow my cover, not Hangman.”

He laughs, unbothered. “You need to relax. Seriously—go out with the others tonight. Let off some steam. Maybe meet someone.”

You groan, stepping back. “Are we back to this already? I can’t go out tonight—I’m stuck here babysitting the FOD inspections so you can go on a date and get laid.”

That earns you a devilish grin. “You could still go out after.”

“It’ll be too late.”

“Alright then.” He flashes that troublemaking smile, then strolls off toward Bradley.

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you see it. The mischief in Maverick’s eyes, the subtle glance Bradley throws your way, the small nod.

“Rooster’s staying back with you,” Mav says when he returns. “He’s going to help start inventorying the night gear before next week’s night ops. Keep you company.” Then he winks. “You’re welcome.”

Your cheeks flame instantly. You can feel the blush rising from your chest to the tips of your ears, especially as Bradley sends you one of those slow, devastating smirks from across the hangar.

You never imagined this would be your biggest problem, but here you are—drowning in paperwork and feelings, stuck with one ridiculously hot pilot… all because your CO thinks he’s Cupid.

You do your best to avoid Bradley at first—and it mostly works. He waves off his friends, all of whom are more than a little annoyed he’s skipping the bar, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind. You find a relatively clear table toward the back of the hangar to spread out your paperwork and start sorting through what needs signing for tonight’s special inspections.

One of the technicians wanders over and spends twenty straight minutes mansplaining the FOD sweep and borescope process. Normally, you'd bite a guy’s head off for talking to you like you're five, but this time, you let him ramble. Anything to keep a buffer between you and Bradley.

The night wears on, and the techs move through their routines with smooth, practiced efficiency. You answer questions when needed, sign off on paperwork, and try not to keep checking to see where he is. After a couple of hours, you find yourself staring blankly at your neatly reorganized stack of documents—for the fourth time.

“You alright?” Bradley’s voice cuts in, low and warm. He stops a few feet away, arms full of night vision goggles.

You snap upright and nod. “Yep. Just a little bored. Need help?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and your stomach does a full aerial twist when he smiles.

“Yeah, actually. There’s more NVGs to go through, and I need to check we’ve got enough night-adapted flight helmets.”

You nod again and follow him to the gear closet. It isn’t small, but it’s tightly packed with equipment that smells like age and dust. The doorknob is mottled with rust, and the door itself is being propped open by a bent prybar wedged underneath.

“Wow,” you mutter. “Luxury storage.”

Bradley chuckles, low and easy. “Yeah, not exactly state of the art. But Mav avoids complaining—less time in the admiral’s office.”

You laugh softly, running a finger along a dusty shelf. “Can’t argue with that.”

He casts a glance your way, curious but unreadable, as he stacks the goggles beside you. Then he points to the shelf of helmets and tells you to grab what you can and bring them over to where he’s been cleaning and inspecting gear.

It takes a few trips, but eventually you’ve got all the helmets laid out across the hangar floor while Bradley goes down the checklist on his clipboard. You drop into a cross-legged seat beside the gear, inspecting each helmet one by one—checking the straps, the fixings, the visor, making sure there are no cracks or faults.

Bradley settles across from you, reaching for a helmet of his own. “So,” he says, casual and curious, “do you already have a callsign, or are we still workshopping?”

You glance up through your lashes, a smirk tugging at your mouth. “Classified.”

He arches a brow. “That’s not a no. Should I be worried it’s something like Deathwish? Or Heartbreaker?”

A quiet laugh escapes you as you trade one helmet for the next. “What if it’s closer to the second one?”

He nods slowly, a smirk tugging beneath that damn moustache. “Then I’ll adjust my expectations.”

“That’s your first mistake,” you say lightly. “Having expectations.”

His gaze lingers a little longer this time, thoughtful. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. You’re not trying to be cryptic—it’s just that words get sticky around him. Being guarded feels easier than being obvious. You’re not that complicated, really… but for some reason, with Bradley, keeping your walls up feels safer.

And maybe, if he’s curious enough, he’ll keep pushing. You kind of hope he does.

More hours pass, and you fall into a comfortable rhythm. When needed, the techs call you over to check something or sign something off, then you return to Bradley with a sarcastic remark or a curious question. He doesn’t pry too much about why you’re here, but he asks simple things—where you grew up, what your favourite colour is, if you have any pets. The conversation stays light and easy, and you find yourself looking forward to hearing his voice again after every question you answer.

“Alright, we’re just about finished up,” one of the technicians—Randall— says as he ambles over.

You’re crouched on the floor with a few open night ops survival kits in front of you, checking for chem lights, strobes, and IR beacons.

“Oh, that’s great,” you say, brushing your hands off on your pants as you stand. “Thanks.”

He nods. “Security did a walk-through ten minutes back. I told ’em you two were in here, and they said they’d circle back unless you’re planning to leave with the rest of us.”

You glance at Bradley, silently letting him decide—though you’re secretly hoping he chooses to stay.

“We’ll be here a little longer,” he says, his eyes flicking to you. “I think.”

You nod, and his cheekbones flush pink as a small smile tugs at his lips.

Randall glances up, motioning vaguely at the walls. “Cameras there,” he says, pointing, “there, and there. Dead spots are that corner… or the gear closet. Y’know—if you don’t want to get caught.”

Your eyes widen and heat floods your face.

Bradley lets out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Right. Thanks, Randall. I don’t even want to ask how you know that, but… good to know.”

The older man grins and lumbers off, whistling.

The second he’s out of earshot, you groan into your hands. “What is with old men today?”

Bradley raises a brow. “Don’t tell me one of the other techs gave you a hookup tutorial.”

“Nope,” you sigh, dropping your hands. “Mav. I think he was trying to give me dating advice. Told me I should ‘get out there’ more.”

Bradley snorts. “Was it any good?”

“Well,” you say, “he’s glad I’m not on Tinder—wants me to meet someone the authentically. But then he was annoyed I’m not going to the bar tonight. Never mind the fact he’s the reason I’m stuck with overtime.”

Bradley opens his mouth, pauses, then squints at you. “Wait… was this right before he came and told me to start inventorying night gear?”

“Yup,” you reply, popping the p and being careful not to look at him.

“Right,” Bradley chuckles. “Maybe we should change Mav’s callsign to Cupid.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the blush blooming in your cheeks. “Or Stupid.”

You quietly keep packing up the survival kits and carrying them back to the gear closet. A few of the techs call out their goodbyes as they leave, but most don’t. And then—it’s quiet. Too quiet.

You’re not sure if the tension comes from being suddenly alone—or from the fact that Bradley now knows why Maverick asked him to stay. Would he have bailed if he’d known sooner?

He didn’t look horrified. Didn’t flinch or recoil. Just made a joke.

But what the hell is that supposed to mean?

“We can finish up soon, if you want,” you offer, even though you don’t want to.

But now you’re overthinking everything. What if he doesn’t want to be here? What if he thinks you expect something to happen—like you’re in on whatever matchmaking crap Mav is trying to pull?

“Oh,” he says, following you into the gear closet. “I mean, it’s up to you.”

There’s a beat of silence while you both stack kits onto the shelf.

“I mean, if you’re trying to make it to the bar,” he adds, his laugh a little forced.

You shoot him a flat look. “Yeah, right. With all my friends.”

He shrugs, but it looks stiff. “Maybe you’ve decided to take Mav’s advice. Meet a guy or whatever.”

You lead the way out of the closet, your brows furrowed as you try to decode his words.

Is he encouraging you to go? Telling you not to?

Why is this suddenly complicated? Why are you even thinking about any of this when you’re only here as punishment? You shouldn’t be worrying about boys and feelings.

You shake your head and decide to ignore it, scooping up more survival kits to return to the gear closet. Bradley is right behind you, carrying the last of them.

You’ve just reached the shelf and freed your arms when there’s a bang and a sharp screech.

“Shit,” Bradley mutters, stumbling forward.

He catches himself before dropping anything—but then a loud slam echoes through the space, and both of your heads snap toward the door.

“No,” you mutter, rushing from the shelf to the door. “No, no, no. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The rusted doorknob starts to crack in your grip. It doesn’t twist or even budge—just crumbles like sugar in hot water.

“Wait,” Bradley says, dumping the kits on the shelf. “Are we actually trapped?”

“No,” you bite out, twisting the handle again. It snaps, and a piece of rusted metal—fantastic—sticks into your palm. “Fuck. Shit.” You whirl around, clutching your hand. “Okay, maybe.”

Bradley doesn’t panic. He chuckles. It’s light, casual—and laced with something else. Satisfaction, maybe?

“You okay?” he asks, stepping closer.

You instinctively offer your hand. The cut isn’t deep, but there’s a decent smear of red pooling in your palm.

“Lucky we just restocked the survival kits,” he says with a wink.

You want to roll your eyes—but instead, you smile like an idiot. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him, seeping into your skin like a slow burn—and then his hand wraps gently around yours, sending a surge of electricity crackling up your arm and straight to your chest.

“This is just my luck,” you mutter.

He raises an eyebrow. “Technically, I’m the one who tripped on the prybar, so I think it’s my luck.”

“Yeah, but I’m known to be a bit of a…” You trail off, clearing your throat, scrambling to find a word other than the one on the tip of your tongue.

His head tips, eyes narrowing. “A what?”

“Walking disaster,” you say quickly.

That earns another chuckle as he turns to the shelf of survival kits. “I wouldn’t call this a disaster.”

You scoff. “Really? We’re stuck in a dusty gear closet at ten o’clock at night, the techs just bailed, our phones are in our lockers, and security probably won’t even realise we’re in here.”

Still facing away, he rummages through one of the kits. “I’m trapped in a closet with a pretty girl,” he says. “Not exactly a disaster in my books.”

You press your lips together, trying to smother the grin threatening to break loose—but then he turns around, wearing the kind of smirk that should come with a warning label. It’s cocky and knowing, like he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on you—and worse, he’s enjoying it. Heat flares beneath your skin, and suddenly the gear closet feels about ten degrees hotter.

“See?” he says, offering his hand for yours again. “Can’t argue with logic.”

You let him clean and bandage the cut on your hand, silence stretching thick between you. The warmth radiating off his body fogs your brain, making it nearly impossible to focus on escape routes from this stupid closet. His hands are slightly calloused—evidence of years gripping the F/A-18’s control stick the way you’re now imagining gripping something else entirely.

Fuck. This man might actually be the death of you.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, voice low, breath brushing your cheek as he stands so damn close. “You’re not claustrophobic or anything, right?”

You shake your head, subtle and slow, your gaze locked on his lips, your voice nowhere to be found.

“Good,” he says. “Because we’re probably stuck in here all night. No windows, no vents, and there’s no way we’re getting any of these radios on the same frequency as the tower. That door’s older and more stubborn than Mav—it was built to keep people out, which means it’ll do just fine keeping us in.”

You sigh, eyes drifting down to your bandaged hand. “Great.”

He quietly packs the kit away, head bowed over the shelf as he works, giving you a moment to just look. His long legs are braced slightly wider than his shoulders, making him seem even more solid, more commanding. He all but consumes the small closet space, his honey-brown hair dangerously close to grazing the low ceiling. His fingers move deftly, expertly, and you can’t help but wonder what else they’d be good at.

“You’re staring,” he says suddenly.

Your cheeks warm. “I’m calculating.”

He gives you a sideways glance and that crooked smile—the one that makes your heart miss a beat. “Calculating what?”

“What chance I have of overpowering you if the situation becomes dire.”

He chuckles, but it’s lower this time. Rougher. A little dangerous. “Define ‘dire’.”

You shrug and turn your back to the shelves, sliding down to the floor. “You know. Cannibalism.”

You lean against the bottom shelf, packed tight with gear boxes—solid enough to act as a makeshift backrest while you stretch your legs out in front of you.

“Cannibalism,” Bradley echoes, settling beside you. “Right. So, is it straight to eating each other, or are there warning signs I should look out for?”

His arm brushes yours as he shifts, the heat of his body seeping through your flight suit. And the way he said eating each other? Yeah—that’s not helping.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat to redirect your filthy thoughts. “First comes shock and denial.” You lift your bandaged hand. “But I think I’m past that.”

He nods, eyes on you, like he’s genuinely interested—or just waiting for your next move.

“Then anxiety and panic,” you continue, a smile tugging at your lips. “You might start crying, beating your fists on the door…”

He snorts, and you catch him glancing at your mouth.

“Then comes anger and frustration,” you say, letting your voice drop just a little. “We’ll start blaming each other. Arguing. And then…” You trail off, licking your lips, gaze moving slowly down his body with exaggerated interest. “Desperation.”

“What happens then?” he asks, his voice soft, deep—almost reverent. Like you’re telling him a secret he already knows.

You glance at his hands, clasped tight in his lap. His long fingers tangled with tension, as if he’s holding himself still.

“We’ll probably give in to all the tension,” you murmur.

There’s a pause—so brief it’s barely a breath—before he asks, “What does that mean?”

You finally meet his gaze, smirking like you already have him cornered. “You know exactly what I mean, Bradshaw.”

The tension snaps when he laughs softly, his cheekbones tinged pink as he looks away.

“Well then,” he says, “if we’re going to be stuck in here until we both go mad, don’t you think I deserve to know who you really are?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Not a bad try. Still classified.”

He tips his head back against the shelf, and your eyes catch on the long column of his throat as he speaks. “Oh, come on. You think I’m going to tell anyone?”

“No, not really,” you murmur, gaze still fixed on the warm tan skin of his neck.

You feel like a starved vampire, fixated on his jugular with something close to bloodlust. But really, you just want to sink your teeth in—hard enough to leave a mark. Claim him.

God. Since when has a man made you feel this feral?

Then he tips his head down again and pins you with those big brown eyes. “So why won’t you tell me?”

You meet his gaze. “I think you already know more about me than most people do. Is it really that bad not knowing my last name or callsign? Ask me anything else.”

His smile turns boyish, softening him, making him look younger than he is. “So you admit you have a callsign?”

You nod. “Yep.”

“When’d you get it?”

“Flight school.”

“Is there a cool story behind it?”

You wobble your head as if weighing the answer. “Sort of. It’s not really a story—it’s more of a personality trait.”

He nods slowly. “So I might be able to figure it out?”

You shake your head. “Probably not. Not with the way Mav has me flying.” You don’t entirely mean to throw him a bone—some sliver of the truth behind why you’re really here—but it slips out anyway.

His eyes narrow. “So you are holding back,” he says. It’s not a question.

You don’t answer. Instead, you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down—hard. His gaze flicks to your mouth, and lingers there, watching you. Something in his eyes darkens, and you can see the flush crawl up his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Okay, my turn,” you say, angling your body toward him. “This whole ‘prince charming’ thing. The cheeky smiles, the perfectly tousled hair—does it always work for you?”

He frowns, but the twitch at the corner of his lips betrays the amusement threatening to break across his face. “What do you mean, ‘does it work’?”

You shrug, trying—and failing—to seem nonchalant. The green-eyed monster in your chest rearing its ugly head. “I’ve seen you walking around like you own the place. Don’t tell me you haven’t left a trail of broken hearts across the country. I mean, I see the way you are with Phoenix, all the-”

“Phoenix?” he interrupts, his eyes growing wide. “Phoenix and I are friends. Period. I’m actually pretty sure she’s hooking up with Bob, but she’s too scared to tell the rest of us because we’ll ruin it. Which, fair enough. Hangman can be a bit of a bitch.”

“Oh, I know,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “But don’t change the subject. You seriously don’t expect me to believe there aren’t a hundred women trying to beat down your door every Friday and Saturday night?”

He rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “There might be one or two broken hearts in my past, but I can promise you, no one is beating down my door. And the ‘prince charming’ act...” He leans in just a little, his voice lowering. “That’s just for you.”

This man is actually trying to kill you.

You roll your eyes and feign indifference. “Smooth.”

He raises his brows, that smirk still firmly in place. “You think?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Bradshaw.”

He chuckles, leaning back and resting his head against the shelf again. “Well, yeah. I know what I’m doing. But I can’t tell if it’s working or not.”

You fight a smile, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah,” you mutter, “it’s working.”

The next hour passes with random questions exchanged, both of you settling into an easy rhythm. He’s careful not to pry too much, slipping in the occasional question about your past or why you're really here. You answer with playful eye rolls and a quick “that’s classified,” but despite the walls you try to keep up, you find yourself telling him more than you expected. His presence is warm and easy, and there’s something about the way his eyes study you—genuine curiosity mixed with a hint of hunger—that makes you open up in ways you didn’t expect.

Then, after a beat of silence, he asks, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

It’s a stark contrast to the casual questions you’ve been tossing back and forth. Your brows pinch, and you tip your head, a wave of exhaustion making your posture sag. You open your mouth to reply, but he jumps in again, voice laced with sudden panic. “Wait, you don’t have some secret boyfriend... right?”

A soft laugh escapes your lips. “No, I don’t.”

His shoulders visibly relax, his eyes blinking slowly, tiredly. “Why not? Aside from the stock standard military excuse.”

You rest your head against the shelf, staring up at the paint flaking off the ceiling. “I like to blame the navy, but I think it’s mostly my fault. I can be... picky. I guess my standards are higher than they have a right to be. The last actual boyfriend I had... sucked. Monumentally.” You pause, biting your lip. “He scarred me. Haven’t really wanted to date seriously since.”

There’s a flash of something unfamiliar across Bradley’s face—an emotion that’s gone before you can catch it, replaced quickly by curiosity. “Why did he suck?”

You snort softly, remembering your last relationship with a sick feeling in your stomach. “Do you want the PG version or the real one?”

His gaze hardens, anger flashing behind his eyes, though he masks it quickly. “The real one.”

“Okay,” you say, steeling yourself for the uncomfortable memories. “Well, aside from just being a piece of shit...” You pause, taking a deep breath. “After almost two years together, he—uh, he had a hard time finishing... with me. Told me it was because he was bored, too used to me. Said I wasn’t good enough to, you know... get him there.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, thick enough to make you choke. Your chest aches, but you can’t find the strength to breathe. Bradley’s expression has turned murderous. His eyes darken, his brows drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line. His cheeks are flushed, redder than before, and the colour crawls down his neck and disappears beneath his flight suit collar.

“He told you that?” he asks, his voice rough, low, cutting through the silence like a blade.

You nod, a bitter laugh escaping as you remember the moment. “Yep. Right in the middle of it.”

His eyes narrow, and the anger in his gaze intensifies. “He said that to you while you were having sex?”

You nod again, your lips pressed tight, bracing for whatever might come next. Bradley looks like he’s ready to explode, like a bull in a chute, and though it’s scary, it’s also... unsettlingly hot.

“I broke up with him the next day,” you say softly.

“Good,” Bradley growls, his voice tight.

Silence settles between you again, but this time it’s softer—less charged, more intimate. You can breathe. And now that the adrenaline has faded, so has your energy. Your eyelids are heavy, your shoulders ache, but the hard clips of the gear boxes digging into your back are making it impossible to get comfortable.

You shift upright with a quiet sigh, glancing around the cramped space for anything soft to lie on. But the only thing that looks remotely inviting is Bradley’s lap.

He has his head tipped back, lids half-lowered, but there’s no missing the way he catches your gaze. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips—lazy and warm.

“You can lie down,” he murmurs, voice husky and low, dragging heat across your skin.

“You sure?” you ask, even though you’re already moving.

He adjusts his posture, leaning back against the shelves to make room. The slight shift in his stance feels oddly like an invitation, like he’s preparing for you. Your heart pounds as you reposition yourself, curling toward him and easing your head gently into his lap.

It feels too intimate for what it is—but he doesn’t stop you. If anything, his body goes still, and then he exhales through his nose like he’s trying to ground himself.

The heat of him is immediate, seeping into your skin. Without thinking, you press your freezing hands to his thighs with a groan of relief.

Bradley stiffens. “Shit. Uh... careful where you put those.”

You glance up. His mouth is parted slightly, breath coming and going faster now. That faint pink flush has darkened, stretching across the bridge of his nose. His eyes—wide, dark, hungry—meet yours.

“Oops,” you murmur, lips twitching. “Sorry.” Though you’re absolutely not.

You try to focus on relaxing, but the feel of him beneath you is intoxicating. Your exhaustion is at war with the slow burn licking through your blood. You close your eyes anyway, willing your body to settle.

Eventually, his breathing evens out again—and so does yours. You curl in tighter, tucking your knees up, and nestle into him a little more. His breath catches, barely audible, but telling. Then, after a beat, his hand rests lightly on your hip. Just that. But it sends a rush of heat spiralling through you.

His other hand shifts near your face, and, emboldened, you ease one of your own free and find his. Your fingers slide into place between his, lacing together like it’s instinct.

The spark that jolts up your arm is instant—sharp, electric, undeniable.

Yeah. This man is a hazard. To your health, to your career… And definitely to your cover.

You’re not woken by your alarm or the sound of your neighbour—who also happens to be navy—slamming his door on his way out. You’re woken by something solid pressing into the back of your head. Something warm. Something insistent. Almost like…

Holy shit.

You sit up like a shot, as if a gun’s gone off, your body protesting the movement after a night on the floor. But the aches barely register. Not when you’re suddenly very aware of the very impressive bulge currently tenting Bradley’s flight suit.

You press your lips together, partly to hold back your laugh—and partly to keep yourself from doing something absolutely unholy. Like burying your face in his lap. Mouthing him through the thick material. Slowly unzipping that khaki jumpsuit and devouring him until he forgets how to breathe.

God. You’ve never woken up so horny in your life.

You briefly consider nuzzling back into him, soaking up every drop of that delicious warmth—until you hear voices outside. And then you see it: a sliver of daylight spilling beneath the door.

You scramble to your feet and tiptoe to the door, pressing your ear against it. You should be thrilled you’re getting out of this dusty closet, but disappointment prickles under your skin. You’re not going to sleep with Bradley tonight—not in any sense of the word. Which is stupid. Completely insane. You’d rather spend another night on a hard floor with him than go home to your own bed.

You shake your head and focus on the voices. You don’t recognize any of them. Tech crew, most likely—starting early.

You lean over Bradley, gently scratching the crown of his head. “Hey,” you whisper, keeping your voice low just in case.

His eyes flutter, then snap open—briefly panicked before he remembers where he is. He looks up at you with a sleepy smile, soft and hazy. “Hey. How’d you sleep?”

You laugh quietly. “Surprisingly well. Until I was woken up by your little lieutenant—well, actually, not-so-little, but anyway…” You trail off, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I’m going to shut up now.”

His brows knit in sleepy confusion… until understanding hits. He glances down—and immediately covers his lap with both hands. “Shit. Sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’d offer to help you out, but I think we should probably get out of here before the others show up.”

His mouth opens, his gaze snapping to yours—hopeful and tortured all at once. Clearly debating whether it would be worth the risk.

He sighs, defeated, and pushes to his feet. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

You both move to the door, listening for familiar voices.

After a moment, Bradley murmurs, “I think we’re in the clear. Sounds like it’s just techies.”

You nod. “Alright, do we start yelling for help now?”

He glances down at himself and makes a face. “Can I get a minute first?”

You snort softly, biting your bottom lip to contain your grin. But you can’t stop the way your eyes drift down, or the warmth that floods your chest. Whether it’s the lap-nap or the fact you’ve gone completely stupid for this man, you’ve never wanted to drop to your knees more in your life.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, brows drawn as he focuses on anything that isn’t you. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” you giggle, turning fully toward the door. “I’ll just wait here.”

He chuckles, low and rough, his voice coated in sleep and something far thicker—undeniable desire. He paces the tiny length of the closet like a caged tiger, careful not to look at you.

A few minutes later, he returns to your side and nods. “Okay. Ready now.”

You smirk and nod, resisting the very strong urge to glance down. Then you both turn toward the door and start knocking.

“Hello!” you shout, mouth close to the seam. “Help! Please!”

There’s the sound of footsteps, muffled voices. Then a rough voice answers, “Hello? Someone in there?”

“Yes!” you call back. “The doorknob’s broken—we can’t get out.”

There’s a jiggle of what’s left of the knob on your side, but it doesn’t move.

“S’not budgin’,” the man says. “Stand back, alrigh’?”

“Okay,” you say just as Bradley grabs your arm and pulls you to the back corner of the closet.

He cages you with his body, chest pressed to yours, shielding you like a human wall. You can feel the heat of him everywhere—his breath ghosting over your cheek, his thigh brushing yours, your mouth so close to his. One glance up and you know you’d be kissing. You want to. God, do you want to. But now isn’t the time.

A bang. Then another. The door rattles, the hinges groaning. One final crash sends the door flying inward, half-torn from its frame.

Bradley doesn’t move at first. Then he exhales and shifts away slightly—just enough to look—but his hand remains on your wrist, protective.

“You alrigh’?” the voice asks, silhouetted in the sudden glare of morning light.

You squint, the brightness stabbing at your eyes.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “We’re fine.”

You both blink as your vision adjusts and step toward the opening.

“Exactly how long have you two been in there?” comes a second voice. One you know far too well.

Maverick.

Your stomach drops.

As your vision clears, the scene before you sharpens into a full-blown nightmare. Maverick, arms crossed, wearing the most smug, slap-worthy smirk imaginable. Behind him: Natasha, wide-eyed, biting her lip to keep from laughing; Bob, cheeks glowing red; Reuben and Mickey, snickering like they’re in middle school; and—of course—Jake, grinning like he’s just won the damn lottery.

You're never living this down.

Before you can even begin to defend yourself, Jake lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Rooster. Didn’t know we were doing supply closet survival drills.”

Bradley sighs. “It was locked, Hangman.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Jake says, his grin wide. “But the rest of the hangar? Not so much.”

Maverick raises a brow, smirk firmly in place. “Glad to see you both survived the night. Though next time, maybe just request a room.”

You shoot him your sharpest glare—just shy of throwing a knife right at your CO. “That door needs to be fixed. You’re lucky I was stuck in there with Bradshaw and not one of these other idiots, or you’d have a dead body to deal with.”

Your glare swings to Jake, cutting him off before he can open his mouth again.

Maverick starts to reply but pauses, eyes flicking down to your bandaged hand. “Do you need to go to medical?”

You shake your head. “No. But I could really use a shower.”

He nods, then turns his attention to Bradley. “You need the day off?”

“No,” Bradley says. “We slept.”

Jake chuckles, wicked and bright. “That’s not what the security tapes say.”

Your heart stutters. “Th-There’s no camera in there. Randall said-”

“Randall told you about the camera blind spots?” Maverick cuts in, clearly amused.

The group bursts into laughter, and even Bradley’s mouth twitches into a smirk.

Jake winks. “Relax, I was kidding, sweetheart. But hey, good to know Rooster kept you safe. Always knew he was the gentleman type.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, a physical barrier against the swarm of smug faces. “Unlike you, Hangman, Rooster is a gentleman.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Maverick says, waving a hand to dismiss the squad. “You lot suit up. And you two—hit the showers.” He starts to walk off, then glances over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “Separately.”

Your cheeks go up in flames, but there’s no clever comeback waiting on your tongue. You just take a breath and storm toward the locker rooms, resisting the ridiculous urge to look back at Bradley… and ask if maybe he would want to shower together.

After a longer-than-necessary shower, you change into spare underclothes and slip your flight suit on over the top. It takes a little extra confidence to step back out of the locker room, but eventually, you do. You settle in the waiting room and do your best to pretend to work—analysing flight data and scribbling notes on tactical performance from Maverick’s current sky drills.

No one speaks to you, but you don’t miss the way Jake smirks as he strolls into the room after his run. Or the way he leans toward Javy, whispering something just out of earshot. You ignore it. You’re too tightly wound to entertain his usual bullshit.

When the day finally ends, you drag yourself home and go through the usual motions. But you can’t stop checking your phone.

You know last night was a fluke—an accident that landed you in a supply closet with the man your heart has apparently chosen to obsess over. You know better than to expect a message or a call. To think he might actually take you up on that teasing offer from this morning.

He’d been perfect last night. Soft, warm, protective—furious at your ex and almost wrecked with want when you’d touched him.

But today? He didn’t speak to you once. Not in an obvious, pointed way. Just… didn’t. He didn’t sit next to you in the afternoon briefing. He didn’t chase you down before you left.

Maybe he’s not interested. Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you thought.

Despite how much your body aches and how tired you are, sleep doesn’t come easy. Your mattress is too soft. Your pillows are too cold. There’s no steady heartbeat to lull you into slumber. No warm hand to tangle your fingers with. The silence feels sharp in your ears, and your room feels colder than it did the night before last.

You’re awake well before your alarm, so you take your time getting ready. You shower even though you don’t need to, apply a little makeup even though you usually don’t, and secure your hair with more precision than normal. Breakfast is slow and deliberate, eaten in front of the TV as if you have all the time in the world.

You’re still out the door early—even before your inconsiderate neighbour, Slammy Steve. You finally gave him a name for when you curse him every morning as his door slams shut.

At base, you head toward the usual hangar, steeling yourself to face the squad again—to face Bradley. Your stomach twists at the thought. You’re far too hung up on a man who probably sees you as nothing more than a bit of fun to flirt with.

You’re the first in the briefing room by a good half hour, but the time passes quickly as your thoughts spiral. Bob’s the next to arrive, and he gives you a polite smile before settling in with his travel mug and quietly watching videos on his phone.

One by one, the rest of the squad filters in.

“You know me, Coyote,” Jake’s voice rings out, smug and too loud as he strolls in with his wingman. “I’m a generous man. I can’t help myself.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about, but you know it’s bullshit.

You sink lower in your chair and roll your eyes, hoping he won’t see you.

“Morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Jake calls as he drops into his usual seat just behind you. Then he leans in, his voice close to your ear. “What do we have here?”

You don’t react.

“Hangman,” Natasha warns flatly, “for once in your life, don’t be a dick.”

“What?” he says, mock innocence dripping from every syllable. “Just trying to say good morning to our lovely tactical training specialist.”

You glance at Natasha. She meets your eyes and offers a soft, apologetic smile—not that this idiot is any of her fault.

“Good morning, aviators,” Maverick’s voice fills the room, and some of the nausea in your stomach eases. “How are we today?”

There are a few mumbled responses—none from you—as he sets a stack of papers on the desk and powers up his laptop for the interactive display. He casts you a brief look and a small smile before returning to the task of setting up.

Then another set of footsteps enters at the back of the room, and you can’t help but turn.

“Sorry,” Bradley mutters. “Overslept.”

Maverick nods as Bradley takes his seat. No one says anything—until Jake does.

A low, sharp whistle. Then, into your ear again, “Guess getting locked in a closet’s the only way you’ll ever get Rooster to spend the night, huh?”

That’s all it takes to make the rubber band snap.

You’re on your feet in an instant, eyes narrowed, anger simmering beneath your skin like wildfire. You’re nauseous again—burning from the inside out.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” you snap, louder than intended—but you don’t care.

You’re angry. You’re humiliated. A week of jabs and insults from a man who doesn’t even know you, and now this, after falling for another man who apparently wants nothing to do with you.

Jake chuckles, condescending as hell. “Woah, settle down. It was just a joke.”

“You’re a fucking joke,” you bite back, voice low and steady—deadly. “You talk a big game, but the only thing you’ve mastered is flying straight and fast. You burn fuel and pull Gs like it’s a dick-measuring contest, but the second a manoeuvre requires restraint, finesse, or actual tactical thinking? You fall apart.”

You lean in, eyes locked on his like a missile. “You’re sloppy in a merge, predictable in a climb, and your cross-checks are lazy as hell. You fly like you’re invincible—which might be fine in a video game, but up there? That gets people killed.”

You pause, just long enough to see if Maverick will step in. He doesn’t.

“You’re not untouchable, Seresin. You’re just loud.”

Then you turn back to the front and drop into your seat, arms crossed, chest heaving as you take a few deep, centring breaths.

A low snicker breaks the silence, followed by a quiet, impressed whisper: ‘Damn… take that, Bagman.’ You don’t turn around, but you don’t have to—Jake’s probably still blinking. Pride simmers in your chest, and despite your best efforts, a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“Well then,” Maverick says, rubbing his palms together with a smirk. “Let’s get started.”

The morning briefing goes better than usual, mainly because Jake is too embarrassed to pipe up with his usual bullshit. Maverick talks through today’s drills, outlining what he’s looking for in their flying. He also mentions that you'll be up in the air today, analysing their tactical skills and reviewing their performance once they’re back on the ground. He gives Jake a pointed look as he says this, and you can’t help but bite back a giggle.

About an hour later, Maverick announces that it’s time to fly, and the team starts filing out of the room. Jake casts you a quick glance—not lethal, just a small warning. Somehow, his stupidly cocky grin is already back in place.

When you reach the door, you realise that Bradley has lingered behind, falling into step beside you just as you exit the room.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he says, glancing at you with that small smirk beneath that damn moustache, the sight of which sends a warm ache straight to your lower belly.

You offer him a clipped smile, a brief glance before looking back down, focusing on the movement of your boots.

“Unless... I already am,” he adds, his voice a mixture of question and statement.

You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of Bradley’s eyes on you—watching, soft and thoughtful.

“I mean,” he continues, hesitating for a moment with a soft chuckle. “I know I should have called or something, especially after waking you up with my dick, but... I was honestly spent last night. Barely made it home before crashing out. But, if you’ll let me, I’d like to... you know... wake you up with my dick in a way that’s more enjoyable for the both of us?”

You can’t help the grin that breaks across your face, a soft laugh slipping out before you can catch it. When you turn to look at him, his smile is sheepish and flushed, impossibly endearing, with a laugh hovering just behind it. His brown eyes are shining, warm and full of something that makes your chest ache—something you know is written all over your own face too.

And damn. If this isn’t the man you’re supposed to spend your life with, you know you’ll be spending it alone.

“Yeah, alright,” you sigh, feigning indifference. “I’ll allow it.”

“Allow it?” he echoes, his voice rich with laughter. “Wow. I’m a lucky guy.”

Warmth spreads through your whole body as the two of you continue into the hangar. You feel like you’re standing next to the sun—but it’s not burning you. It’s keeping you warm, keeping you alive.

You can’t help glancing at him every few seconds, even while Maverick shouts instructions and assigns the first flyers. You find it hard to tear yourself away from Bradley when you’re called to your jet, waiting for ground crew instructions. Your mind is foggy with thoughts of him: his eyes, his smile, the little laugh he lets out, and that adorable crease between his brows when he’s confused or offended.

Fuck. You’re so gone. You haven’t even kissed him yet, and it might kill you when you do.

At least you’ll die happy.

When the jet starts to rumble and your hands move over the controls, you pull your thoughts in. You focus on the here and now—the cockpit, the sky, the mission. Even the idea of flying like a grandma all day doesn’t kill your mood. Because you’ll see Bradley when you're back on the ground, and that’s enough to keep you grinning like an idiot behind your oxygen mask.

The sky is clear—perfect flying weather—and the wind is barely a whisper. You feel like a horse champing at the bit, waiting for the gate to open. But that’s not what you’re here for. So you settle, banking slow beneath where you know Maverick is flying, waiting for instruction.

“All right,” Maverick says, his voice crackling over comms. “Hangman, you’re mission lead. Payback, Fanboy, don’t let your wingman down. Fly the profile in your system. Deviate, and you’d better have a damn good reason. Watch for enemy aircraft.”

“Sorry, Mav, my comms are a little fuzzy,” Jake replies. “Did you say enemy or grandma? ’Cause from where I’m flying, I can only see a Honda Civic.”

Maverick’s irritation bleeds into his voice. “I’m the enemy aircraft, Hangman. Watch out for me. Our tactical specialist will be monitoring, and you can explain your mistakes to her when you’re back on the ground.”

“I don’t make mistakes,” Jake says, that smirk practically audible.

“We’ll see about that,” Maverick shoots back.

You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath and tamping down the irritation rising in your chest.

The others take off, and you track them—eyes sharp on the HUD and the sky. Maverick is flawless. And unfortunately, so is Jake. He’s a damn good pilot. Cocky, but predictable. You already know what he’s going to try next.

The drill plays out. You listen to the comm chatter as you stay low and out of the way, observing. The team gives Maverick a decent run for his money, nearly finishing the nav route before he takes out Reuben and Mickey. Jake claims victory anyway—but Maverick shuts him down fast.

“Fail,” he says. “Your wingman’s dead. Put the cocky bravado away, I’m done with it.”

You’ve never heard Maverick so sharp. He actually sounds like a CO—calm, stern, commanding—as he orders everyone back to base.

You keep low, banking through a few fluffy clouds, weaving like you’re bored. But your eyes stay trained, watching Jake flying just above, at your six.

“Hey, tactical specialist,” Jake’s voice cuts in. “Just watching your cross-checks from up here. I can practically see the superiority from miles away.”

You bite your tongue, suppressing the sarcastic retort clawing at your throat.

He adds, “Oh wait. Nope. That’s just your nose in the air.”

You roll your eyes and surge forward, jaw tight.

“That’s it,” Maverick says, voice stern. “Back to the nav route. Now. You’re flying it again. And I’m not the enemy this time.”

Jake snorts. “Mav, come on. You’re really gonna embarrass her like this?”

“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” Maverick snaps. “Follow your orders. Stick to your waypoints. And good luck.”

The way he says those last two words makes your pulse spike. Adrenaline kicks in, fast and sharp.

Your limbs feel light. Your chest is buzzing. Your breath hitches, and a wicked smile spreads beneath your mask.

“Alright,” Jake drawls, still clueless. “Come on, boys. Let’s show this Honda Civic how real men fly.”

You’re practically vibrating now. Locked in. Focused. You follow the others back to the route—Maverick hangs back. You’re a bull in the chute, about to blow the gate. You’re going to kick this cowboy into the dust.

All you need is the green light. The words.

“Whenever you’re ready, Grandma,” Jake says, smug as ever.

You take a breath. Narrow your gaze.

You’re not just going to shoot them down. That’s too easy. You’re going to humiliate them. Drag it out. Make them suffer before they burn.

Then Maverick speaks—low and clear, straight in your ear. A spark struck to gasoline.

“Flip the switch, Jinx.”

You’re gone before they can take their next breath.

They can’t see you. You know it. You’re good at disappearing. Now you wait—watching from the shadows, letting them scramble.

“Holy shit,” Reuben mutters, disbelief thick in his voice.

“Who the hell is Jinx?” Jake asks, a beat behind.

Reuben groans. “She is, idiot.”

“Wait—where have I heard that before?” Mickey pipes up.

“Jinx is the pilot Admiral Cain just grounded,” Reuben replies, his tone shifting fast toward panic. “Fastest low-level flyby of an aircraft carrier—barely two feet from the deck. And she’s the highest-scoring TOPGUN grad in twenty years. She’s fucking legendary.”

“No,” Jake breathes, full of denial. “No, she’s not Jinx. She can’t be.”

“You just had to run your fucking mouth, didn’t you?” Reuben says, voice deadpan with defeat.

“Oh, we’re fucked,” Mickey declares.

You slip beneath them like a shadow—silent, smooth—so close you could kiss their undercarriage with your canopy. But you don’t rush. You wait. Calculating. Cold. Planning the most humiliating move you can pull. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to dominate.

“Payback,” Jake says, still cocky, still smug. “You’ve got a shadow on your six.”

“What?” Reuben’s voice spikes. “Where the hell is she? Fanboy, talk to me.”

“Negative radar contact,” Mickey answers. “I don’t see anything.”

You throttle back just enough to hover beneath them, then slide up—then down again—dancing through their blind spots like smoke in a breeze.

“Hangman,” Reuben snaps, panic rising, “get her off us.”

“Relax, Payback,” Jake drawls. “I’ve got eyes on her. She’s not as good as she thinks.”

You breathe deep—steady, focused. The smile on your face is razor sharp.

“Alright, Hangman,” you murmur, voice low and lethal. “Want to see how a real man flies?”

You yank the stick back and rocket toward the sun—fast, blinding, gone. They lose you instantly.

“Where’d she go?” Jake barks. “Fanboy, where the hell did she go?”

“She’s too fast,” Mickey replies, frantic. “She’s over—wait—no, she’s—shit. I can’t get a lock!”

Leveling out, you catch a glint of sunlight off a wing at two o’clock—Jake, hanging wide. Sloppy.

You grin and dive—clean, silent, deadly.

Back behind Payback and Fanboy, you slip into their six like a phantom. One breath. Then you float up, nose aligned perfectly.

“Boo,” you whisper.

“Shit!” Mickey yells. “She’s on us!”

“Break, break, break!” Reuben shouts, yanking the stick. But you’re tighter than their turns, reading every move. Mickey’s calling positions, but it’s useless—you’re already there.

Tone lock. Missile fired.

“Damn it!” Reuben groans.

You peel away quickly, climbing high and vanishing back into the sun.

Then you wait.

Jake’s climbing now, banking, twisting. Scanning. You can feel it—his nerves crackling across the sky. You disappeared, struck, and disappeared again. And now it’s just him. No backup. No noise. Just the slow, sinking realisation.

“Where the hell is she now?” he snaps.

“She’s hunting you,” Mickey says, voice laced with amusement.

Jake loops, banks, scans his six. He’s getting desperate. But it’s too late—you’re already behind him, tracking every flick of his wings like you're inside the cockpit.

Then you dive.

Fast. Precise. Dead-on.

He doesn’t even hear the tone until it screams.

“Splash two, Hangman,” you say, smooth as silk, smug as sin.

“Fuck!” he barks, pulling hard.

You stick with him and surge upward, wings slicing through a cloudbank. Then you roll cleanly inverted—and drop.

You hover over his jet, canopy to canopy, just feet apart. Perfect. Effortless. Deadly.

Jake looks up.

And you salute him—with one elegant, deliberate middle finger.

“No fucking way,” he mutters, eyes wide.

“Mission failed,” Maverick says, the smile audible in his voice. “Nice work, Jinx.”

You right your jet, throttle back with surgical control, and leave Jake spinning in your jet wash—stunned, smoked, and thoroughly outflown.

The comms are silent on the way back to base, and you can’t stop grinning behind your mask. Your cheeks are starting to ache. You feel like a caged bird finally stretching its wings. Like yourself again—confident, alive—and almost as smug as Jake probably feels every morning when he looks in the mirror at his stupid, pretty-boy face.

Then Reuben’s voice crackles through your headset. “Is it true you once locked three bogeys in a single sweep during a TOPGUN exercise?”

You laugh, quiet enough that your mic doesn’t catch it. “Yeah. Second fly drill. Some guy was running his mouth, so I unleashed hell. Got an earful for it, though—reckless flying and all.”

Feeling a little cocky, you bank up beside their jet, then roll cleanly over—canopy to canopy. You give them a polite little wave before settling beneath them, then punch the throttle and streak ahead toward base.

“Dude,” Mickey says, awestruck, “I think I’m in love.”

You grin and surge forward, barrelling up beside Maverick. You sweep past him—closer than regulation, jostling his jet just enough to rattle him. His laughter fills your headset as you rocket ahead, heart pounding as he closes in behind you.

You chase each other through the sky in a tame game of cat and mouse until it's time to land. Following instructions from the ground crew, you ease into a holding pattern, waiting your turn to descend.

It’s not long before you’re popping the canopy and tearing off your helmet, still grinning as you climb out of the jet and drop to the tarmac—light on your feet and high on adrenaline.

“Holy shit!” Natasha storms toward you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “You—you’re Jinx! I can’t believe—oh my God.”

Bob is right behind her. “You pulled a Cobra manoeuvre during a mock dogfight at a showcase event to evade missile lock. I was there.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, heat blooming in your cheeks as the squad quickly surrounds you.

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief. “The navy hasn’t seen a pilot like you since-”

“Me,” Maverick cuts in, stepping up beside you with his helmet tucked under his arm.

You glance at him, noting the proud grin on his face, before turning back to the others. Natasha and Bob are front and centre, Javy just behind them, with Reuben and Mickey lingering in the back, still wearing their helmets. But you don’t see Bradley.

“Listen up,” Maverick says, his tone turning serious. “As most of you know, Jinx was grounded for a particularly dangerous stunt—well, she should be grounded. Admiral Simpson agreed to let her fly on the condition that only need-to-know personnel are made aware of her identity. I’ve just made you all need-to-know. Now you have to prove you can be trusted with that.”

Jake steps forward, falling in beside Natasha, his expression unreadable. You and Maverick both turn toward him, and your stomach twists. If he wanted to, he could unravel everything.

Jake meets your eyes, and for the first time, there’s nothing but sincerity behind his. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re... you’re fucking amazing.”

A grin breaks across his face—and yours follows. The squad erupts in cheers as Maverick claps a hand on your shoulder. You offer Jake a fist bump, and he accepts it with a laugh.

“You know,” he says, that cocky smirk firmly back in place, “if it doesn’t work out with Rooster, I’m always-”

“That’s enough, Hangman,” Bradley cuts in, dropping a hand on Jake’s shoulder and nudging him aside.

You giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush. Your cheeks are on fire, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

Bradley turns to you. “Hey.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes locking on his stupidly handsome face. “Hi.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, his own cheeks tinged red. “That was—uh, you’re even cooler than I thought.”

You snort, unladylike and unbothered. “That so?”

He nods and steps closer, just a few inches between your boots.

“Does that intimidate you?” you tease.

He laughs again and glances up, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath that sun-kissed skin. The world falls away—it’s just the two of you now, the rest of the squad, watching and waiting, have all but disappeared.

“No,” he says, eyes back on you. “It kinda turns me on.”

You don’t think. You just move.

Your hand slides up the front of his flight suit, fingers curling into his collar as you tug him down before he can say another word.

And then you kiss him.

It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s everything—all the tension, the smart-ass remarks, the stolen glances and breathless moments that led to this.

You rise onto your toes and his hands catch your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth claims yours like a promise, like he’s been waiting for this as long as you have. And when his tongue brushes the seam of your lips, you don’t hesitate—you part for him, and it’s like striking a match.

There’s laughter in the background, noise and movement, but it all fades beneath the roar of your pulse and the heat of his mouth. All you can feel is him—his body, his breath, his hands. You want the flight suits gone, burned, anything that dares keep him from you reduced to ash.

It takes everything you have not to absolutely devour him right there on the tarmac. But you’re still at work. And people are watching.

So you part—eventually—grinning like idiots and panting like you’ve just sprinted a mile in full gear.

“Jesus,” Mickey mutters from somewhere behind Bradley. “Even I’m hot and bothered after that.”

“All right, you two,” Maverick chuckles. “Save it for the supply closet.”

You roll your eyes and drop back onto your heels, shooting him your best unimpressed glare—which, admittedly, isn’t very convincing when you’re high on adrenaline and kissing Bradley Bradshaw.

“We’re never living that down, are we?”

“No,” Maverick replies with a grin. “Never.”

You groan and turn back toward Bradley, letting your forehead fall against his chest.

“I’m still not convinced you two didn’t fuck in there,” Jake says, striding past toward the briefing room.

A chorus of half-laughs and agreement follows him.

Bradley’s chest shakes with laughter beneath your cheek, one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close.

“If they’re going to assume we did it in there,” he murmurs, just for you, “maybe we should just go do it in there.”

You glance up at him, eyes flicking to his mouth, already picturing that stupidly hot moustache between your thighs.

“Don’t fucking tempt me.”

He laughs again and drops his hand to yours, fingers tangling as he tugs you toward the briefing room. Your eyes fall to his ass—shameless, hungry—watching the way it moves with each step just ahead of you. Teasing. Taunting.

Being assigned to Maverick’s special detachment isn’t your punishment. Flying like Jake’s grandma in her Honda Civic isn’t your punishment either. No—the real punishment is spending ten hours a day, five days a week with Bradley fucking Bradshaw, pretending to be professional. Just waiting for the evenings when you can drag him to bed and completely, unapologetically devour him.

END.

#bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #rooster x reader #top gun: maverick #top gun #miles teller #miles teller x reader #one shot #oneshot #fanfiction #fan fiction #imagine #top gun x reader #jake seresin #maverick #hangman

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taesjpq · 3 months ago

Text

Jealousy part. II

genre — best friends to lovers, fluff, smut MDNI!! pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — read part 1 hehe, this is pure smut (with plot) word count — 8,7k (part II)

I highly recommend reading part 1, first, or this probably won’t make much sense.

Warnings and notes under the line.

Notes: mention of san (ateez) and sangyeon (theboyz)

Well… it’s finally here!! it’s been a while, so even if you’ve already read part 1, I recommend giving it another read before diving in – this picks up right where it left off. Enjoy, and please scream & shout at me about how you liked it!! it’s my first time writing smut, so be kind (but also honest hehe) ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, switch!mingyu (CAUSE I KNOW HE IS), switch!reader, needy mingyu (yes that’s a warning), semi-public situations (they're not getting caught at all), fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), consent emphasized, breast play, dirty talk, edging, mild overstimulation, unprotected sex/creampie (don't do that!!), cockwarming, aftercare implied, excessive use of “fuck” and “shit” (because i can’t stop it)

21:12

"Woah."

Hoshi and Wonwoo storm inside, the door swinging shut behind them. "I almost turned into a damn tree waiting out there. Thought you guys were pretending not to be here."

There’s a pause. His eyes flicker around the room—searching.

"For whatever reason," he adds, dragging out the words before shooting Wonwoo a look, wiggling his brows. Wonwoo chuckles under his breath, balancing bottles in both hands.

Usually, Mingyu would roll his eyes, maybe even smack Hoshi for a dumb comment like that. But right now? His mind is too hazy, too full—still tangled up in you.

The second you hear their voices, you go.

Straight to the bathroom. Fast enough to escape, slow enough not to raise suspicion. The door clicks shut behind you, just shy of a slam.

Your hands grip the sink. Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed, cheeks burning, lips—fuck.

You look wrecked.

Your hair is a mess from where Mingyu had leaned too close, your lips are swollen from nothing but a brush, and your skin still tingles where his breath had been.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Inhale deep. Try to steady yourself.

Because they’re out there. He is out there. And you need to act normal.

So you force it all down, splash cold water on your face, and when you step out of the bathroom, you do what you do best.

You pretend.

"Why the hell wouldn’t you guys pick up my call? I was going crazy. Do you know how much I paid yesterday for your shit?"

Hoshi sprawls out on the couch, his voice loud and dramatic, while Wonwoo sets the snacks and bottles down on the table.

That’s how Hoshi expresses his worry—through complaints, through exaggerated frustration that’s half real, half just him being Hoshi. Usually, Mingyu would respond. Would roll his eyes, laugh, tease him back.

But right now?

Mingyu isn’t listening.

He can’t listen.

He sinks onto the couch, still lightheaded. Still caught up in the last few minutes.

Hoshi is talking—something about the night, something Mingyu should probably respond to—but his mind is elsewhere. He’s still in the kitchen. Still pressed against you. Still feeling the ghost of your lips brushing his. His whole body is tense, his skin too warm, his jeans way too fucking tight.

He shifts uncomfortably, subtly adjusting himself before grabbing a pillow and placing it over his lap. He tries—really, really tries—to focus on Hoshi. To nod at the right moments. To act normal. But all he can think about is how soft your lips felt, how you looked at him. The way your lips parted just slightly, like you were going to—

"So tell me, what did you guys do today?"

Fuck.

Mingyu freezes.

What—what is he supposed to say? That you guys—? No. No fucking way.

His stomach tightens. His jeans—shit—feel impossibly tighter. A sudden wave of dizziness washes over him. He wasn’t even drunk, but it was too hot in here. Too much. Too you.

"Umm…" he mutters, fingers pressing to his temple, trying to come up with something—anything—normal to say.

"Nothing much," you say, stepping into the living room. Too casual. Too even. "Just ate, watched something. Pretty chill."

Hoshi hums, unconvinced.

And Mingyu—Mingyu forgets how to breathe.

His eyes drag over you—your face, your lips. Your legs, where he was between them just minutes ago.

Shit.

His grip tightens on the pillow.

"Yeah, of course," Hoshi says, voice laced with suspicion. But thankfully, he shrugs it off, already moving on to another topic. The conversation shifts, flows into something else.

But Mingyu doesn’t.

He stays still. Because you don’t look at him. Not once.

Since the second you walked into the room, since the moment you spoke, you haven’t spared him a single glance.

And fuck, that does something to him.

Fingers clenched. Jaw locked. Heart pounding.

Because this isn’t over.

Because no matter how much you pretend—

No matter how steady your voice is, how carefully you avoid his gaze—

He knows.

He knows now.

22:12

"Well, I was supposed to go out with the other guys tonight, but of course, you guys come first," Hoshi announces dramatically, stretching across the couch.

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his phone. "Why are you lying? You were the one who insisted on coming here and dragged me along."

Hoshi huffs and lightly smacks Wonwoo’s arm. "Shh, be quiet."

But then, as if the thought just occurred to him, Hoshi perks up. "Actually… now that I think about it, I could've brought them along. They’re pretty cool."

He pauses for effect, then smirks. "Especially Sangyeon."

There’s something in his tone—something teasing—that immediately puts you on edge.

"You know what?" He grins. "I should introduce him to you. He might be your type."

Your head snaps up.

And so does Mingyu’s.

The air shifts in an instant.

“I—uh, I’m actually pretty picky, so don’t bother.”

“Come on, it can’t be that complicated. What is your type, anyway?”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

And before you can stop yourself, before you can think—your gaze flickers to Mingyu.

Shit.

You regret it immediately. The moment is too fast, too obvious. Wonwoo catches it instantly, his sharp eyes reading your expression like an open book.

"Just leave her alone with your nonsense," Wonwoo says, his voice even, unimpressed. "Maybe worry about finding your own girlfriend first."

Hoshi gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "Hey! I’m trying to help! It’s been years since she’s had a boyfriend!"

Your stomach tightens. You can’t sit here any longer.

Mingyu doesn’t look away. He just watches.

Heat creeps up your neck, and suddenly, you need to get out of here. Now.

You force out a laugh, pushing yourself to your feet. "I think it’s time for more drinks."

"Want some help with that?” Wonwoo asks, still half-distracted by his phone.

"No!" It comes out too fast, too desperate. You cringe at yourself but don’t stop.

You don’t wait for a response—you just go.

The moment you step into the kitchen, you exhale sharply, setting the glasses down and gripping the counter.

Just breathe. In and ou—

“Need help?”

His voice.

Casual. Too casual.

He’s there—leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, shoulders broad, completely unbothered.Taking up too much space.

An annoyed smile tugs at your lips. Why can’t he just leave you alone?

“I thought I was being clear,” you mutter, staring ahead.

A slow, knowing hum. Amused. Mocking . “I’m just being nice. Like always.”

And he’s enjoying this—teasing you like this.

You shake your head, you shift, pulling open the fridge. “Good. Then don’t be like always.”

Mingyu straightens, uncrossing his arms, a soft chuckle.

You grab a couple of bottles, setting them on the counter before reaching for the glasses in the cabinet.

He doesn’t move. Just staying there at the door frame. Watching you.

“Yeah? And how exactly do you want me then?”

Your grip tightens around the glass.

Mingyu. You little shit.

You inhale, forcing yourself to keep your back to him. “I need you to be quiet. Just quiet.”

“Oh, I can do that,” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. You don’t even turn around. Instead, you keep your gaze on the glasses in your hands—like that’s all you came here for.

“I think you know how.”

You let out a breath, stepping toward him like it’s nothing.

“If you’re done, here, make yourself useful.”

His smirk deepens. You’re trying so hard to act unaffected, but he sees it—the way your fingers tremble slightly, the way your breath catches.

Mingyu tilts his head. Slow. Calculating. “I thought you didn’t want my help?”

You shoot him a glare. You scowl. Why does he have to be so goddamn annoying?

And worse—why does he have to look this good while doing it?

But before you can fire back—

Your phone rings.

You glance down at your pocket, hands too full to reach for it. You sigh, shifting everything toward Mingyu.

He looks at you. A beat of silence. And just when you think he’s going to take the bottles—

His hand moves.

Not for the drinks.

For your phone.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

His fingers brush against your waist as he lifts the hem of your shirt—just slightly.

His fingers curl around your phone. He pulls it out, his gaze flickers down to the screen.

San.

The name rolls off his tongue. He’s heard it before, here and there. Was it someone from work?

His eyes flick back up to yours, searching. “This late?”

You swallow. “Give it back.”

You step forward, but he doesn’t move.

His grip tightens around your phone. He should just hand it over. He should step back.

Instead, the words slip out—low, unfiltered.

“Why is he calling?”

You blink.

Shit. It wasn’t a question he meant to ask. It wasn’t something he even thought about saying. It just fell out of him.

“What?”

The call ends. Silence.

Mingyu doesn’t answer the question. Neither do you.

Before you can figure out what's happening, he smiles. But not just any smile.That slow, knowing, devastating kind.

And then—He puts it back, back into your pocket.

Ding.

A message.

He tilts his head.

Ding. Ding.

“Must be important.”

Another message.

“You close?”

His voice dips lower.

You open your mouth, but before you can answer—

“How close?”

Something shifts.

The teasing is gone.

He sees the realization flicker across your face. You notice it now—the difference.

No smirking. No amusement.

Just—

Jealousy.

Your lips twitch.

This is fun.

Your turn now.

“This close,” you murmur, taking a few steps back.

His brows furrow slightly.

“Or this close?”

You step forward again.

His fingers flex. His jaw tightens.

Now he gets it.

Now you’re right in front of him. So close, almost touching.

“Or maybe… this close?”

So close you feel his breath. The way his chest rises. The way his hand twitches at his side.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips. Then back up.

His breath stutters.

Your voice drops, barely above a whisper.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

Mingyu moves before he can think.

His hand grips your waist. Your back. Pulling you into him.

His body is so warm. So solid.

And then—

“I doubt you two are this close.” He leans in. Just slightly.

His breath ghosts over your lips, his fingers flexing against your waist.

The cold of the drinks and glasses in your hands presses against his chest, against his stomach—a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. It makes his breath hitch. You can feel it, the bottles and glasses pressing against your breasts, and you wonder what it would have been like if they weren't there.

“You didn’t even think about checking his messages,” he murmurs. His voice is smooth. Too smooth. And then—lower—right against your ear—

“I have you right where I want you.”

A sharp inhale.

“YAAA!!”

Hoshi’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you break eye contact.

“MY DRINKS!! WHERE ARE MY DRINKS!!”

Mingyu should step back. He should let go.

He watches the way your chest rises. The way your lips part. The way your fingers tremble, just slightly, against his arm. He could end it right here. Close the space. Kiss you senseless.

He wants to. God, he wants to.

But the voices in the living room—too close.

He doesn’t know how it would end. Doesn’t know what you’d do. What he might do. Not when his pulse is this loud, not when you’re looking at him like you already know.

Not now, he thinks.

Because if he moves even an inch closer— He’ll do something stupid.

Right then where you think he would lean in —again

he takes the bottles and glasses from your hands.

Turns and walks out of the kitchen.

Leaving you standing there, heart racing.

Mingyu—smirking to himself.

He chooses restraint. For now.

00:34

Your night plays out like it always does.

Mario Kart on the Switch, followed by rounds of drinking games, laughter bubbling up with every sip, the room alive with energy. It’s become routine—getting tipsy with the guys, letting the evening slip into a blur of noise and warmth. But tonight, something’s different. Your mind isn’t on the game; it’s on him.

Mingyu.

You’re counting down the minutes until this all ends, until you can finally be alone.

Alone with your thoughts.

“Okay, last round, Hoshi,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yes! Yes!” Hoshi hurls himself into the couch, already grabbing his drink before the race even starts. Predictably, he loses again.

You don’t even flinch, too distracted by the way Mingyu leans back against the couch, his eyes casually glancing at the screen but his attention fully on you. He’s sitting there, relaxed—his messy hair falling perfectly in a way that makes you want to reach out and fix it, even though you know he’d just mess it up again.

His black t-shirt is slightly stretched from his movement, and as he shifts to grab another drink, you catch a glimpse of the chain hanging loosely around his neck. It glints in the dim light, you gaze down to the sharp line of his jaw to his exposed collarbones.

You try to look away, but every movement he makes seems deliberate, as if he's doing it on purpose.

“PLEASE! LAST ROUND, PLEASE!!” Hoshi’s voice rings out, exaggerated and dramatic, dragging you back into the room. Mingyu chuckles, his lips curling into that effortless smirk.

“Alright, let him have another round,” he says, voice deep and calm, a little too calm, his eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second.

It’s enough.

Your heart stutters. You’re hyper-aware of everything. He rolls his sleeves up, just slightly, as he takes another drink. The biceps of his arm flex as he lifts his glass, you can see the veins along his forearm. It’s suddenly so warm in here and you can feel the way it pulls you closer even though you haven’t moved an inch.

He doesn't need to try. He just is.

He knows it, too.

“YAAA!! THIS CAN’T BE!!” Hoshi wails, the chaos pulling you out of the moment. His controller crashes to the floor in exaggerated despair.

You sigh, laughing despite yourself, the sound escaping your lips like a small release. For a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been thickening the air all night finally breaks, but it lingers—just out of reach. Your eyes flicker to Mingyu, and in that instant, you catch him. Staring at you. Not just a glance, but a look that lingers.

He’s watching you, watching the way you sit there—knees on the floor, bare legs beneath you. But it’s not just the way you’re sitting, it’s the way his shirt clings to your skin, your posture, your eyes, your lips... everything about you seems to pull him in. His thoughts begin to drift, and before he can stop them, his mind’s running down a path he knows he shouldn’t be on.

No, he thinks. Not again.

He drags a hand over his face and thunks his head back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut. He exhales slowly, a forced calm. Focus, Mingyu.

He can’t afford another hard-on tonight. Not with everyone around.

But he knows. You both know it.

It’s going to be a long, torturous night after all. And it isn’t ending anytime soon.

02:46

Hours have slipped by, blurred by laughter and the bitter tang of alcohol on your tongue. The room is warm, dimly lit,—half-empty glasses, crumpled snack bags, the low hum of music still playing somewhere in the background.

You’re exhausted, but wired. The kind of tired where everything feels a little too slow, a little too heavy.

A soft snore interrupts your thoughts.

You turn your head. Hoshi, sprawled out across the couch, mouth slightly open, completely dead to the world.

You blink. "Well. There he goes."

Mingyu huffs out a quiet laugh across from you, tilting his head toward the couch. "Took him long enough."

"It’s always him," you mutter, shaking your head.

"It was Wonwoo first."

"Wonwoo doesn’t count. He chooses sleep."

Mingyu grins, eyes crinkling at the edges, his dark, tousled hair—slightly messy from the long night—falls over his forehead, the dim light catches the sharp line of his jaw and suddenly, you’re aware that its just the two of you now. The laughter fades, leaving something quieter in its place.

And then it happens.

That look.

Mingyu leans his head back against the couch, watching you in that way that makes your stomach twist. His gaze is dark, unreadable, and smirking. you feel it—lingering too long on your face, dropping to your lips.

He’s fucking smirking at you.

Like you guys didnt kiss each other just hours ago.

Your breath catches. Heat pools in your stomach, climbs up your spine, wraps around your throat until your face burns. It’s impossible to ignore the way your body reacts to him, impossible not to remember the way he felt pressed against you, the way he almost—

No.

You need to move. You need to do something—anything—to break the tension before it swallows you whole.

So you stand up.

Quickly. Too quickly. You busy yourself with the mess on the table, grabbing empty glasses, snack wrappers—anything to keep your hands occupied, your mind distracted. You can still feel his gaze pressing into you, following your every movement like a weight on your skin. So you just move yourself to the kitchen. Yeah, that damn kitchen.

To escape. To escape him.

But of course, he follows you.

You focus on the counter, setting things down with a little too much force. You reach for an empty glass, then hesitate, frowning. Where does this go again? You open a random cabinet. Wrong one. You try another. Wrong again.

Mingyu leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you struggle. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt, and the sleeves cling to his biceps in a way that makes your fingers itch to touch.

"Need help?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

You find the right cabinet—finally—but as you reach up to place the glass inside, it slips. Not enough to fall, but enough for Mingyu to react.

He leans in slightly, voice lower now. "You seem a little distracted."

You exhale sharply, setting the glass down before you drop it for real. "I’m fine."

He hums, unconvinced.

Silence settles between you. Mingyu doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. Instead, he watches you—closely. His gaze lingers as you slowly place the glass in the cabinet, like he’s studying every movement, every flicker of hesitation. You feel it—his eyes, the weight of his attention pressing into your skin.

"You’re bad at this, you know," he murmurs.

"At what?"

"At pretending."

Your pulse stumbles.

"I’m not pretending," you say, but your voice isn’t as steady as you want it to be.

He laughs teasingly, not really believing you.

"You’re also bad at drinking games," he teases, his voice low, laced with something deeper. He leans against the counter, too close. "Honestly surprised you’re still standing."

You roll your eyes, feigning confidence. "It takes a lot to get me down." you say, your voice steadier than you feel. The warmth of the alcohol hums beneath your skin. "I’m not even that drunk, actually."

"Oh, yeah?"

He steps closer.

No. Please, no.

You almost whine.

Not again. Not when you’re still weak from earlier. Not when you still feel the ghost of his breath on your skin, the way he nearly kissed you, the way he almost had you.

You swallow hard, nodding—but it’s weak, almost shaky. And he notices.

"So, you weren’t really that drunk yesterday? Was all of that just an act?"

His skin glows under the kitchen light, sweat dampening his forehead, his neck. His lips are pinker than before, and when he tilts his head slightly, your knees almost give in.

“I dont know what you mean- I-" Your voice falters, and you curse yourself for how obvious it is. He's always been able to read you, hasn't he?

He smirks. But he knows it all too well. Without touching you, he moves. His presence alone pulls you backward, guiding your body against the counter. You find yourself pressed against the edge, your breath caught in your throat. He doesn't touch you, but it feels as if he’s controlling every inch of your movement.

Finally, his gaze softens, but the intensity remains. He reaches up, his fingers grazing your cheek, the touch light but electric, sending a shiver through you. “Your cheeks are giving you away,” he murmurs, his voice low and knowing. “Mingyu, stop.” you whisper, as you push against his chest, it causes him to step back, just a little. His arm wraps around yours, pulling you right back into him. The movement is fast, and before you can fully react, you’re pressed against him—your chest against his, your breath shallow as you’re forced to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

He exhales, voice deep, teasing, but his eyes betray him. "Why? you’re not gonna ask me to stay this time? Not gonna ask me to sleep with you?"

"I don’t even remember what I—"

"But I do."

He doesn’t let you go.

He leans in, hand ghosting along your jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s trying to memorize it. His warmth seeps into your skin, into your bones, unraveling something inside you.

“You were looking at me like this,” he murmurs, forehead resting lightly against yours. “Exactly like this.”

You can feel every word against your skin. His eyes don’t leave yours.

“Mingyu, I—”

“You held me here.” He traces your hand over his chest, down his abs, his touch slow, deliberate. “You asked me to stay, told me not to leave”, a smirk tugging at his lips as he remembers that moment. “Shit, I thought you were fucking with me.”

Your throat goes dry, a tightness spreading through you as his nose brushes against yours.

“You said please,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. He slowly pushes you against the counter.

“Say it again" he whispers, the word coming out like a plea, thick with want, yearning—almost as if he's asking to kiss you.

“Please,” he whispers. It’s barely a sound—more breath than voice—but it carries everything. A plea. A need. Like he’s not just asking for a kiss, but for permission to fall apart in your hands.

Your chest tightens. Your fingers move before your thoughts can catch up, curling around the back of his neck, drawing him in even though you’re already impossibly close.

His breath hitches at the movement, eyes locking with yours. And there, in the quiet space between heartbeats, he knows.

Then he kisses you.

Soft at first. Barely there. It’s slow, careful—his lips brushing yours, like he’s learning the shape of you through every careful pass.

Then again—deeper this time. More sure.

His hands find their way to your cheeks, holding you, steadying you, like he can't pull away even if he wanted to. He hums against your lips, a soft relief, like he's been waiting for this. And he was.

But the moment his mind catches up with the taste of you—he’s lost.

The kiss turns desperate, all softness bleeding into something needier. Like if he stops, even for a second, it might all slip away.

Your hands are everywhere—roaming, exploring. He nudges you gently until your back hits the counter, the edge cool against your spine. Your palms press to the surface behind you, steadying yourself as the bottles shift and clink under your touch.

“Mingyu—”

“No—”,he’s already kissing you again.

Your protest is cut off, swallowed by his mouth, his kiss harder now. Like he’s trying to erase every reason not to.

His hand slides to your waist, fingers pressing in, grounding himself in you. His chest brushes yours, heart pounding.

“We should—” he exhales, his voice cracking, his lips barely leaving yours. “We should stop, right?”

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath, brushing against the skin of his stomach. He’s warm, feverish beneath your touch.

“Yeah,” you breathe, lips still brushing his, “they—hmh-they could come in…”

Shit. He knows. He really fucking knows. But he’s too far in. He should stop—he knows that. But how’s he supposed to do that? When you're looking at him like that? He tried to be good. He really did. But with you like this? He’s already too far gone.

“Mmh,” he exhales, kissing the corner of your mouth. “We should stop before...”

But even as he says it, his hands slide down, fingertips grazing your thigh. He looks at you, like he’s checking—like he needs to make sure. And the way you're staring back? He gets his answer.

He lifts your leg onto the counter. The bottles clink next you, sharp and loud in the quiet, like a reminder of where you are but —

“Yes—mmh—we should stop before anyone—”

But then he hums, low and rough, as his hand moves to your chest. Fingers glide up, brushing over your breast, and your breath stutters.

“We should… fuck-” His voice trembles. “Go to sleep.”

He’s trying. God, he’s trying.

But his mind is lost in you. Like he’s clinging to every thread of control he has left.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, breathless. Your hand slides under his shirt again, feeling the way he trembles under your touch.

“I should go to sleep…”, you smile to yourself.

“Yes- We should go to sleep,” he says, pulling off his shirt.

You watch his skin glows golden under the dim lamp, and when he runs a hand through his hair—black strands sticking up in every direction—you almost loose it. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but damn.

He takes your hands, places them on his chest, his abs—letting you feel him. And then he kisses you again.

“Shit,” he breathes. “I can’t… I can’t fucking stop.”

You're still on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, even as his hands slide up, cupping your tits, grazing the edge of your bra, his mouth finding your neck.

“Fuck— Mingyu,” you moan, soft but breathless.

“Don’t do that,” he groans. “-Fuck.”

You tug off your shirt, and he just stares for a second.

Out of breath, hair a mess, half-dressed. This—this is what he dreamed about for far too long.

You reach for his belt, pulling him back in.

“We can’t be loud,” you whisper. “Be quiet, Mingyu.”

He smirks like you’ve just dared him. Like being quiet is a challenge.

He kisses you hard, pressing his dick against you—exactly where you want him. You moan into his mouth, hands in his hair, kissing him like this might be the last time. Because maybe it is.

He trails kisses down your neck, then your chest—his mouth warm over your bra, licking and sucking. You feel everything, but it’s not enough. You need more.

“Mingyu, don’t—don’t tease.”

“We can’t be loud, right?” he smirks to himself. You whine in response.

One hand cups your breast while the other runs across his lips, tasting you . You bite down on your lip, trying to quiet every moan that threatens to slip. His hands are so big on you, his mouth so unbelievably good.

You pull him back to your lips, needing to feel him—needing to let those moans escape where only he can hear them.

“More,” you breathe, your hand drifting lower, palming him through his pants.

The alcohol is blurring your filter, but you don’t care. You want him.

Still, he doesn’t give in. Not fully. Not yet.

He kisses you deeper—your lips, your throat—grinding against you like he’s losing control. Like you’re the one driving him insane. He thinks he’s teasing you, but maybe he’s torturing himself just as much.

You dig your nails into his back, kissing along his shoulder. The intimacy of it gives you goosebumps, sets your skin on fire.

You can’t take it anymore. Your hands go to his belt, fingers working it open as your eyes meet his.

“Shit,” he exhales. Mingyu shakes his head “Not here.”

“Not here?” you whisper, almost whining.

His hands find your waist again, sliding lower, between your legs.

His fingers are a little cold, and the touch makes you gasp.

“Mingyu-”

“Spread your legs for me,” he says lowly, never breaking eye contact.

You do.

He moves slowly at first, teasing your clit, eyes locked on every little reaction your face gives away.

Your mouth parts open slightly, breath hitching.

“Hm? That sensitive?” he asks, speeding up just a little.

A soft moan slips from your lips as you grip his arms, trying to steady yourself.

And then his finger slides inside.

Then another.

While his thumb keeps working your clit, making you lose your mind.

“You like seeing my hands between your legs?” he rasps, still watching you.

You can’t even look away—neither of you can.

He kisses you, and you moan right into his mouth.

“You like the way that feels?” he asks. “So wet for me already…”

You try not to, but his names slips out of your mouth.

“Shit. Didn’t we talk about being quiet?”, voice low, watching you all desperate and squirming under his touch.

And you can feel it building—right there, right under his fingers.

“Fuck, yeah. Like this”, he whispers. You’re so close.

His fingers move just right—fast, precise, relentless—and your body can’t take it anymore. It hits you all at once. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, legs trembling as the orgasm rolls through you.

He doesn’t stop until you're done—his fingers slow down, helping you through it, letting you ride it out as your whole body shudders against him.

Then he kisses you—soft, almost sweet, lips warm and slow. You melt into it, dizzy, still catching your breath.

He smiles into the kiss, smug as hell. “You think they heard you?”

You smack his chest, face burning, and he just laughs—loud, unbothered—and gives you a quick kiss on the lips like it’s nothing.

“Time to sleep,” he says, all casual, like he didn’t just make you fall apart on the kitchen counter.

You’re still dazed, legs weak, not even trying to get up when he picks up your clothes. And just as you’re wondering what now, he lifts you—hands under your thighs and back—carrying you.

You bury your face in his neck, skin still warm, and you can feel him chuckling, chest shaking under your cheek.

He carries you into your room, setting you down on the bed,you lean back on your elbows, chest rising and falling, still hazy from your high—but your eyes are locked on him. The soft light from the hallway hits his skin just right. His abs flex as he moves, still shirtless, just his jeans hanging low on his hips.

You're supposed to be tired. You’re supposed to be done.

But your body says otherwise.

He notices your stare. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

He runs a hand through his hair, almost flustered, but that smirk is back.

“Like you want more. You know I lose control when you do that.”

You lean forward, lips brushing into a small, wicked smile. “Hm, really?”

He curses under his breath.

You shift onto your knees, crawling closer to where he’s standing by the bed, teasing, until you’re eye level with his lips. You watch him closely, deliberately. His eyes darken, flickering down to your mouth.

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters.

“I’m just being like always,” you say, like it’s innocent—but the way you graze your fingers over his belt says otherwise.

He laughs, low and rough. “You’re impossible.”

Then he kisses you, hard, like he’s finally letting go again.

Your hands move lower, reaching for him, cupping him as you finally try to undo his belt. But he gently brushes your hands away, shaking his head.

“Mhh, no,” he says against your lips, voice deep and determined. “I’m not done with you.”

His hand finds your waist, guiding you back down to the bed without breaking the kiss. You sigh into it, helpless under his touch.

Mingyu slips off your bra, he trails kisses down your collarbone, your chest—slow. His mouth lingers on your breasts, lips and tongue teasing. You’re biting back a moan when he lightly sucks on your nipple. His other hand slides lower, down your side, until it reaches your hips. You gasp as his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, watching every flicker of your expression like it’s something he doesn’t want to miss. Like he’s imprinting it in his mind.

Then he kisses lower—over your stomach, your hips your inner thighs. His lips brush every part of you except where you want him most. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, and it’s driving you insane.

You breathe in sharply when his mouth finally finds you. His tongue moves in slow, careful circles over your clit, your fingers already tangling in the sheets. He’s gentle at first, like he’s still learning, but his confidence grows fast. And it’s not just skill—it’s the way he pays attention. The way he listens to every sound you make, every breath you take He groans into you, like he needs it just as badly.

You can barely focus. Your thoughts are scattered. All you know is heat. His tongue. That pressure building again, way too fast.

You peek down at him, and the sight almost ruins you. His eyes are half-lidded, completely focused —locked on yours. His brows slightly furrowed like he’s concentrating, feeling you, not just tasting. His grip tightens on your thighs as you move, and he groans against you—fuck, he’s into it.

And in his head? He’s losing it.

This is all he ever wanted.

He’d dreamed about this—too many nights, too many times imagining what you'd sound like, taste like, how you’d fall apart under his mouth. But none of it compares to this—flushed, needy, eyes fluttering, mouth open with every breathy moan. And the way you say his name?

Yeah, he’s gone.

He’s so mad at himself—mad that he waited this long, mad that he let you be so close for so long without touching you like this. But right now? He’s making up for it.

He presses your thighs open wider, groaning at the way you react. His tongue starts to move faster now, rougher, more deliberate. Circling, sucking, teasing. You whimper his name—desperate, breathless—and he loves it. Every moan you try to bite back just makes him go harder.

“Mingyu—fuck—” you breathe, legs trembling under his grip.

And he just hums into you in response, lips curved, like he’s proud of the way you fall apart for him all over again.

He slips a finger inside you, and your back arches, a loud gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it. You glance down—his mouth still on you, tongue still moving—and you can see it.

That smug little smile.

You actually want to slap him for it. But God, it feels so good. Too good.

You shove your finger between your lips, biting down hard, because otherwise you'd be moaning his name.

Trying to not wake anyone. But he makes it impossible. His finger curls just right, finding that spot that makes your whole body clench, and then—

A second finger. Thicker. Deeper. You cry out into your arm, hand flying to his hair, gripping hard—more for your sanity than his guidance.

This isn’t what you had in mind when you got drunk last night—but fuck, you’re not complaining.

“Mingyu—I’m going to—”

You can barely get the words out, voice all shaky. He pulls back just a little, breath heavy against your thigh, fingers still pumping into you slow and deep, while looking at you in your eyes.

“Not yet,” he says, voice low, but wrecked. “Just a little longer, please?”

You want to curse at him, cry, beg—but all that comes out is a desperate whine. You throw your head back into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut.

You need it.

But he knows that. He wants you right there. He wants to watch you fall apart again—and know it’s him doing it to you.

His fingers speed up, more precise now, like he knows exactly how much you can take. His tongue’s back on you—licking, moaning with you, vibrating against you.

And when he lifts your legs up, resting them on his broad shoulders—you can’t take it anymore.

Your whole body clenches. The heat crashes over you so fast it steals your breath. Your hands still tangled in his hair as he stays with you till wave ends.

He doesn’t let go. He holds you through it, still licking you soft and slow, humming gently like he’s calming you down from a high only he could give.

He smiles to himself, then leans in to kiss you again—slow, deep. You can still taste yourself on his lips. You kiss him back. your body’s still buzzing, but God, you're tired.

Eventually, he lets himself drop back onto the bed beside you, one arm flung lazily over his eyes. You're both breathing hard, skin warm and flushed.

“You tired?” he murmurs, voice a little hoarse.

You hum, eyes still closed. “Yes… but no.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, shifting just enough to peek at you from under his arm. “What kinda answer is that?”

You giggle softly, brain still foggy. “You?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He drags a hand through his messy hair. “You seriously drive me insane. I was tense the whole damn day… like some fucking college kid with a crush.”

You smile to yourself. “Oh yeah? You deserved it. You made me wait long enough.”

He lifts his head, resting on his elbows now, eyebrows raised. “I made you wait?Are you kidding? I was trailing after you like a damn dog for months. Everyone saw it. Everyone. Except for— you. They made fun of me. Hoshi even gave me names. He called me a puppy!”

“You didn’t do anything either!” you shoot back. “And it’s not my fault—you’re nice to everyone!”

“Yeah, but…” he pauses, and you can feel something shift in the air between you. You look at him, waiting for ending the sentence.

“I’m only in love with you.”

The words are soft. Steady. No hesitation, no teasing this time. And it hits you. Your heart stutters—you look at him, searching his face, trying to read the truth in his eyes. He meant it. Every word.

Your lips part, but no answer comes. Not yet. Instead, your gaze drops—his chest still rising fast, the muscles of his stomach tense, his jeans still unbuttoned, the bulge beneath his boxers so obvious now.

A slow smile curls on your lips.

“You waited that long?”, drawing the word out, fingers drifting low on his stomach.

He groans, tossing his arm back over his face. “Don’t mock me.”

You lean in. “What did they call you again?” Your hand cups him through his boxers—he’s already hard.

He lets out a long breath through his nose, biting back a curse.

“Stop playing…” he mutters, but it’s weak—he doesn’t really mean it.

Your voice dips lower. “Did Hoshi call you a puppy?”

“Mhm— a puppy in love, he said.”

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as your hand dips beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers wrapping around him. He’s hot, thick, and already leaking. He groans—sharp and low.

“Fuck—don’t tease—”

You pull down his jeans and boxers in one slow motion, freeing his cock. He twitches in your hand.

“So much pre-cum…” you say. “Were you really about to cum in your pants, Gyu?”

He laughs at himself, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, yes—almost.”

You bite your lip, your hand moving slow at first, teasing. His breath catches. “Shit—I’m sensitive.”

You watch the way his expression shifts—brows knit together, lips parting, chest rising quicker with every breath.

“Don’t—ahh—your hands…” he groans, voice breaking around the words.

You go a little faster. His hips twitch. A breathless moan slips from his lips and he grabs at the sheets.

“What if I..” You lean in, breath ghosting over the tip of his cock. You give a soft lick, just once—just to see.

“Shit— cant you just—” he gasps, jaw clenched tight.

You look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent. “Not so loud,” you whisper. “What if they hear you like this?”

He lets out a desperate sound, biting down on his fist, like that’ll help.

You smirk, finally taking him into your mouth—slow, deep, with deliberate pressure. His whole body jerks.

He’s trying to hold back. He doesn’t even dare to look at you. Because if he does—if he watches your lips wrapped around his cock, your eyes fluttering shut, your head moving slow and steady—he’ll lose it. Completely.

You suck him deeper, your lips wrapped tight, tongue tracing every inch. He’s so responsive, so sensitive, every little flick making him twitch in your mouth. His thighs tense beneath your hands, and the soft, ragged sounds coming from his throat only make you want more.

“Shit—” he gasps, a hand reaching down, not to push you away—but to ground himself. His fingers tangle in your hair, not guiding, just holding.

You glance up. His head’s tossed back, lips parted.

He tries to hold still. Tries not to fuck up into your mouth. But the way you’re working him—slow, then fast, then slow again—it’s driving him insane.

And then suddenly—

“Wait—fuck, baby—stop.”

You try to understand why he pulled away—lips still parted, his length heavy in your hand—and then you hear it. Footsteps. The faint creak of the bathroom door down the hall. Someone’s awake.

instead of stopping, you stroke him—slow, deliberate—watching his eyes flutter, jaw clench tight.

“Shit, baby…” he whispers, voice tight, “I can’t hold it in. I’m gonna—”

You lean up, cutting him off with a kiss. A soft hush. You don’t want him too loud either. But he’s still so hard, throbbing in your hand, and the way he kisses you back—messy and desperate—tells you how badly he’s struggling.

He sits up slowly, his hands grip your waist, pulling you into his lap like he can’t help it. You settle over him, straddling, still bare, your pussy brushing his cock. The friction makes you both gasp—his tip slides right against your folds, wet and hot and so wrong. So good.

“Fuck—” he groans into your mouth. “Baby, your pussy… it's—shit—it’s right there.”

“I know,” you whisper, lips brushing his. You roll your hips, letting his cock glide through your slick folds, not quite inside, but enough to make him lose his breath. “But we’re not having sex, right?”

His hands squeeze your hips tighter, trying to steady you, but you keep grinding—slow, delicious pressure. His cock slides over your clit just right, making you both shiver.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes.

“But you like it,” you whisper against his jaw, biting it gently.

“Fuck baby, I love it. You feel—mhm—fuck.” He’s unraveling beneath you, hips jerking up once, just barely.

You smirk and keep going. Little circles. Little rocks of your hips. You moan quietly, lips brushing his ear. “What if I came like this? Just from grinding on your cock?”

“Dont fucking talk like that. Shit—”

And then he says it—low, strained, breathless:

“Just the tip?” He meets your eyes, voice barely a whisper. “It wouldn’t count… right?”

The smirk on your lips falters when you feel him shift beneath you. He looks at you, one arm wrapping around your waist. His tone drops lower—deeper, more confident now. “Say yes.”

You nod. That’s all he needs.

He pulls you down—slowly—just enough to push the head of his cock inside. You gasp at the stretch, at how thick he feels, even like this. He holds you there, both of you trembling, his forehead resting against yours.

You whimper, but before you can speak, he moves. He rocks his hips up—just once, shallow, purposeful. Enough to make you cry out and cling to him.

He chuckles, quiet and low. “Told you. Just the tip, and already look at you…”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he loves it.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, guiding your hips slowly, letting you feel all of him without giving you everything. “Look at you. So desperate to be full, huh?”

You nod again, helpless. “Please…”

He tilts your chin up, kissing you softly—then deeper, filthier. “You want more?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He hums, leaning back to look at you. “Then ask me.”

You swallow hard, but your mouth stays shut, lips parted, breath shallow. You know what he wants to hear— but something in you won’t give it to him that easily. Not yet.

“Hm?” he says softly, eyes narrowing with the hint of a smirk. “No?”

His hands slide down your sides, slow and sure. He shifts his hips under you—just the head of his cock still buried inside, pulsing—and rolls them up ever so slightly. Just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your jaw. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers trailing over your clit in featherlight circles. You jerk forward instinctively, gasping.

“Fuck—Mingyu—”

“Still not asking,” he mutters, almost amused, his voice thick with restraint.

He keeps circling, teasing—soft, slow, maddening. At the same time, he rocks his hips again, just a little, dragging himself barely an inch deeper inside you. Your body clenches down, desperate for more.

You whimper, hands braced on his chest, trying not to completely melt. He’s watching you now, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every twitch, every shaky breath.

His free hand grips your ass, guiding you into a slow, lazy grind against him. The friction makes your head spin—you can feel the tip of his cock pressing right there, and his fingers still working you, too slow to satisfy, too perfect to ignore.

You try to hold on—but your body betrays you, chasing the rhythm, chasing more. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but your pride holds them back just a moment longer.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll keep going like this all night,” he whispers, voice rough. “Just like this. Teasing you. Keeping you full, but never enough. Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” you breathe, almost a sob. Your legs are shaking now, your whole body aching.

“Say it,” he whispers. You break. You can’t take it anymore.

“Please—Mingyu—fuck me.”

And the second those words leave your mouth, his expression shifts—something deeper, darker flashes in his eyes.

He grabs your waist with both hands and sinks you down onto him in one slow, devastating thrust, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping his name, your body going taut.

“There you go,” he breathes, his voice strained, jaw clenched. “Fuck—you take me so well.”

You’re panting, hips rolling instinctively, but he slows you down with a firm grip.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you like this. Just… stay here a second.”

You can feel him pulsing inside you, his hands roaming your back, your hips, your thighs like he’s trying to memorize every part of you. He presses kisses to your neck, slow and hot.

Then he starts to move—hips snapping up, controlled, deep. Not rough, but precise. He watches your face the whole time, eyes flicking down to your parted lips, your fluttering lashes, the way you gasp when he hits that spot inside you.

“You feel me right there?” he growls against your ear. “Right where you needed it?”

You nod frantically, fingers clutching his shoulders, your voice broken.

“Tell me,” he urges, his tone softer now, coaxing. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“So good—fuck, so deep—Mingyu—”

He kisses you again, grinning into it, just a little cocky now that you’re coming apart in his hands. His pace quickens, your moans slipping free with every thrust, louder, needier.

And then he stills, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Ride me,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Let me watch you.”

You bite your lip, breath shaky, but you shift your weight and begin to move—slow at first, dragging your hips in circles, rolling against him. He groans, loud, his head tipping back, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you from beneath messy strands of hair.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck—look at you.”

You start to bounce, the rhythm building as his hands slide down to your hips, helping, guiding, squeezing. The sound of skin on skin fills the air, filthy and wet and perfect. You can’t stop moaning, can’t stop grinding down onto him—because he’s so deep, and you’re so full, and it’s too much.

You’re close. You can feel it coiling deep in your stomach.

“I—Gyu—I’m—” You don’t even finish. Your body seizes up, every muscle tightening as you cry out his name and fall apart around him, shaking, pulsing, gasping.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers, his voice wrecked. “Cum for me. Right here, right on my cock.”

He’s right there with you—watching you fall apart around him has him unraveling, too. His fingers tighten at your waist, jaw clenched, a desperate groan tearing from his throat.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, I can’t hold it—”

“Cum inside me,” you breathe, still trembling, your voice barely more than a whimper. You’re still fluttering around him, soaked and warm, and the plea in your voice pushes him right over the edge.

With a broken moan of your name, he buries himself deep, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, pulsing hot and thick. He holds you tight through it, his face tucked into your neck, breath shaky and warm against your skin.

For a while, neither of you moves. There’s just the sound of your heartbeats, the rise and fall of your chests pressed together.

Then he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then your jaw. Then your lips—soft, lingering. You both smile into it, drunk on the closeness.

As the haze starts to fade, you shift your hips, starting to lift off him gently.

But his arms tighten, holding you in place.

“No,” he murmurs, half-pleading. “I wanna stay inside you a little longer.”

You sink back down with a quiet laugh, and he whimpers.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m still sensitive…”

You smile, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead and kiss the mole on the tip of his nose. He blinks up at you, wide-eyed and flushed—and then he just starts to laugh. His hair is a wreck, his lips still kiss-bruised, and his collarbone is marked where you bit him earlier. But it’s his eyes that undo you—bright and crinkled at the corners.

You laugh too, even if you’re not sure why. “What?” you ask, grinning.

He shakes his head, still smiling like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I’m a fucking puppy in love.”

a/n: it’s done!! finally. i’m so sorry for making you guys wait this long, but i’m actually really happy with how it turned out. i hope you like it just as much as i do ⭑.ᐟ thank you so much for waiting patiently—your comments were seriously the sweetest and so, so kind. ⋆.˚

fun fact about the whole “jealousy” story: this actually started out as a completely different story. i was inspired by that one gif of mingyu at the gym, and had this whole plot in mind… but then i realized it needed some context to make sense, and somewhere along the way, it just turned into this. so yeah, that’s why san’s little cameo feels kinda random 😭 BUT i’m thinking of turning that original idea into a bonus part for this one instead...would you want to read it?? let me know in the comments, in my dms, wherever—i’d love to hear from you!!

love youuuu xoxo ౨ৎ

My cute little 🏷️ taglist:

@wseye @wooahaeivy @dinow13 @httpscoco444 @jihoonsbbygirl @tigersandcherries @souleater440 @gyuldaengie97 @potayaa @mmingooo @ninigyuuu @littlewolfieposts @amingo046 @saturnesposts @starsewl @saltyfriendsaladbandit @imhwajaez @perfectlycleverface @chykyu @gohyemi @baekhyunimochibbh @gh0stprinceess @holyfestfire @id7lso @zimzalaminho @hellosighsophy-blog @my-woozi @sumeyyetuna

Honorable tag: @maplegyu

thank you for enjoying my fic and supporting me! It means a lot!

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okwonyo · 2 months ago

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4EVER # ♩ 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀.

　　　　　🍶　　sweet gestures

fem ! rea ✶ fluff domestic ꒰𓏼 ◞ ◟ 𓏼 ྀི kissing skinship

REBLOG FOR A KISS !

heeseung keeps a picture of you in his wallet. he doesn’t tell you about it— he keeps it to himself. it’s his little secret, which he cherishes quite deadly. he likes to tell himself, as he admires your beauty in motion, “she doesn’t know that i love her so much that i have a picture of her on me all the time.” you are taken aback when you find out, randomly when you snoop in his wallet to find his credit card.

jay takes you on unplanned dates. it happens more often than not. it always surprises you, however. “princess,” he starts through the phone. “i’ll be there in thirty minutes, i’m taking you out.” it always makes your heart buzz with stress due to the fact that you love to get dolled up, but it’s nothing next to the enthusiasm it makes you feel. he always takes you the the cutest, most prettiest place. he makes sure that every second is worth your smile.

jake writes you cute notes and hide them in random places in the apartment. he does this whenever he is on tour or when he knows it’s going to be a long day away from you. a smile always creeps on your face when you find the sweet piece of paper in your makeup bag in the morning. “you always are so beautiful, my love,” he wrote in a soft and quick handwriting. how can you not be clingy when he comes back to your side?

sunghoon gives you gifts, without warning. his favorite way to do it is coming back home in a hurry, cupping your face before you can greet him properly or notice the little bag in his hands. he makes you both walk to the living room then corners you between the couch and himself. he waits until you are both out of breath to give what he bought to you, nonchalantly putting it on your thighs before diving back in to continue the makeout session. you have to push him off of you to discover what it is.

sunoo buys you flowers every other day. he comes to pick you up from work a lot, and always has a bouquet of flowers in his hands, with a sweet card attached to it. this habit his a remaining memory of the early days of your relationship— when he used to bring you flowers at each date. now, he sends them for no particular reason. not to celebrate anything if it’s not his love for you; he sends them to your work, comes back home with arms full of it.

jungwon doesn’t know how to cook, but he learns how to cook your favorite dish to make you happy. he goes out of his way to ask your family and friends about it. he spends days trying to find the perfect ingredients, the ones who will make your heart burn with joy. it takes a lot of mess in the kitchen and hours of almost breaking down for you to come back home with dinner set on the table; “i don’t know if it has good as you usually like it, but i tried.”

riki updates you about his day through long voice messages. often, his days start way more early than yours. when you get out of slumber, he is already far gone and in the middle of work. there is a fit of giggles that erupts out of your mouth as soon as you hear your boyfriend’s deep voice through the phone, telling you what he is eating for breakfast before practice. his voice messages are always detailed and always comes in packs.

taglist. ( open )

i hope everyone is doing alright <3 and that everyone enjoyed ^^

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writesvani · 3 months ago

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down low — jeon jungkook

boxer! jungkook x collegestudent! reader

friends with benefits au, situationship au

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: porn with plot, smut, angst, dry humping, fingering, jerking off, oral (both receiving), vaginal sex, choking, spanking, slapping (light), hair pulling, biting (light), doggy, missionary, sideways, cowgirl, shower sex, mirror sex, cheating, semi-public sex, club toilet sex, unprotected sex (stay safe, please), discomfort, lying, manipulating, gaslighting, explicit scenes, explicit language, fighting, substance abuse (weed, cigarettes, alcohol), angst no comfort, seriously fucked up characters

word count: 7,6k + more soon!

chapter index ^᪲᪲᪲

— chapter one: U Up?

— chapter two: Inhaling You, Exhaling Guilt

— chapter three:

— chapter four:

— chapter five:

drabbles + extras ^᪲᪲᪲

— down low; moodboard

— red polo shirt (pending...)

— don't cut your hair (pending...)

— DL playlist (soon...)

the drabbles in this story are part of the DownLowVerse, so i highly recommend reading them to get a deeper understanding of the plot. as the story unfolds, new drabbles will unlock, and they’re designed to enhance the experience. i suggest reading the chapters in order, and in the author’s notes, i’ll let you know when’s the best time to dive into each drabble, as they’ll be posted after certain chapters.

but don’t worry — reading the drabbles isn’t a MUST. they won’t change the story, but they’ll add extra layers to it, helping you connect with the narrative in a more meaningful way.

DISCLAIMER:

Listen, if I did own Jeon Jungkook, I wouldn’t be writing this fic—I’d be too busy staring at him in awe like a fool. But alas, I do not. BTS? Also not mine (shocking, I know). This is purely fiction, and if you think this is an accurate representation of Jungkook or any BTS member, I have some bad news for you. This is a toxic, messy, morally questionable story born from my weird imagination, not a documentary. So don’t take it seriously, and for the love of all things holy, don’t send this to the real Jungkook. Let’s keep our delusions in this safe little corner of the internet, okay? Cool. Now, enjoy the chaos.

all works published here are created by me (@writesvani on tumblr). i own all rights to my original works, including any written content, original characters, and plotlines. copying, redistributing, translating, or posting my works on any other social media without my explicit permission is strictly prohibited. all rights reserved.

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mochinomnoms · 8 months ago

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say you can't sleep, baby, I know

NSFW!Trey x Reader

Synopsis

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You're trying to rile him up, right? He's supposed to be the responsible, big brother of Heartslabyul, he tries so hard. So, so hard to stay out of trouble and have a normal day-to-day life. Trey used to pride himself on his levelheadedness and restraint, but that all went out the window into a swan dive into the lake when he saw you in his bed in that damn one-piece. “Happy Birthday Trey~”

[wc} - 5,258

[cw/tags] - afab!gn!reader (im sorry folks it's all i know how to write still), NRC is a university in this, domesticity kink, birthday sex, breeding kink (sue me), oral (giving & receiving), trey can be a little mean as a treat

[notes] - i apologize for the person i've become after seeing trey's new b-day card. it does things to me and this is 100% self-indulgent for me. also, tried to use very neutral descriptors for reader so tell me how that went and if it reads well! lastly, the outfit the reader wears is based on sabrina carpenter's outfits from her short n' sweet tour, specifically the baby doll one!

Written while listening to “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter, I recommend listening to it while reading :)

Let’s consider exactly the type of person Trey is.

Ever since he’s started school at NRC, he’s always taken a bit of a parental role in Heartslabyul, even before he became vice housewarden. Even Cater would joke about it when they first became friends:

“You’re, like, a total big bro! O-M-G, no! You’re like a dad friend! I’m totes willing to bet that the incoming freshmen are gonna slip up! Call you Dad or something!”

Evidently, when Riddle came into the picture and Trey was appointed his vice, Cater was proven right. He didn’t mind it too much, despite what others might think.

He liked the familiarity of it, being the oldest at home, it translated well into his position at Heartslabyul, and it came with the added bonus of being able to minimize any chaos that arose.

That was his main goal, especially with Riddle’s temper during his freshman and at the beginning of his sophomore year. Honestly, he had phenomenal conflict resolution skills, and he just wanted to make his life as easy as possible.

Everyone at this school liked to make that difficult, though, especially the freshmen of this year.

“Oh fu—I mean sh—dam—fuc—shi—FIDDLESTICKS!”

“Dude, just say fuck, why you gotta say the corniest shit—OW—Treyyy! Deuce hit me!”

Deuce had a guilty look on his face as Trey looked up from his notebook to raise a brow at the two.

“W-well, Ace cussed, so he has to put money in the swear jar!”

“Aw what! Come on Trey!” Ace whined, shoving Deuce’s face to the side as the latter grunted and started pulling at his cheeks and arm. “Riddle’s not here, he’ll never know, so I don’t gotta! Don’t make me!”

Trey simply smirked and gestured to the jar on the fireplace mantle, helpfully available to everyone in the lounge.

“You know the rules, bud, two thaurmarks for the f-bomb and a .50 cent for the other.”

Ace tossed his head back and groaned, begrudgingly dragging himself over to the jar as he dug around his pocket for change.

“Don’t be rude to your father, Ace.” A few giggles and snorts vibrated amongst the small group studying in the lounge as you wagged a finger at Ace, Grim squinting angrily at the book in your lap.

Your lips quivered as you hid a laugh, jokingly chastising the ginger.

“No need to be a brat.”

Trey had to withhold a snort at that comment, rich coming from you. He knew better than anyone that you could be as much of a brat as you were another parental figure.

“Oh ha-ha, very funny, Prefect. What, does that make you, Mom or Dad 2?” Ace stuck his tongue out at you as you grinned and focused back on Grim.

“Okay Grimmy, so remember, what alchemy recipes need mandrake root?”

Watching from the corner of his eye, Trey watched fondly as you murmured soft words to Grim. It reminded him of his Mom talking to his siblings after a nightmare, or of his Dad after one of them would get hurt in the kitchen.

Soft, soothing, parental. You’d make an excellent parent one day.

Trey felt himself get warm at the thought, adjusting himself in his seat and looking back at his musicology notes. He couldn’t sing very well, but he can memorize notes, and that’s what the upcoming exam was focused on.

That’s what he needed to focus on, not the way you cradled Grim against you like a parent with their child. Focus on his alchemy flashcards, and not the way you cleaned up the mess on the table so you could bring everyone a tray of snacks he’d prepared earlier that day. Focus on the history textbook in front of him, and not the way you cleaned up the lounge as it got later and later.

It wasn’t fair. It was so unfair how well you fell into the role. Cleaning and humming, one of his spare aprons on you as you wiped down the tables of crumbs and stacked a pile of dishes. It was unfair how sweetly you murmured to the few remaining students, and told them to go to bed and rest up.

They obliged, probably half asleep at this rate, since it was an hour until midnight. Ace and Deuce had retired a while ago, the latter leaning on the former as they haphazardly stumbled to their room.

Riddle had dropped by after his housewarden meeting, satisfied by the study group, but ultimately stuck to his very strict evening routine.

Now it was just you two. Even Grim had been tugged along with Ace and Deuce earlier, not unlike a rag doll slung over their shoulders.

“Trey? Honey, when are you going to sleep? It’s almost midnight.” His eyes fluttered tiredly as he felt your hands slide over his shoulders and a kiss pressed against his temple.

He felt warm again, heat pooling in his belly. You were so unfair.

“You should go to bed soon, come on, I’ll take care of you.”

He can think of a few ways you could ‘take care’ of him.

“It’s fine, why don’t you get Grim and head back to Ramshackle? Curfew is in 30 minutes, you know?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing into his ear, making a tingle go down his spine.

“Okay, but please go to bed soon? I left you a little birthday surprise in your bedroom~”

Trey perked up at that, eyeing your mischievous grin as you waved your fingers goodbye, going down the hallway to the dorms to grab Grim.

To be honest, he’d forgotten that his birthday was tomorrow, he’d been so focused on his midterms that it just slipped his mind. Well, he can’t say he’s not excited to see what you got him, especially since you’d been not too subtly probing him for preferences.

He groaned, running his hands over his face and sighing, heavy and exhausted.

“Ugh, just a bit more and I’ll retire for the night.” Trey reassured himself, eyes straining as he looked between the books in front of him.

The words on the papers blurred after a bit, the sound of the grandclock lulling him further into sleep, his head nodding off until a ping from his phone started him awake.

It was Cater, his Magicam user popping up on his screen.

cay-cay_diamond: hbd trey!! 🥳🎉🎉🎉grats on being an old man now!

Blinking at the clock, Trey realized that it was now a few minutes past midnight, so it was technically his birthday. He’s lucky that Riddle followed his own sleep schedule so rigorously, or else he’d be getting a scolding for breaking curfew.

luckyclover: Old? I’m only like 4 months older than you cay-cay_diamond: yeah. old. cay-cay_diamond: anyways! enjoy the gift in ur room!!! i helped (name) pick out the wrapping 😘😘😘

Trey hummed, a small smile on his face as he imagined the two of you bickering over wrapping paper and messily wrapping up a box with a bow. You did seem very excited for him to find it earlier, maybe you two picked something out together.

He was curious on what exactly you got him and why you hadn’t waited to give it to him at his actual birthday party. And why did you need Cater to help you…you’d always shoo him away when he’d tried helping you with gifts for other’s birthdays.

Stacking his books into his left hand and walking towards the junior dorm rooms, Trey looked at his phone as it pinged again.

cay-cay_diamond: on that topic thooo…u should rly go 2 ur room and get ur present! the poor thing! they’ve been w8ing very patiently 4 u~ luckyclover: Waiting? (Name)??? cay-cay_diamond: 🤭🤫😉

Trey sighed, shaking his head and tucking his phone away and digging out his room keys. It was times like these, deep into the night, when he was thankful for having his own room. He felt a bit bad now, you probably fell asleep in his bed waiting for him.

Though, the thought of you clutching one of his pillows, maybe in one of his sweaters to keep warm, made him smile. Then he could come in, gently take your clothes and shoes off to get you more comfortable, and dress down himself to slip in right behind you.

As he finally managed to get to his room, he heard shuffling as he turned the keys. Trey smirked, noticing that only his rose lamp remained on, and all the drapes to his canopy were now closed.

He could just barely make out the shadow of you moving behind them, hearing you gasp and the bed squeak, making him let out a soft laugh under his breath.

“You’re breaking curfew, you should be asleep you know? You're such a troublemaker sometimes.” Trey teased you as placed his books on his desk, tossing his hat onto its stand and slipping his shoes off to throw them into his wardrobe and grab his slippers.

He yawned, the late night really starting to sink into his body as he started undressing, his jacket and vest getting hung back up in the closet as he worked on his sash and unbuttoning his pants.

“Only like a third of the time!” You whined, the bed softly squeaking as you followed his movements behind the canopy. “Besides, I really wanted to give you your present. Don’t you want to unwrap me?”

Trey paused at the purr in your voice, narrowing his gaze as he saw your hand ever so slightly move the curtain at the end of the bed to peek at him. You were still mostly shrouded in darkness, but there was a very soft glow coming from inside the canopy, so he could just barely make out your mischievous smile.

Though, you quickly frowned, eyeing him up and down out of concern.

“Not if you’re too tired though, you have bags under your eyes, Trey. Do you just wanna go to sleep?”

Giving you a weary smile, Trey finally tossed his sash to the side and reached for the curtains, pushing them to the side to finally take a look at your “mysterious” present.

“In a bit, let me see what you got me…”

Trey’s breath hitched, he suddenly felt very wide awake as his eyes roamed up and down your body.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that you set up string lights along the top of the canopy for ambiance, making you look like you were almost glowing. Though it wasn’t that that made him lose his voice.

You were sitting on the edge of his bed with your legs curled underneath you, dressed in the most darling sage-green, sheer baby doll dress. The dress's puffy sleeves and hem were lacy, matching the lace on the stockings.

Holy shit you were wearing stockings.

“Ha, I wanted to surprise you, I thought you could use a stress reliever.”

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

“I should’ve realized that you’d be tired from studying for midterms, sorry.”

You're trying to rile him up, right?

“But, still, do you like it? I wrapped myself up just for you~”

He's supposed to be the responsible, big brother of Heartslabyul, he tries so hard. So, so hard to stay out of trouble and have a normal day-to-day life. To behave.

“In any case,” You shifted onto your knees, the dress splitting in the middle, the only thing keeping it together being a small bow at the base of your neck, revealing the lack of undergarments, just your bare skin underneath. “Even if you’re too tired and just want to sleep, I just wanted to say…”

Trey leaned in as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in, batting your eyelashes and ghosting your lips over his with a teasing smile. Your hands caressed the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing soothing circles, making him melt.

“Happy Birthday Trey~”

It’s now that he noticed that you even added a gloss to your lips, and he could smell the warm perfume on your neck as you pressed your lips to his, tongue swiping over his mouth, asking for permission to enter. Obliging, Trey sighed into the kiss and tangled his tongue with yours, his hands slipping underneath the baby doll and squeezing at your waist.

He really should go to sleep. He has to wake up early for the party. He has to dress in his birthday robes. He has to make sure that the others don’t burn down the kitchen or damage his expensive bakeware as they made his cake.

But the way your skin felt under his gloved hands, skin meeting skin, lace, skin, and lace again.

How could he be expected to sleep now?

Trey used to pride himself on his level headedness and restraint, but that all went out the window into a swan dive into the lake when he saw you in his bed in that damn one-piece.

Humming in delight against your mouth, Trey slid his hands down, as you curled into his body in response, and squeezed at the fat of your thighs before picking you up.

A yelp left your mouth as he picked you up and tossed you up the bed, pulling off his shirt and tossing it behind him as he crawled on top of you.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he saw the way the dress fell open to expose your body, your chest moving up and down as you watched him with a giddy smile.

“Oh! I guess you’re not that tired—ah!”

You gasped as Trey grabbed your calves, tugging you up to place the back of your knees on his shoulders. He leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your right thigh, smirking against the lace.

“I was tired. I should be asleep,” Trey murmured against your stocking laced skin, pressing kisses as he went farther and farther down. “Resting—kiss—Up—kiss—but no.”

He gave you a half-hearted glare, which you responded with a smile and lacing your hands through his hair as he pressed another kiss to the bend where your thigh met your sex.

“You broke curfew, you wanted to keep me up with your little ‘present’, you know I’d get in trouble for hiding you out in my room.”

Trey gave you a bite on your thigh, groaning as he felt your hands tighten in his hair, moving back to press a soothing kiss to the mark he left.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble? Throw me in the doghouse?” “Cause I’ll make sure you come right with me, after a little taste of my birthday treat.”

The same time he ran his tongue up your sex, Trey could feel you shiver and pull on his hair as he ate you feverishly, like a man starved from food or water for ages.

“Mmm! Trey!” You threw your head back, bringing one hand up to slam a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, the walls here weren’t known to be sound-proof.

He should probably care a bit more, especially when you let out a particularly high-pitched squeal as his tongue began fucking into your hole.

“Trey! Oooh, Trey~”

Bringing a finger to join his tongue, Trey smiled against your skin as you squeezed your thighs around his head, using his free hand to push his pants and underwear down to palm at his dick.

“Trey—aaaah—wait, let me—mmph—Honey—” You let out a shuddering gasp, pulling his head up from your sex. Trey locked eyes with you, leaning into the hand you slid down to cup his cheek and caress his lower lips, wiping the slick and drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Yes? Honey?” Removing his hand from inside you to cover your own hand and kiss your palm, Trey smiled and hummed, “I like that, you know, reminds me of a husband coming home to his spouse.”

Pressing kisses up your body, soft and tingly, up your neck, and back to your lips where they belonged.

“Hmm, I really like the sound of that, (Name) Clover.” You murmured against his lips, smiling as you wrapped a leg around his waist to bring his dick closer to your sex, rubbing against him as you both sighed into each other’s mouths.

“Is that what you want? You want me to be a cute little spouse? Dress up in a cute apron? Greet you when you come home from work?”

So focused on the softness of your lips and the wetness sliding against his dick, Trey didn’t even notice you twisting your body to turn him onto his back, the back of his head hitting the back of his pillows as you sat on top with a cheeky grin.

“Hm? How would my husband want me to welcome him home? A hug? A kiss? Mm, what about…me?” Trey watched you with flushed cheeks as you kissed down his body, mimicking his earlier actions as you helped him tug off the rest of his clothes.

“Oh, how nice it would be for you to come back to a warm, clean home with a spouse…” Looking up at him through your eyelashes and giving him a kitten lick to his tip. “...ready to give soft wet holes for you to fill~”

Giving him a vision into that sweet, sweet future, you swallowed his tip, down his shaft, and started sucking.

“Haaah—”

Trey lolled his head back into his pillow, letting out a breathless moan as you bobbed your head up and down his length, your hand working the rest that didn’t fit into your mouth.

“Fuuuuck. That does sound nice—mmh!” Reaching his hand down, you immediately took one of your hands to lace it with his, squeezing it as you hummed around his cock.

“My lovely spouse—nnnngh—their pretty mouth—unnnh—soft holes—aaaah—all for me to come home to every day, what a dream~”

A particularly harsh suck made Trey arch his back and squeeze your hand harder, a giggle vibrating his dick as you pulled off.

“Hehe, is this your way of proposing? Kinda dirty to do it with your dick on my mouth.” You giggled, pressing kisses and quick licks along his shaft.

“That’s okay though, you and I both know that deep down, you’re a bit of a pervert. Right?”

Trey scoffed, tugging you up with a bemused smile. “Yeah? How can you tell? Thought I hid that pretty well.”

A soft laugh escaping you, you held both of his hands, bringing them up to press kisses on his knuckles, making the green-haired man sigh fondly.

“The way you look at me sometimes, like you’re undressing me. It makes me feel all warm and tingly, especially when I piss you off.”

Both of you let out a breathless moan as your wetness rubbed against his hard dick, grinding against one another as the tip occasionally caught against your hole, making you shiver.

“Is it bad that sometimes I wanna get you mad so you’ll fuck me real mean? Is it bad that I want you to use me? To fuck your stress out with me?”

A lump forming in his throat, Trey let go of your hands to pull at the string holding your flimsy baby doll together. Eyes half lidded, he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, watching it pool at your elbows as you placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself as your grinding turned into vigorous humping against him, making you both gasp in pleasure.

“Ooh, Trey, honey, baby, hubby~ Won’t you use me? Be a little mean? Pleeeease? Fuck me, fill me up like I know you want! Pleeeeease Trey? Pretty, pretty please?”

Lips smashed against yours as Trey bolted up, groaning into your mouth as he grabbed your hips in an almost painful grip.

He picked you up once again, throwing you on all fours, covers tangling against your knees and hands, as he ripped your dress off and tossed it.

Trey’s left hand placed itself on your hip, while his right pushed down on your back, following up your spine to the base of your neck where he pushed you down to shove your face into the sheets, forcing you into a doggy pose.

“So you do like getting me in trouble, little brat. Fine, I’ll be mean.”

Trey lined his dick against your throbbing hole, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your ear and moving the hand on your neck to wove with your right, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Squeeze three times if you need me to stop, otherwise, I’m going to fuck that brain right out of your pretty little head, since you don’t seem to be wanting to use it.”

In one, swift move, Trey slammed his hips to your ass, sinking nearly half his length into your warm, waiting hole.

“FUCK! YES—MMMPH” Burying your face into the sheets to muffle your cries, Trey did the same into your shoulder, shivering at your tightness around him.

Setting a rhythm, hips smacking into your ass, Trey worked the rest of his cock into you until he could hear the smack of your ass against his hips, the sound echoing with the creak of the bed.

Your tightness around him was heavenly, as was the sight of you sinking further into the bed and arching your ass to sloppily meet his thrusts. Straightening again, bending your arm back so that your hands could remain intertwined.

His left hand caressed your back and the fat of your behind, before bringing it down in a harsh slap to your ass, making you yelp and squeeze his hand in a vice grip, though you also tightened around his cock.

Rubbing a soothing circle against the reddening skin, slowed his thrusts, making you whine and push against him.

“Haaah, that okay? Feel good?” Trey murmured, smiling at the frantic nod and wiggle against him. “Want me to keep going?”

“Mmmph... yessshh... mmmore, mmmore... pleeeashh, honey~” Your sounds were muffled as you bit into the blanket, getting higher and higher as he obliged, not one to deny you after all.

Every other thrust was met with a slap to one cheek, then the other, the skin turning redder and redder with his handprints marking you. The harder he went, the more and more slack you went, until he was eventually just fucking you like his personal toy.

Though, you did offer yourself as his present, didn’t you? So it was only fair that he got to use his present as he wished, and right now, he wanted to feel you cumming around him.

Ceasing his smacks, making you whine, Trey instead melded his body against yours, the weight both overwhelming and comforting, as his left hand instead moved to your sex to rub you to completion.

Trey watched as you gasped for breath, completely burying your head into the bed to muffled your screams as you came around him, trembling and squeezing him.

The feeling of your walls pulsating around his shaft was becoming dangerously addicting, and he was very greedy for more of that.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so close! You can give me another one, right?”

Slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you up, Trey adjusted you so that you sat on his dick, kissing the side of your neck for reassurance as he let go of your hand to quickly slide his arms under your knees.

From all his years of tossing bags of flour and sugar, from kneading dough, from all the labor he’s done as a baker, picking you up was like child’s play.

Folding your knees up to your chest so he could hold you, back flush to his chest, was nothing for him. Everything for you, though, your over sensitive hole squeezing down on him again.

“FUCK! I caaame! Treytreytreytrey—” You dug a hand into his arm, tossing your head back and lolling your tongue out with a dumb, drooly smile on your lips.

“A-almost there—nngh—just squeeze if I need to stop—I’m so close~”

Smashing his lips against yours for an open mouth, wet kiss, Trey pounded faster into you, determined to feel your walls pulsate again, this time as he filled your insides up like one of his pastries.

Then, an awful, perverted thought filled his head, like a devil was whispering in his ear.

Why doesn’t he fill them up with his kids? Don’t stop until his cum is drooling out of their hole, and go again to make up for the lost seed. He already wants them to be his spouse, why not add a few little ones to that picture?

Trey was losing any bit of restraint that he may have had as he was now determined to fullfill his fantasy. Even if you couldn’t do it, magic made anything here possible, and right now is good practice anyway.

“I’m—aaaahhh—I’m gonna come inside, okay? Fill you up, yeah?”

Digging your nails into his skin, you nodded against his mouth and whined.

“Yessssss! Fill me up! Inside! Gimme a baby Trey! I wanna make you a daaaaddy~”

Squeezing your legs further against your chest, Trey pounded faster and faster, trembling as he reached close and closer to his peak.

Warmth flooded his body, tingles, and he swears sparks, flying over his skin as he felt you clamp down on him for a third time.

Your voice squealed higher and higher, any previous attempt to be quiet for naught as you practically screamed.

Trey shuddered as he finally came, cum flooding your warm insides as you went limp in his arms.

Panting for air, both of you remained still for a minute, the bed feeling stuffy with the curtains still closed. After another minute, Trey pulled you up and off of him, shaky as his now limp dick left your warm, comfortable embrace.

Doing his best to gently place you on the bed, Trey let out a breathless laugh as you collapsed on the bed like a rag doll, blinking your eyes tiredly at the ceiling of the canopy.

“Haah, sorry, I went too hard there, huh?”

You shook your head, giving him a tired smile and reaching a hand for him, which he took and brought up to kiss.

“It was good, really, good. You liked your present?”

Snorting and nodding, Trey carefully scooped you up to move your head onto the pillows and gently roll off your garter stocking, thumbs rubbing soothing circles as he did.

“Yeah, I did. Come on, let me get you a shirt.”

You whined as he pulled away, exhaustion starting to steep into him as he tied back the curtains to the canopy to let the stuffiness out. Trey picked up the baby doll he’d tossed earlier, placing it into his wardrobe drawer as he dug out a shirt and sweatpants for himself and a shirt for you.

As he closed the drawer, he noticed your backpack hidden underneath it, digging in it to grab you some underwear. You had packed a pair of pajamas, apparently, but…he’d rather see you in his clothes.

“Hmm, honey? Come to bed…” You whined, hands reaching out for him impatiently as he slipped on his clothes, crawling over to you and helping you slip your underwear and his shirt on.

“I’m here, I’m here.”

Trey slowly blinked, eyelids heavy as he scoop you up to place you two under the covers, the soft mattress making him practically become one with the bed and you as you nestled into his chest.

Your legs tangled with his as Trey wrapped his arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. He could feel fatigue and sleep quickly taking over him as your voice vibrated against his chest, soft and sleepy.

“Happy birthday honey, I—yawn—love…you…”

A different kind of warmth, soft and sweet, filled him as he squeezed you tighter against him, murmuring back.

“I love you too…��

*Riiiing* *Riiiiiiiing* *Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing*

An irritating, loud noise filled Trey’s ears as he groaned, half-awake as he turned over to smack his hand on his phone, silencing the alarm.

“Aah…Noisy…hhggh.” Trey groaned, rolling over, careful to not crush you under him to blindly reach for his glasses.

“Glasses…glasses…ah..”

Plastic and glass finally under his palm, Trey slipped his glasses on his face, ultimately throwing himself back into bed next to you, who’d begun shifting awake.

“Mmm, honey?”

Grunting in response, Trey threw an arm over his eyes, irritated at the sun seeping through the window into his eyes.

“Early…”

You chuckled, a yawn escaping you as you decided to move closer and slip a hand under his shirt to rub at his chest, pressing kisses into his neck as well.

“You’re so grumpy in the morning. Come on, you've got a big day ahead.”

“…Ugh, I do?”

Snorting at his response, Trey grunted as he felt you move, peaking under his arm to see you resting on your elbow. You had puffy, dark circles under your eyes from the little sleep you managed to get.

“Birthdays are a pretty big deal, right?” Smiling at him, Trey squinted an eye and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in protest.

“Ugggh, yeah…”

Hearing you hum, Trey groaned in surprise as he felt you straddle his waist and caress his neck and cheeks, making him remove his arm to blink up at you.

Your hair was a tangled mess, sticking up in all sorts of places. The bags under your eyes more noticeable under the night. His shirt dwarfed you. You were a hot mess, all things considered.

He probably wouldn’t say it out loud, with how cute you were last night, but he thinks you look most beautiful like this. Better than any frilly, skimpy, or tight outfit.

“Come on, Birthday Boy, want me to give you a little pick me up?”

Kissing him with a smile, Trey moaned into the lazy, sloppy morning kiss, tilting his head back as you pressed kissed down his neck, deciding to work on leaving a love bite at the nape of his neck.

Trey’s phone chimed, making him sigh as he reached for it, letting you continue your love bites and kisses,

Squinting at the few messages, it seemed like a few of his friends and classmates were already sending him birthday wishes. Though, a message from Cater made him blot up, a sudden shock of alertness running down his spine.

“Ah! Trey, what is it?”

cay-cay_diamond: morning!! happy bday 2 the bday boi again! thought i let u no tht u owe me a favor, had 2 cast a silencing spell on ur roum last nite. totes ruined my beauty sleep! cay-cay_diamond: also i know u got ur lil cutie 2 distract ya, but liek dont b l8 2 ur bday breakfast, grimmy might eat it!

“Shit, we were too loud, Cater had to cast a silencing spell on the room.”

You made an ‘oh’ shape with your mouth, giving Trey an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, but at least you enjoyed it, right?”

Trey smiled, more awake now, and nodded, sharing a sweet kiss with you.

“Definitely. You might have to consider making your go-to gift for now on, it’s gotta be my favorite one I’ve ever gotten.”

He solidified that statement with one more, firm, assuring kiss with you, before having to leave your sweet dream into the real world.

At least he could have one part of that dream with him at his side from now on: you.

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

#mochi fic #twst #twisted wonderland #trey clover #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #trey clover x reader #twst trey #twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #trey clover smut #happy birthday trey #anyways thats my husband and i probably wont get this out of my system for a while

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megapteraurelia · 2 months ago

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“you’ve read the page, like, three times.”

fushiguro megumi didn’t look up. “because someone won’t stop staring.”

“i’m not staring.”

a disapproving click of his tongue, “i can feel it. shameless as you are, you’re not even pretending to look away.”

“no, you can’t,” you stretched, muscles tensing up deliciously; your hands flailing right in his line of sight and he leaned back, trying to dodge your flopping limbs, an annoyed grunt escaping him. but when you allowed your body to crumble in on itself, he didn’t move the hand that landed on his knee, right underneath the book he was holding.

fushiguro megumi huffed a sigh, and the dark blue of his eyes fluttered back to his book. his lashes, long and soft the way they shielded his eyes from the sunshine, were catching the light, painted dark with a golden shimmer. his one leg was tucked under him, his one hand propped his head up, fingers buried in his hair.

his eyebrows slightly furrowed, teeth worrying his lips as he mindlessly picked the skin off his mouth, finally losing himself in the words on paper when you stayed quiet. he shifted slightly to balance the book on his knee, hand turning the page, careful, calm. even though he muttered at you with a tone of voice that suggested irritation, his book was slightly tilted towards you, in a way that made you feel welcome, that made you feel like he liked having you around him.

“you look like the book is making you mad.”

megumi turned another page, blinking, eyebrows drawn together. “that’s just my face.”

you snorted and let your head fall onto the couch, buried in the cushion that smelled like him. his leg comforting against your hand and you could have fallen asleep right then there with the soft inhale and exhale of megumi’s chest, the warm caress of sunshine on your cheek, the silence in the air serene.

like time suspended, both of you existed here and now. no curses, no teachers, no classmates, just you and him. him and you.

“read to me?” you asked, voice a bit softer, inquiring, yearning to connect to him, to lose yourself in the way his voice would form syllables, the deep timbre hugging the words close. he knew just how to give soul to the words, how to string them along to form a sentence; when to stop, when to continue, when to give time for its meaning to sicker.

he didn’t answer for a little while, and you didn’t push him to.

when sleep knocked on your door, trying to settle over you like a thick blanket, that was when his voice infiltrated the space between you both. low, settled, a bit awkward but steady.

the sun kept dancing over your face to the edge of the couch to the floor, and time kept pretending it didn’t exist. your hand on his leg stayed there, warm, seeking, and he never flinched, never stopped reading. page after page of seemingly boring medicinal properties of tea, yet it came to life with the care that he spilled forth his being.

one hand of his quietly found its way through the strands of your hair.

AUTHOR'S NOTE | for the nonnie, who asked me to write for megumi: i'm working on it!!! you have actually spurred my mind on to do a deep dive into megumi's psyche and,,,, nfgnghnngn so i'm so sorry if it'll take a bit longer. i just!!! have an idea!! and need to put it to paper!!

have this little domestic moment between megumi and yn tho in the meanwhile! :33

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jelly writes

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deansbeer · 3 months ago

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BITE YOUR TONGUE OR USE IT BETTER.

꒰ . ⋮ minors do not interact .ᐟ ֹ ꒱

༝༚༝༚ synopsis. a heated argument quickly ends up in a fight for dominance in bed.

༝༚༝༚ kari notes. i NEED him viscerally & i know i previously announced that i was taking a writing break 👀 but i'm making an exception for jason hehehehe u can also thank bree for being the inspo behind the idea <3

it starts with something small — it always does.

a passing comment. a bitter tone. one look too long at someone else. and then it's wildfire.

you're yelling, he's yelling louder. the walls of the apartment echo with the sharp slap of words neither of you really mean but throw anyway, like knives meant to miss but still cut too deep.

"you think i don't notice?" jason's voice is hoarse from the way it's been rising for the past fifteen minutes. "the way you play it off like i don't matter the second someone else gives you attention?"

you scoff, arms crossed, standing your ground in the kitchen, your chest heaving with frustration. "oh, fuck you, jason. you're the one who disappears for days without a text and then gets mad when i talk to someone else."

"i'm out risking my ass to make this city better—"

"and i'm supposed to just sit here and wait? maybe light a candle and pray you'll actually come home in one piece?"

his jaw tightens, blue eyes blazing, chest rising and falling with quick, angry breaths. "don't twist this. you know i care. you know i fuckin' love you."

"then stop acting like i'm the enemy," you snap, voice cracking under the weight of it all.

there's a beat of silence. a long one. your eyes lock with his, and the air between you could spark if it tried. you're both breathing hard, adrenaline still pulsing, and then—

he moves. and he's quick.

his hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling you in, lips crashing into yours with a fury that steals the breath from your lungs. it's not gentle — it's claiming. demanding. your fingers fist in his shirt before you even realize what's happening, your anger bleeding into desire so fast it makes your head spin.

"you drive me fuckin' crazy," he growls against your mouth, backing you into the wall. "always got a smart ass mouth. always testing me."

"maybe you like the idea of being tested," you breathe, tugging his shirt up, fingers dragging across his pudgy stomach. "you keep showing up for it."

he growls, low and rough, grabbing your thighs and lifting you with ease. your legs wrap around his waist, caged between his body and the wall, and you gasp as he grinds against you, already hard through the fabric of his jeans.

"you gonna continue being so mouthy?" he hisses against your neck, biting just hard enough to make you whimper. "or you want me to shut you up?"

"try me," you taunt, breathless, already soaked for him.

he carries you to the bedroom like he's got something to prove. maybe he does. throws you down onto the bed, pulls your shirt over your head, strips you down in seconds. his hands are rough, greedy, claiming every inch of your skin like it belongs to him.

joke's on him. it does.

he drops to his knees between your thighs, spreading them wide with a look that could bring you to your knees if you weren't already trembling. jason doesn't waste time, just dives in like he's a man starving, tongue licking a stripe up your slit before his lips wrap around your clit.

you cry out, hips bucking, and he grips your thighs tighter, holding you down.

"that's it," he mutters against your pussy, voice dark and wrecked. "take it. fuckin' take it, baby girl."

your fingers tangle in his dark hair, tugging, and he groans like he likes it — like the pain only spurs him on. he eats you until your hips are trembling, until you're gasping his name like a prayer and pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive to take more.

"jason—please—need you inside me."

he pulls back, lips shiny, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he’s just finished a meal. "yeah, you do. pussy's soakin' the damn sheets. so fuckin' desperate for my cock, aren't you?"

you glare at him, flushed and breathless. "you're one to talk."

he climbs over you, dragging his cock against your inner thigh, hot and heavy. "you want control so bad, huh, baby?" he murmurs, hand wrapping around your throat, thumb brushing your jaw. "you'll get it. but not yet."

then he's inside you. one deep, punishing thrust, and your whole body arches, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he stretches you full. his hand tightens at your throat just enough to make your pulse race harder.

"fuck, you're tight," he groans, hips slamming into you. "always so fuckin' tight for me."

you moan, nails dragging down his back, and he hisses, grinding deeper, chasing the spot that makes your toes curl.

he fucks you like he's trying to erase the fight, like he's trying to remind you who you belong to. every thrust is rough, precise, his mouth dragging along your throat, your shoulder, biting and kissing the skin like he needs to mark you.

"fuckin' mine," he growls into your ear. "say it."

"yours," you gasp, legs wrapped tight around his waist. "all yours, jay. always."

he groans, the sound deep and raw, and kisses you like he means to ruin you. and you want him to.

you flip him before you even realize what you're doing — legs slipping around him, pushing him back, riding the wave of heat and fury and need. his eyes darken as you slide down onto him, slow and deliberate.

"oh, fuck," he mutters, hands gripping your hips. "you think you're in control now, huh?"

"i don't think," you whisper, rolling your hips so slow he trembles. "i know."

you ride him hard, fast, chasing your own high with reckless abandon. his hands grip you tight, dragging you down harder, matching your rhythm until the room’s filled with the sound of skin on skin, your moans tangled with his gasps.

"look at you," he groans, eyes locked on where your bodies meet. "bouncin' on my cock like you need it to breathe."

you lean in, kiss him messy, filthy, all teeth and tongue.

"maybe i do."

his cock twitches inside you and you feel him getting close, but you don't stop. you fuck him through it, chasing your own orgasm, using his body like it was made for you. only you.

"gonna cum," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "you better cum with me, baby girl."

you nod, breath hitching as your body tightens, pleasure coiling until it snaps, and you cry out his name as you fall apart, clenching around him like a vice.

he follows with a broken groan, hips jerking, spilling deep inside you as he holds you down, buried to the hilt.

you collapse against him, both of you shaking, panting, sweat-slicked and utterly wrecked.

his arms wrap around you, holding you close even as he's still inside you. his lips press against your temple, his voice rough but soft now.

"still mad at me?" he murmurs.

you laugh, breathless, nuzzling into his neck. "yeah."

he huffs, fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. "next time we fight, can we skip to the part where you ride me like that?"

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. "not a fucking chance."

he chuckles, kisses your hair, and pulls you closer.

"figured."

and even though the fight still lingers in the air, tangled in the sheets and the bruises you both left behind, so does something else, something steady and real.

him.

you.

and the fire that always brings you back together.

@ deansbeer is tagging you .ᐟ @titsout4jackles @daylighted @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @blue-d @bluemerakis @stereotypicalbarbie @funkycoloured @fuckedupfate ╱ wanna be added? join my taglist <3

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thechaoticcherub · 4 months ago

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More Than Air

Pairing: Dad!Joel x female reader

Summary: The power is cut in your apartment in the Boston QZ, your dad, Joel wants to keep you warm and teach you a few things.

Warnings: 18+, Incest, DDDNE(dead dove do not eat), Legal age gap, Dubcon, daddy kink(?), Virgin!reader, Joel is REALLY icky, innocence kink, male masturbation, fingering, bordering on size kink, emotions, lots of feelings, pet names, reader is not described besides having boobs, hair and a vagina, no use of y/n.

notes: OOF. Okay I'm diving head first into this. This is an icky, gross, incest fic and I'm not sorry. I'm going to get hate for it but eh, I write whats fun and idc if it disturbs people...when it comes down to it, you have to take responsibility for what you consume. if this isn't for you, move along and thats fine. Don't come whining to me about how you hate it. anyway! I hope that if this is your jam, you enjoy! Also: obviously, I do not condone this in reality. Fiction is fiction and doesn't hurt anyone.

Also I'm going to thank my friend @strang3lov3 for being my dad!joel buddy and giving me the guts to keep writing him.

Word Count: 5k

The first time Dad actually crossed a line with you was a year into living in the Boston QZ. You had never known you could feel such a strange mix of emotions; anger, disgust, excitement and a deep, abiding admiration and love for the man who had been your maker and savior. Joel had been finding himself deeper and deeper into the smuggling world here in Boston but you only knew this because of what you had picked up from others, and what you overheard. Joel closed you out of that part of his life, which was his whole life, and only told you what was absolutely necessary.

Before the night where everything changed, shifting into a different and more confusing plane of existence, there had been little moments that sent shivers cascading through your body. His eyes lingering on your body when you scamper to your room from your shared bathroom after a chilly shower. Joel had noticed the way your shirts fit you, taking note that you really weren’t his little girl anymore,

“Aint ya got a a shirt that covers you more?” He asked while you sat at the table and ate your plain, gloopy oatmeal.

“It’s the end of the world, Dad. My choices are pretty limited,” You responded. You watched his eyes slip down, noticing where your shirt gaped and showed off your cleavage.

“Just…never realized what a woman you are now,” He commented, sipping his coffee as he unabashedly examined your chest. You tugged your shirt up, and pulled a face at the comment,

“Don’t say that, Dad, ’s’weird.” You said, but there was a small part of you, a part you didn’t like to look at too closely that liked that he had noticed.

There had even been a time where he came to wake you up one morning and waited around while you started to get changed. You had urged him to leave,

“Dad, I’m changing!”

“I’ve seen it all before, kiddo.” He griped, leaning against the doorframe and watching you peel off the sweatshirt you slept in and turn away from him so all he could see was your back. You shifted uncomfortably, you had always been a little innocent, too trusting, gullible almost but this just felt wrong. But even in the wrongness of it you found a spark light up inside you that made you arch your back a little when you hooked your bra behind your back, knowing his eyes were on you.

“You don’t need to make sure I get dressed, I’m not a little kid.” You mumbled as he turned back to him, pulling your shirt on over your bra.

“Cut me some slack,” he said, “You’re always goin’ to be my little girl,” He smiled as you crossed your arms over your chest and stalked towards the door. Joel grabbed your waist as you passed him and squeezed, making you giggle.

But before the night that FEDRA cut the power to your block of apartments it had never really crossed a line. He had never touched you or done anything of the sort. Maybe if it hadn’t been a cold winter night whatever tension that had been building in your father wouldn’t have snapped. Maybe if FEDRA hadn’t been needing to conserve energy you would still be the completely innocent girl you once were. Maybe it just came down to this being cordyceps fault, like everything else. Daddy would have just been a word you had called Joel growing up, sex would have been something you learned from a college boy, fumbling in a dorm, not from the broken man you called father.

No use dwelling in what ifs. It was the what ifs that would kill you if you let them in this infected and decaying world.

There hadn’t been a complete blackout since summer and it was an especially cold winter night so it didn’t take long for the whole apartment to chill when the power went out. But it wasn’t until around 2 AM when the cold in your room became unbearable. You were shivering under the weight of two quilts when your door opened,

“Dad?” You asked, turning your head to look at the broad shape of your father in the darkened doorway.

“It’s too cold to sleep alone, babygirl, scoot over.” He said. You immediately felt uncomfortable at the idea of sharing a bed with your father. You never would have thought twice about it in the before times but things had felt so different, so shadowy, and strange now. You moved over to accept Joel into the space next to you.

“Why did they do this now?” You whined, as Joel lifted the quilts, causing cold air to rush in. He slid his big body into the space next to you.

“I dunno, darlin’ to torture us but I’m sure they’d give some bullshit explanation like conserving energy,” He griped, settling down close to you. You had a double bed which was plenty big for you but now with Joel it felt tiny and his body felt inescapable. You swallowed back your anxiety and reminded yourself that this was your dad, the man who had raised you and protected you, saved your life on many occasions. There was no real reason to be scared of his touch.

You started to relax and even as you did, you wondered if you were so tense because of him or because of you. You were lying on your back, looking up at the ceiling, cursing your own feelings as Joel jostled in the bed more,

“Make some more room, hon, you ain’t that big you don’t need to hog.” He said. You grumbled and rolled over onto your side, facing away from him.

“It’s fuckin’ freezin,” he added, tugging the quilts up higher. You felt him turn so he was curled towards you, scooting closer, you could feel his front pressed into your back. He was warm, delightfully so, you couldn’t help but tuck yourself close to him. “Atta girl,” he breathed, reaching up and brushing your hair back away from your face so he could see you a little better. You hummed out a soft noise as you finally felt comfortable in the bed, his warmth mixing with yours to make it decently pleasant under the covers. “You jus’ go to sleep while your old man tries to finally warm up,” Joel half laughed. You smiled and let your eyes drift closed.

Waking up, you thought it must have been close to morning but as you opened your eyes finally you realized it was just as dark as before and the apartment was quiet. Your dad was behind you still, his hand had made its way to your belly, his big fingers stretched out, thumb just under your breast bone, pinky reaching down towards your belly button. He had you in a possessive grip, fingers digging into your flesh. As you struggled out of your hazy sleep state you could feel rapid motion behind you.

Your whole body stiffened and Joel’s grip tightened on you, you knew what he was doing behind you, you could feel the jeans he had laid down to go to sleep in were unbuckled, the hand not on your tummy was tucked into his pants and he was touching himself. And now he was aware that you were awake, you started to try and move away from him, wanting to get out from under the blankets despite how cold it was outside. Joel’s hand tightened on your stomach and he pulled you back towards him,

“Don’t you go anywhere, sweetheart. It’s too cold out there,” He breathed, as if he wasn’t touching his dick right behind you, as if he wasn’t your father masturbating while holding onto you. Your brow knit in confusion but at the same time, your body warmed even further. There was heat in your cheeks that was mirrored in your belly, the low down part of your belly and even lower than that, the part of your body that had rarely been explored and had been left abandoned due to the apocalypse.

“Dad!’” You gasped out as he held you back.

“I’m sorry, babygirl,” He said, and his voice sounded truly regretful. “Just let Daddy do this,” He said, he tugged you back and you felt your butt pressed into his crotch. You were jostled by his hand moving inside his pants. You let out a nervous whimper,

“Dad, this…this is weird-“ You tried to swallow back the feeling of strange need you had, the need to experimentally push your hips back and feel him more.

“I know it feels funny, I’m sorry.” Joel breathed into your ear, his hand speeding up. “But I’m just…just lovin’ on you, peanut,” He spoke. You twisted yourself so you were laying on your back again, staring up at the ceiling. Your heart hammered in your chest and you couldn’t parse out what was disgust and what was excitement rising up inside of you. Your lower lip trembled, it was overwhelming to feel so many things all at once. Joel must have noticed your glassy eyes, and your trembling lip because a calm came over his body and he tugged his hand from his pants.

“Babygirl,” he reached up and took your chin in his fingers, “Don’t cry, I’m sorry.” While he still sounded truly remorseful for his violation, it didn’t seem like it was the end. You wanted to be upset that you could tell more was going to happen but you couldn’t help but notice relief wash through you. You wanted more and that thought horrified you.

“I’m sorry, but you do have to learn this stuff sometime…and who better to teach ya than your old man?” He leaned over you and pressed a delicate kiss to your cheek. You had felt him kiss you so many times, your lips when you were a very little girl, your cheek, the top of your head, and forehead as your grew up but this felt so different. Like a lover places kisses against the skin of their paramore, not the way a father loves his daughter. It both made you cringe and tingled, adding to the warmth in your belly.

“Daddy,” You said, your voice came out sounding weak and whiny, not like the voice you typically used, even with him. You hadn’t called him ‘daddy’ since you were small, and now you were grown up and the childish word sounded horribly sexual in your mouth. You were unsure of your every move, you questioned all of your feelings but Joel seemed so sure of himself, even as he apologized, as if he knew this was bad behavior but it had to happen. Joel reached under the blankets to the hem of your shirt and started to tug it up, you instinctively put your hand on his to stop him,

“Shh, peanut.” He said, “I’m just goin’ to take a quick look. I know it can be scary, but you’re my brave girl, aint ya?” You watched him smile encouragingly. He was so handsome and it warmed you through so you loosend your grip on his hand. Joel pulled the shirt up to expose your naked breasts to him, the air in the bedroom was frigid so goosebumps erupted on your chest, puckering the skin around your nipples and making them harden. You shivered and whimpered. Joel scooted closer to you, “Lets just get this off of you,” Joel murmured, barely speaking to you, just mumbling the words to himself as he pulled the shirt off of your head.

“There’s my girl,” He said. “Ya know, I ain’t seen your whole body since you grew up, darlin’” His fingers dragged down your chest and excitement and heat bubbled up and then the shame squashed it a little. Disgusting. Terrible. Naughty but needed. Joel looked down at you, you could barely meet his eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind, he was examining your chest. “Didn’t realize just how beautiful the girl I made was,” his fingers traced over one of your nipples, circling the hardened point. You shuddered at the feeling and he smiled at your reaction.

“Dad,” You said, your voice trembled over the word. “This feels-“ He cut you off by pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know, I’m sorry,” He said, “Daddy’s jus’ got to give you a little lovin’ so you understand,” he said. You wanted to tell him that you did understand, that you didn’t need to understand anymore but your body was betraying you because his fingers did feel good and the heat in your tummy was building. “Plus it’s still so cold, and if we get undressed we’ll get warmer,” he convinced. Undressed? More undressed than this? Did he mean he wanted to be naked too? The thought of your dad, in your small bed, pressed so close to you made you feel so many emotions you couldn’t focus on one in particular.

Joel’s pants were already undone, it was easy for him to slip them off and you watched, unable to stop him as he did so, lifting his hips to get them down his legs and then kicking them off. You could feel the heat of his lower body now and you knew there was the heavy presence of his cock right next to you, almost pressed into your pajama clad hip.

Joel was lying on his side, his eyes roaming over your bare chest, he moved closer and closer to you until he was wedged against your side. Your dad’s dick was pressed into your side but you hadn’t looked. You hadn’t turned your head towards him. You couldn’t, you felt like if you looked at him, this would all be real and you would have to actually face it.

It was getting warmer and warmer under the covers and you wished so badly you didn’t love the feeling as much as you did. Joel reached out and his big hand cupped one of your tits, “Fuck,” Joel breathed as his fingers dug into your flesh, dimpling the skin under his fingers. “Let’s get your pajama pants off of you, babygirl.” Joel rolled over so he was on top of you, he pushed your legs open enough to accommodate his body between them. You whined and closed your eyes, it felt too wrong to look up into the face of your dad while he was just in his dirty flannel shirt, his cock out, so you found every excuse to keep your eyes away.

“Look at me, peanut. Look at your Daddy,” He told you. Your heart skipped a beat, making you squirm in pleasure and embarrassment. Reluctantly, you opened your eyes to gaze up at him, his eyes were wild, his hair was a mess and you knew if you dropped your eyes you’d see his cock hard and angry with need. Joel seemed like a man possessed. Possessed with a need for you, his daughter, his sweet little girl. In the darkest corners of your mind, you loved that. You loved you could make him look like that.

“Lift your hips up,” He instructed. You pressed your hips up and felt his fingers dig into the side of your pajama pants and underwear, he gave them a tug, pulling them off of you. The cold air hit your body and you shivered. “I know it’s cold,” Joel whispered. “We’ll warm up together,” Joel told you. Your brow knit,

“Daddy,” you whined, squirming underneath him and closing your legs. “This is embarrassing,” You mumbled.

“No,” Joel said, his voice turning stern. “Don’t be embarrassed of your pretty body, Daddy’s going to appreciate every inch of ya,” He took your knees and pushed them open more, eyes glued to your pussy. You squirmed at the feeling of his gaze on your most intimate part and you looked up at him, trying to convince yourself that this was so wrong, that you needed to push him away and say no but you didn’t want to. You wanted to feel him. The desire for him was too strong. He was familiar, strong, everything a man should be and you wanted him. No matter how much you wished you could fight it off, no matter how much you felt disgusted by him, by your own needs, you wanted to explore his body.

“You ever had an orgasm, babygirl?” he asked, his fingers dragged from your knee down your thigh towards your bare pussy. You were taken aback by the question, orgasms weren’t something you thought about anymore. You felt a little anger that he felt like he could ask that question, but you were naked and splayed out in front of him, of course he felt like he could ask. You didn’t say anything, “C’mon, peanut. You can tell Daddy the truth, I won’t be mad.” He encouraged.

“Yes, just by myself,” You told him, “Not for a long time though,” You tried to remember the last time you had felt like this, this rush of excitement, wetness building in your core and heat burning through you.

“Poor girl,” Joel rubbed over your hip and stroked the backs of his fingers down your pubic bone, feeling the hair there, stroking over it. Your heart felt like it was going to stop at any second. Like it would beat so hard that it would just explode from the fear and longing that was working you up into what felt like a frenzy. “Daddy can help make you feel better,” he huffed as he scooted down a little to get a better angle to touch you.

Joel’s fingers slipped over your slit and you realized how wet you had gotten from your own fucking father, everything felt like it was melting away from you. You felt like you were losing sight of reality, partially because it felt so good and partially because of how horrible it was that you liked this.

Joel tsked under his breath as he gathered your wetness on his fingers, “God girl, you make a mess a’yourself like this often?” He asked with a chuckle. The sound of it eased some of the fear in you, it felt familiar to joke with him, even though his touch like this felt so completely unfamiliar.

“N-no,” you managed. You shivered again in the cold air as his other hand joined the one stroking your slit and gently started to spread your lips open. You instantly squirmed at the feeling and tried to close your knees.

“Aw c��mon, peanut, your daddy wants to see what he’s doin’, it’ll feel good.” He coaxed your legs back open and you whined in a feeble protest,

“But Dad, it’s…I’m-“

“None of that bashfulness shit, you think I’ve never seen a pussy before?” He asked. You opened your mouth but he cut you off, “How the fuck do ya think you got here?” That shut you up instantly. You let him spread your pussy lips open, his eyes focused on your wet cunt spread out in front of him.

It was so cold in the room you were thankful that your feet were still tucked under the blanket but the rest of you was covered with goosebumps, even your pussy started to get the little bumps as you shivered, despite the heat inside your body.

“That’s my good girl,” he purred as his fingers started to stroke up and down you spread pussy, not quite touching your clit but grazing around it. He knew exactly how to touch you, he knew exactly what you needed in each second. “How’s that, peanut?” He asked, looking at your face twisting in pleasure and then back down at your pussy that he was keeping spread open and softly stroking.

“So…s-so good.” You squeaked out, pressing your hips up, wanting him to stroke your clit properly but knowing he was doing everything with the clear purpose of working you up.

“That’s right,” Joel nodded, “Daddy’s got ya,” he said. “I knew you needed some lovin’” he breathed. The pad of his pointer finger grazed along your clit and it made you convulse, you felt so sensitive there, it had been so long since you had given it any attention. Joel chuckled, “That your special spot, right there?” he asked, teasing around it again. You whined, unable to form words as he teased your clit. He knew it was your clit, he could see that but him confirming that it was special wormed into your brain. He understood that was how you liked it, that your favorite, your special favorite, was having your clit gently played with.

“Dad,” You moaned, you reached out to him, wanting to grab hold of any part of his body. You came in contact with his bare knee and you dug your fingers into it.

“I know,” he said, “It feels good, don’t it?” he asked around a smile, you nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath. His fingers lovingly stroked around your clit, teasing you, bringing you closer and closer to a release you hadn’t felt in so long. You were so close, teetering there on the edge of bliss but then Joel pulled his fingers back, dropping his other hand too, leaving you desperate for more.

“Daddy!” You whined out, you wondered if he was doing this on purpose, making you ask for an orgasm from your own father. You watched his familiar features turn to worry at the whine in your voice,

“What is it, honey?” He asked in mock concern, he knew how frustrated you were, how much you wanted to come and he was teasing you anyway.

“I-I…I want more-“ you whined, pressing your hips up, it was harrowing to admit it outlaid. You watched Joel nod, the look of fake concern still plastered on his face.

“I know you do,” he half laughed, breaking through the concern. “Daddy’s still got stuff to teach ya,” He stroked down the lips of your pussy again to your entrance. You stiffened again as you felt him starting to push his middle finger inside of you. “I know it’s tight, babygirl.” His dark eyes met yours and you tried to express everything you were feeling to him through just a look. Joel had always been able to know what was wrong with you at just a glance and he had always been there to take care of whatever the problem was. You wanted him to understand the uncertainty, the desperate need and the horror at your own desires. When your eyes met, he softened slightly at the sight of the expression,“I’m sorry,” He said and you wondered how sorry he actually was. Was he sorry for teasing you? For making you need it? For all of it? “I just wanna be the one to teach my little girl all this,” he said, his voice was rough and earnest but his finger nudged again at your entrance. “It’ll probably hurt a little but I’ll go slow for ya,” he started to push his finger into you again. There was a little pain, but you were soaked and his finger slipped in fairly easily. Your cunt stretched to accommodate the thickness of your father’s finger and you longed for more at the same time as you wished you had the will to push him away. “I know, babygirl.” He said, trying to placate you. “C’mere, give me a kiss, it’ll make it feel better.” He leaned over you while his finger worked its way inside of you and pressed his lips to yours. Your heart lept into your throat. The thrill of a kiss that was so utterly forbidden was too much. You were a revolting girl. Revolting for how much you liked it. You found yourself kissing him back while he worked you open with his finger. Joel pumped his finger in and out of you, your cunt tightened around him with each thrust. You moaned into his mouth, lips parting enough for his tongue to press inside of your mouth, teasing your tongue.

“Dad,” You said as he pulled back, “Dad, it feels so good,” You said it like you couldn’t believe it, like if you didn’t get more you might go completely insane. Joel stroked your cheek with his free hand,

“I know, I’m goin’ to make you come around my fingers.” He assured you. You nodded, looking down between your bodies, his cock was hard between his legs, neglected while he paid attention to you. You had never seen a cock in real life before, your mouth hung open as you looked at it. At the same time, Joel’s thumb nudged against your clit, sending a spasm of pleasure through you.

“Daddy,” You gasped, Joel noticed your gaze on him and he chuckled.

“You see Daddy’s cock?” he asked. You nodded, your mouth hanging open in awe at it. Joel let his free hand drop to his cock and started to stroke it, showing it off to you. His cock was so big, imagining it inside of you made you squirm against his finger. Joel kept pumping his finger in and out of you, curling it up to stroke you from the inside while his thumb stroked over your clit in tantalizing circles. It was overwhelmingly good and now you couldn’t take your eyes off the mesmerizing sight of your father stroking his cock up and down, lavishing attention around the dusky head. Joel laughed again and your eyes snapped up to his face,

“You want your daddy’s cock, dont ya?” he asked. You squirmed, you couldn’t admit it, that was a horrible, disgusting thing to want but you couldn’t deny your body’s reaction. “Awww,” he laughed, “I can feel how bad you want it, peanut. You’re clenchin’ down on my finger- oh are you goin’ to come?” Joel was surprised by the way your face twisted, the way your whole body tightened. “C’mon, tell Daddy,” He growled. You nodded, unable to form words anymore as his finger filled you up repeatedly and his thumb teased your clit. “That’s my good girl, daddy’s got ya,” he breathed. The tension inside of you snapped, like spring finally releasing and you came around his fingers, gasping, the heat from your cunt seemed to spread up, enveloping you as you started to shake through your orgasm.

“Oh god, Daddy!” You moaned, watching now as Joel touched himself in earnest. “Daddy…daddy I wanna…” You started to babble almost incoherently, “I want your co-cock, Daddy, please give it to me—I…I need it.” You whined, not even fully realizing what you were saying. Tears pricked your eyes as you admitted your most shameful thoughts. Joel seemed to love the sound of you pleading with him, his hand tightened on his cock, pumping it up and down above you. He sat up on his knees and you desperately reached out for his cock, but your needy fingers were met with his hand closing around your wrist.

“No, no, no, little girl.” He said. “Not yet. Your little pussy isn’t ready for Daddy’s big cock yet,” he explained. You let out an angry whine and wanted to hide away from him, to reel back from him in frustration. As if reading your mind, he reached out and grabbed your hip, “Nuh-uh, stay right there. I want somethin’ to come on,” He growled. Your lower lip trembled, you felt so disgusted with yourself and still so needy that sob built in your chest. It was threatening to burst out, but you didn’t want to ruin it for him. Tears spilled out of your eyes as Joel continued to work his hand up and down his cock.

“Aw poor girl, I know Daddy’s bein’ mean,” he fucked into his own fist, teasing you with the visual of his cock gliding in and out of his hand faster and fast. You watched Joel’s facial expression change, tiny micro-expressions of pain, lust, desperation, anger and intense desire flitted over his features, or maybe it was just feral need. Determination to find his orgasm, but the words he choked out next made you sure there had been moments of real pain in his expression,

“I’m s-sorry,” He actually sounded sorry, sorry for so much. Sorry for the world that you were living in, sorry that his pain and suffering had turned into darkness that had nursed a need for you, his daughter. His heart, soul, flesh and blood. Sorry that he had decided it was time to act on it. Sorry that you enjoyed every depraved fucking second. “You goin’…goin’ to look so pretty with my come painted on your tummy,” he groaned and watched him squeeze around the head of his cock and direct it down as thick ropes of his spend spilled out over your tummy and pubic bone. You let out a sob as he groaned through his pleasure. “Fuck,” he breathed as you cried. “I’m so sorry, babygirl. Let Daddy hold ya,” he said even as he came down from his own high.

“Aw, peanut, you’re freezing,” He said as he wrapped his arms around you and gathered you up. He kissed the side of your head, “Daddy’s sorry, so sorry. Felt so good.” He shuddered and tugged the quilts up around the two of you. You took a deep breath of his familiar, comforting smell and allowed yourself to relax against him, he squeezed you tighter as he felt you relax.

“Do you love me, dad?” You asked, unsure of why you needed the reassurance more than anything now but you asked and waited for his answer.

“More than air, peanut.” He breathed.

“I love you too,” You said even as your naked body warmed against your father’s under the quilt and his come dried on your skin.

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel #joel miller headcanons #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou #the last of us #tw: incest #writing #dad!joel

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lilithslittleworld · 11 months ago

Text

New To This

A/N: I made a poll a few weeks ago about wanting to write a new smut with several different scenarios/characters with a winner of "Jacob Black x Reader"!

I initially wanted to write a really steamy, sexy scene but it ended up evolving into a steamy but also loving/fluffy sex scene! *i feel like this is werewolf Jacob meets cute, pre-wolf Jacob* I hope you all enjoy ;)

(PS: Nessie does not and will not exist in this fanfic, aka you and Jacob will live happily ever after. Also both of you are 18 or above ).

Summary: A few weeks after Bella and Edward's wedding, Jacob teaches you how to cliff dive. You're sure you could teach him a few things too...

The wind howled viciously, sending your hair flying in every direction and shivers that racked your body. You stepped closer to the cliff's edge, peering slightly over to catch a glimpse of the angry waves below.

Jacob stood behind you, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he scowled at you. "This is a terrible idea," he huffed, his dark eyebrows pinching in worry.

Jacob never wore shirts, or at least that's what it seemed like. "It was your idea," you reminded him. Jacob glared at you in response but took a step forward.

"You're really going to do this, aren't you?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. It was a silly question to ask, since you both knew the answer.

"You better believe it," you grinned back at him. You pulled off your thick coat, leaving it folded on a rock beside Jacob's truck. You two would have to come back up for both sooner or later and the idea of being weighed down by a water-soaked winter coat didn't sound ideal. Your boots came off as well, for good measure.

The cold made your hands sting, turning your knuckles an angry red as you stood in your thin, long sleeved shirt, jeans, and socks. Jacob on the other hand, stood comfortably, despite lacking a shirt and in shorts.

"H-how are you not freezing?" you asked incredulously, your teeth chattering, "It's the middle of December!"

"I'm just a little hotter than most," Jacob winked at you, holding out a hand. "Ready whenever you are."

You rolled your eyes at him but brought your hand to his. You couldn't help but notice how much bigger they were, most of Jacob was anyway. They were also exceptionally warm just as you had expected. Maybe he did run warmer than the rest of people...

"Okay," you breathed, as Jacob guided you both to the cliff's edge, the waters below you lapped furiously at the rocky coast, "On the count of three. One, two, th-"

And suddenly you were falling. You screamed at Jacob for not having respected the countdown but it was useless, the fall was short and the wind howled even louder as you plummeted into the cold, dark water.

Your body sank like a stone, the weight pulling you down deeper into the frigid water. You thrashed your arms, desperate to make it to the surface once again. Thousands of little ice-like knives sank into your skin with every movement. You wondered how Jacob was handling the cold. But there were more important things to think about now. You were running out of air.

Now only a few feet from the surface, you felt a strong arm pulling you up towards it at an incredible speed. Your head broke through the surface, your mouth opening automatically to gasp the free air greedily. As your panic started to ebb, your sight began to unblur slowly, taking in your surroundings and the breathless boy before you.

"Y/N!" Jacob gasped, partially due to the little stunt he'd pulled with the jump, having swam around to find you, and worry. "Can you hear me?"

You nodded quickly, taking into account how clogged your ears were. "I'm good," you croaked, followed by a tamer fit of coughing.

Jacob wrapped a protective arm around you, dragging you along with him as his legs and free arm paddled you both towards the shore. You protested at first until it became clear that you were unable to swim that distance and that Jacob would never let you go.

"That was fun," you noted cheerfully, as the ocean floor below you began to rise enough for Jacob to stand. It would take you a little longer to reach.

"Yeah, well it's never happening again," he scoffed, wading out of the shallow water, "You could've died." You watched as little water droplets dripped from his short hair down his toned back and shoulders, secretly hoping swimming with him would happen again soon.

It was no secret that you were attracted to Jacob. Besides, he rarely hid the fact that he was interested in you as well. You two had met at Bella Swan's wedding. It wasn't a great introduction, to say the least, but it eventually blossomed into whatever this was. Jacob was always honest about what he felt but he had never made any grandiose confessions or even really specified what you were to him, apart from a girl he liked. He was careful around you.

Jacob's voice interrupted your thoughts and so did the cold. "You're going to freeze to death if you stay in there," he called out, a hint of superiority in his voice.

"Stupid fireboy," you muttered under your breath, as you dragged your nearly numb legs forward. He was right. Your fingers had started to turn blue and you became aware of how little of your body you could feel.

"What was that?" he grinned, amused at your suddenly cranky mood.

"Oh, I know you heard me," you hissed, swatting his arms away as he tried to pull you into them. "Stupid supersonic hearing."

Jacob laughed, clearly still thrilled. "Come here," he said, scooping you into his arms. You were so grateful for the warmth that radiated from his skin that you said nothing as he carried you across the woods.

"I could teach you thing too, you know," you said sullenly, watching the little beach disappear from your sight.

"I'm sure you could," he replied, "But no one's teaching anyone anything until you're out of these wet clothes and showered."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Was he intending to shower with you? You had never done more than makeout with this boy but the idea of him in a shower with you sent your pulse overboard.

Neither of you said anything else until Jacob's house. You had never really been inside before. Any ideas you had of it were based on the little you had been able to see when you peeked through the front door, waiting for Jacob in other occasions. Now, you stepped through the doorframe, taking in the small but cozy house.

Jacob walked you towards a little wooden door. "My room," he noted quietly, scratching his neck embarrassed, as you peered inside. It had a twin bed, a wooden desk, and a handful of tiny, wooden sculptures. On his bedframe, right above his pillow, hung a delicate dreamcatcher.

How many times had you imagined his room? Now you were in it, your past daydreams and fantasies coming to life.

"Do you want to shower first?" Jacob asked, pulling out a clean towel from the bathroom closet. Oh.

"Sure," you said, hoping he wouldn't pick up on the slight disappointment that dripped in your voice. This was, after all, the first time in his house, he wasn't going to rush into anything just because you were here.

Showering brought back the humanness in you that had been lost to the cold. Your skin returned to its normal feel, slightly tingly from the warm water and you could now feel every inch of yourself. You lathered yourself up in soap, scrubbing extra in all the places that might be the slightest bit smelly. You washed your hair too, getting rid of any sand or seaweed that had found its way there.

You wrapped yourself in the large towel that Jacob had given you, grateful that it covered you almost entirely. With the edge of the towel, you wiped away a circle on the foggy mirror. You looked almost the same as you had this morning, which was a relief.

Jacob sat on his bed, fiddling with his hands as you tiptoed into his room.

"You can go," you said softly. Jacob looked up at you. You could tell he was trying his hardest to keep his eyes on yours. A hint of blush spread along his face, as his eyes made their way down from your mouth to your neck and finally landing on your collarbones.

Jacob stood up quickly, pulling pieces of clothing from his drawers. "Cool," he smiled at you, "Don't go anywhere."

Jacob's room felt cozy, even with just you in it. Your hands unfolded the lumps of cloth he had laid out for you: one oversized t-shirt and a pair of what seemed to be old boxer shorts. You pulled them on gratefully, now really feeling warm and cleaned up. They smelled like Jacob, a scent that sent your heart into an excited flutter.

The sound of running water sent an excited shiver down your spine. You had imagined Jacob showering so many times on your own, taking your time to really focus on what he did in there. If only you could see him now. The idea of Jacob naked now, made your breath hitch in the back of your throat.

The silence broke your train of thought. Jacob would be back in his room in just minutes and here you were, fantasizing and hyperventilating over him. You sat down on the edge of his bed, making an effort to take deep breaths, an attempt to look as normal as possible. You sat awkwardly on the corner of his bed, trying hard not to be suggestive or the opposite of that.

Jacob walked in, his hair still damp and holding the tightly wrapped towel around his hips. Your eyes made their way to where his towel met his bare skin, your imagination wild. Seeing him now was so different to all the other times, this time there was almost nothing between you except a little towel, ironically.

"Enjoying the view?" Jacob's voice pierced the deafening silence but his playful tone didn't match his eyes. His deep, dark eyes burned into your own, a want behind them that was almost palpable. You felt your face growing warm at his words but there was not an ounce of regret in you.

"I think you're wearing far too much clothes," you answered boldly, an answer he seemed to enjoy as you watched a smile creep onto his lips.

"You're one to talk," he chuckled, turning away from you as he searched for his next change of clothes.

"I think that's an easy problem to solve," you said softly, pulling off the boxers you wore and tossing them over to him. Jacob caught them easily, pulling them on quickly before dropping the towel.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. He was getting dressed, not undressed. You felt stupid now, feeling significantly naked despite the dress-like shirt that covered you.

Jacob seemed to pick up on your puzzled expression. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, exhaling before he spoke. "I've never done this."

It actually came as a great surprise that Jacob was a virgin. You had expected him to be fairly experienced, given his attitude and the obvious physical attractiveness. Now you were thrown off your game.

"I-I really thought you had," you confessed, "A few times actually."

Jacob shook his head, his eyes still trained intently on the floor. "Never really got the chance," he said softly.

A pang hit your heart. Jacob seemed truly embarrassed and almost hurt. It had never been your intention to make him feel bad about the matter. You knew something had hurt him far before your had come along. You didn't know much about his past attachment to Bella Swan but you were sure that she wasn't a person that had brought him much joy during that time.

"It's okay, Jake," you assured him gently, "I was just curious but it doesn't matter."

Jacob brought his gaze up to you, his eyes soft. "I'd like to try but I don't want to hurt you, Y/N."

"You won't hurt me, Jake," you replied, walking over to him before reaching your hand out to his. He took your hand in his, the warmth of his skin spreading all over you.

You pulled him towards you, your eyes never leaving his. "You have to promise me that you'll tell me if I hurt you," Jacob said earnestly, his grip on your hand tightening faintly.

"I trust you," you whispered, wrapping an arm around his neck, placing your other hand on the side of his face.

Jacob leaned his face against your hand momentarily before taking your face in his hands, pressing his lips softly against yours. It was no surprise that his lips were just as warm as the rest of him. A shiver ran down your back as you kissed him back, your lips moving gently against his. Your hands found their way to his hair, running your fingers through it. Jacob groaned, pulling you closer to him, his breath quickening. Soon, every bit of you was touching him, every inch of skin against him. You could feel the little droplets of sweat beading on your forehead and running down your back from the heat of his body.

The need for him gnawed at you, the flutters in your stomach grew as Jacob took you into his arms, your legs straddling his hips. A ripple of pleasure went through you as you made contact with his hardened length, barely concealed by the boxers you'd thrown at him earlier. Jacob walked you over to his bed, his strong arms holding you up against him, his lips never leaving yours. He laid you down slowly, placing a steady hand against the mattress on either side of your body.

You brought you lips back to his eagerly, hoping he wouldn't be as careful with you anymore. You knew you weren't going to get anywhere as long as Jacob tiptoed around you. You were going to set the pace. Your kisses deepened as you ran your fingertips lightly down his neck towards his chest, Jacob's breathless sighs mixing with yours as you touched him. Your fingers trailed down along his chest, making their way towards the edge of his boxers. You could feel Jacob's stomach quivering as you brought your touch closer to him. You wanted so badly to feel him trembling beneath your hands.

You dipped a finger under the band of his boxers. He felt so much warmer than anywhere else. You wanted to feel that heat everywhere. Jacob's breath hitched when your hand came in contact with him, so hard and hot on your fingertips. Instinctually, you wrapped your hand around his throbbing length, not surprised its size. He was so big. You brought your gaze back up to Jacob, who now had his eyes shut tightly and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. You watched him as you gave him lazy, long strokes, practically drooling at the noises that came out of his mouth. He looked so beautiful, so lost in your touch, his muscular arms beginning to shake as he kept himself propped up above you. A finger rubbed softly against his already wet tip brought a strangled moan out from Jacob. Your strokes became quicker, mesmerized at the feeling of him growing harder in your hand.

Jacob slowly began to come undone above you, his whole body shaking as he held himself up above you still. "Please," was all he could coherently plead. And you loved it. Seeing this vulnerability in Jacob was something you were not expecting and it only made you want him more. Your strokes returned to the slower pace you had started with, knowing he was just minutes away from cumming.

Jacob opened his desire-filled eyes as your hands came to a stop. You pushed him back gently, your hands on his muscular chest, until he was sitting on his knees. You propped yourself up on your elbows, pulling his shirt off of you, as Jacob watched you with wide eyes. Now fully exposed before him, excitement coursed through your veins. Jerking him off had made the heat pool between your legs almost impossible to ignore. You were desperate for any sort of release and you were going to get it.

You laid yourself back on the bed, Jacob still kneeled at the foot of it, his eyes trained on you, running up and down your naked body. Slowly, you ran a hand down your chest, pausing to squeeze your boobs before trailing your fingers down your stomach. Your legs parted, knowing very well what view Jacob would have from where he sat. And you began.

After years of knowing your body, touching yourself was simple and well known. Your fingers brushed your clit lightly, gasping at the shock that ran through you. The circles started slowly, pacing yourself as the tightness in your stomach began to build. You lost yourself in the pleasure, not holding back the moans that sprang from your lips. You knew very well Jacob too, was touching himself. You could hear it. The noises of his slick hand running up and down his length, mixed with his soft groans and breaths.

You opened your eyes to the vision of Jacob touching himself, his eyes dripping with lust as he watched you do the same to yourself, the veins on his arms bulging from the movement.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked slyly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"You," he panted, his chest rising and falling as he responded.

"Mmmm," you breathed, "What about me?"

"About touching you. Tasting you. Being inside of you and making you feel so good," he said, his deep voice strained as he tried to contain himself.

"I want you to," was all you said.

Jacob was back on top of you in the blink of an eye. He was everywhere. Kissing, touching, and licking every inch of you. He felt like the sun, spreading a delicious warmth all over you. His mouth was on your stomach, parting your legs with his arms before trailing down to your inner thighs. You wanted him so badly and he knew.

His mouth found your clit, giving it a light lick as your eyes rolled back, gripping his hair tightly. You moaned as you felt Jacob's tongue drawing circles, your hips bucking involuntarily seeking more.

"Mmm," Jacob hummed, sending vibrations through your core as he did. You were so close.

"Wait," you breathed, your mind foggy from the pleasure. Jacob looked up at you, his expression slightly worried.

"Is everything okay?" he whispered, his mouth still wet from you.

"Kiss me," you commanded, pulling him to you eagerly. Your lips met in a frantic effort, tasting the sweet, slightly salty taste of yourself on his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, moaning softly at the feeling of his hardened dick against your bare stomach.

Jacob rolled over onto his back, his hands on your hips as you now straddled him. Your hips moved automatically against his, brushing your clit against his cock, your wetness dripping onto it.

"God," Jacob groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he guided your movements to an even quicker pace. "So hot."

"I need you," you breathed, throwing your head back as you neared your orgasm again, "Inside of me."

Something snapped inside of Jacob as you moaned those words. His hands fumbled to find a condom on tiny nightstand beside his bed, wasting no time in pulling it down his cock. You lifted your hips as he positioned himself below you before pulling you down for another kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" he murmured, his eyes searching yours as his thumb stroked your cheek.

"I am," you replied, kissing him gently.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered against your lips. Your heart leaped.

"I love you too, Jake," you sighed back.

You lowered yourself onto him slowly, taking time to adjust to his size, listening to Jacob gasp as you took more of him in. He stretched you perfectly, the tip of his dick hitting your G-spot as you started to tentatively bounce up and down him. As you sped up, Jacob's hands found your boobs, taking them into his mouth as you moaned his name, his hands snaking their way down your back.

"Jake," you moaned, as his tongue swirled around your hardened nipple.

"Tell me," he groaned, "Tell me how good I make you feel."

"So good," you panted as Jacob's lips found your neck, biting your soft skin gently.

"That's it," he pleaded, "Ride me just like that. Please, Y/N."

Your hips were moving at an incredible speed, bringing you so close to the edge. You could feel Jacob's cock twitching inside of you, signaling his approaching orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, no longer worried about what you said or how. All you could think about was Jacob.

"Mmmm, cum all over me," he breathed, his fingers gripping your ass tightly as he made you ride him even faster. It was all too much. Jacob inside of you, Jacob groaning your name, his breathless pleads, the heat of his body. Your orgasm shook through you, you threw your head back and cried out in pleasure. Your sight even blurred momentarily. Jacob's orgasm quickly followed your own, your name falling from his lips repeatedly as he buried himself deep inside you one last time.

It took you both a few minutes to catch your breaths, entangled in a sweaty mess as you did. Jacob stroked your hair softly and you traced imaginary swirls along his chest.

"So," you began, "you love me?"

Jacob laughed, his whole body shaking and ultimately shaking you as well. "Of course I do, Y/N."

You shrugged. "You'd never mentioned it."

"Well, my past love confession didn't go too well," he sighed, "Which I know is unfair to you but I wanted to use those words carefully this time, especially with someone as special as you."

"I understand," you smiled, propping your head on your hands to meet Jacob's gaze, "It's just nice to hear is all."

"It's nice to say," he said, his smile reaching all the way up to his eyes.

"Hmmm," you said thoughtfully, "Are you going to tell your dad?"

"Got nothing to hide," he winked at you, "I'll tell all of Forks if I have to."

"Jake!" you squealed, though you knew he truly would. Jacob was the showing off type.

"Kidding," he said, poking you in the side, "Unless..."

"Knowing you, you'll probably call the local radio or put up posters," you rolled your eyes at the idea of either of those happening, "Why don't we go cliff diving again tomorrow?"

Jacob's smile tugged even harder at the corner of his lips. "I've got an even better idea. Something you taught me today."

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A/N: honestly I didn't know how to end this oneshot I'm so sorry it's a little meh :/ but I really loved writing Jacob x Reader sm I might turn it into a oneshot series!!!

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #jacob black #team jacob #jacob black x reader #jacob black imagine #jacob black smut #twilight smut #twilight saga #twilight imagine #twilight fluff #jacob black fluff #the twilight series #the twilight saga

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