jestthesixtyninth

[jestthesixtyninth]

just called in to say I just read your fic, and while I'm still emotionally recovering lol I also want to thank you for feeding the Bradley simp nation since I actually got into him not too long ago 🙏🙏

Lol, you are so welcome!!! Been in the Bradley simp nation for a little while, trust me when I say I have a little more planned ;3

I'm happy you liked it and wish you luck in your emotional recovery, lol.

[jestthesixtyninth]

Cold

Bradley Uppercrust the Third × Fem! Reader Ao3 Word Count: 879 Summary: Bradley has a wet dream. Tws//: 18+ ONLY, Bradley has canine anatomy, Knotting, Breeding kink, Bradley is a freak, Bradley has issues, Masochism, Self-hatred, Reader is human while Bradley is not, Wet dreams, Questionable Alpha/Beta dynamics

It's a haze of memory and wishful desire; Bradley can't recall the last time something felt this filthy and so pleasing at the same time. Shame buzzed in the pit of his skull, weighing his head down into the sheets as he drove his hips forward with a rushed and sloppy pace. You're just so tight and warm, stretched and accommodating the fat of his cock. His nails dig into the sheets, close to ripping the textile as he whines and groans into the silk of his bedspread. Heat pools and boils in his belly, scorching and vile as he feels himself teeter on the edge of release. 

"Please, please—" He doesn't know why he's begging at first, his mind haughty and dripping with desire, but the thought you might deny him his release crosses over his subconscious enough for the muffled words to tear past his lungs like a prayer. This house is his—his frat, his place on this campus. Yet, he knows he can't make too much noise, knows he must've told you to keep it quiet too, which is why you must be so silent.

Regardless, he's fucking into you like a desperate animal. As if he's never fucked before, which he totally has—so many times, with so many chicks.

The swell of his knot makes a muted sound bubble at the base of his throat, a growl so deep it hardly sounds sane. His nails claw as his hips start to pound down into you with a meaty squelch. Bradley wants to look at you, wants to bite and sink his teeth into your soft nude flesh and suck at the sweet, puckered meat of your nipples. Wants to cum in you so bad, wants to pop his knot into the tight heat of your drooling pussy and fuck a baby into you.

That would teach you, wouldn't it? That icy front you put up, that disinterest you flaunt like a peacock. It's annoying; you're annoying, and he wants to fuck away that cold stare. Make you look at him like you want him because you have to. Why wouldn't you? He's perfect, and he'll make love to you as if he were put on this earth for your pleasure, just as you are for his because you must be.

You're the only person who sees him, the only person who looks at him like he's scum—which he is.

Dirty, filthy scum who needs to be punched in the face and choked out in an alleyway. He still can't believe you did that, that you stood up in such a violent way. It makes his cock throb, and his knot ticks like a bomb while it expands. Bradley wants you to ride him, hold him down, and make him take it—like a good boy, he'd be so good if only you let him prove it. He wonders, as your legs wrap around his hips and your hands pull at his hair, how long until you let him?

His orgasm hits like a plane to the solid earth, tearing through him and making him tense up as if electrocuted. His mouth opens, and all he does is gasp. The wet, sticky sensation of his cum against his stomach makes his eyes open dazed and confused.

Bradley breathes as if he's had the life damn near choked out of him, heavy and greedy, while he shifts his aching joints to sit up. He'd gone too hard in his workout before bed, he remembers; the slight throb of his forearms and calves is proof of that.

A dream is all it was—a haze of false memory and wishful lust.

The moon is annoyingly full, casting light through the thin space where the curtains drew apart. Sitting up, Bradley looks down, taking in the sight of his cum drenching the silk of his bedding, the throb of his half-hard and softening cock. The swell of his knot is prominent and aching; it makes him groan in a slew of pent-up emotions.

Soon, he knows it; what he's dreading most is approaching. Mindless wants that possess his canine mind, twenty-three, and he's still without a suitable partner—still humping his bed in his sleep like some teenager. It's frustrating, so much so that he casts the thought to the back of his mind. Palm wrapping around his swollen knot and squeezing at it.

Bradley Uppercrust, the third, can get any bitch or even dude he so pleases. This didn't happen, he thinks; he wasn't thinking of that lone human girl on his campus because why would he? His father would hate her; his mother could probably count every split end in the tragedy she calls hair.

He doesn't want her; he isn't thinking about her.

The squeezing proves fruitful as the swelling stops, and a whimper pushes past his lips like a petulant huff. His body shivers, satisfied yet unsated in his desire. Bradley sits there, one palm pressed into the silk to keep himself up as he tries to catch his thoughts from wandering down unwanted paths. Shame overbears his tired mind as he grumbles and groans, getting up from bed to start cleaning this mess. His thoughts were clean but unforgiving.

Cold, he thinks, his room is tragically cold.