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katiexpunk · 5 months

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Sex On Fire, Part 1 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them. Part 1 Summary: You move to New York, after a little coaxing from your aunt. You meet your new neighbor, Joel, and quickly learn he's a Captain with the NYFD and good with his hands. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~6.7K Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. This one is dripping in it. No age gap specified. No explicit smut (yet, there's uh...gonna be a lot in part 2), but a nice lead up to it in the end that will probably blue ball you. Groping. Alcohol. Hardcore flirting. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, and Kings of Leon song references. Uniform kink. Joel has a hard on for seeing reader in his shirt. Reader's mom has passed. Texas/small town vibes. New York City. There are no specific descriptors for reader, except that she has hair. Ya'll, these two are just down for each other so fucking bad it's not even funny. Authors Note: This one is for my darling moot @darkheartgatita. Pia, thanks for putting Firefighter!Joel into my brain. I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my Slutty, Smutty, Sister @sydneyinacoma who inspires me every day and shares her filthy thoughts on the reg. And to everyone who gives my little blog love -- I fucking love you all so much. Part 2, Fall and Winter, will drop next Saturday.

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S P R I N G Spring blooms, bringing with it a new beginning for you. Of all the places you’d thought you would be, New York was not one of them.

Life back in Texas wasn't terrible, a bit dull sometimes, but not awful.

Yet, in the mundane moments, your mind often drifted to daydreams – visions of swapping your Levi's for a sleek black dress and trading quiet farmland for the lively hum of city bars. You’d think of Samantha from Sex and the City sitting on your porch at sunset, drinking Bud Light, wishing your fairy godmother would appear and magically turn it into a dry Martini.

That was until three weeks ago, when your rich aunt, visiting from New York, decided to sprinkle a bit of magic into your life.

“I’m gonna move to Italy for a while,” she casually said over family dinner as if she was just announcing that she was going to the store for milk. You should have been surprised, but she’s always been the kind to never stick around for too long. Single and child-free, she’s spent her adult life dancing to her free-spirited rhythm, bouncing around from one place to the next. Not because she had to, but because she could. You, on the other hand, were the total opposite. After your mom passed away, leaving the cocoon of the familiar felt like too much. Despite your aunt's protests and encouragement to just go, you resisted, not wanting to leave behind your dad and the comfortable life you'd known. But if there's one thing you've learned about your aunt, it's that she's relentless – and yanking you out of your comfort zone was precisely what she wanted, and she had just the plan to do it.

She handed you the keys to her Lower East Side apartment, turning your once silly little daydreams into a reality. “Sweetie, you need this – you’re meant for so much more, your dad will be fine. Please go,” she encouraged.

Despite your initial reluctance, you caved, and before you knew it, you were on a plane bound for JFK.

++++ You feel like a small fish in a big pond as you navigate the city. Trying to figure out the subway turns into a whole saga of you getting lost more than once. You eventually find the right borough, but not without a fair share of unhelpful people brushing you off along the way. Yep, you're definitely not in Texas anymore.

While walking through the city, it hits you that a new pair of shoes is in order; something made clear to you by the little blister on the back of your heel that’s screaming at you. Despite the annoyance, you’re enjoying the walk to the apartment, your new home. The city's buzzing with life, and even the faint smell of urine in the air doesn't bother you. It's a wild, trippy feeling to be in the city, to feel like the main character of your own story.

You grab your phone, itching to double-check the building your aunt texted and ensure you have the right address. Remembering her advice about the unassuming exterior but spectacular view, you get ready for the big reveal. The key affixed to a keychain with a little apple on it meets the lock, and as you turn it, the door swings open, revealing a spacious wooden staircase.

As you step inside, you notice there's a bit of mail scattered on the slightly dusty floor. You collect the envelopes and magazines with your aunt's name on them and neatly stack the other pieces for Joel Miller into a pile on the bottom step.

After climbing the – Jesus, really fucking narrow – stairs, you're faced with doors opposite each other. While a brief doubt nudges you to recheck the apartment number, your gut tells you that the door with the welcome mat showing lemons and a pot of fake flowers is the one — a stark difference from its neighbor with a simple grey mat and no decor. Trusting your instincts, you decide that the lively entrance is the one.

As you step inside, you're greeted by a cozy space that, despite its age, radiates warmth and character. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to tell stories of bygone eras, while rays of sunlight filter through the window, revealing glimpses of the bustling cityscape below.

Though small, the apartment is meticulously decorated, each corner telling a tale of adventures and cultural escapades. Remnants of your aunt’s travels, collected with care, add a touch of global flair to the modest space. Posters from Broadway plays hang proudly on the walls, as do family pictures. It’s lived-in; the kind of lived-in that feels comfy and embraces you like a warm hug.

You look at the frames on the wall and pause when you see one of your favorites – a photo of you as a little girl, smushed between your mom and your aunt, a cake three sizes bigger than your tiny head lit up with birthday candles in front of you. You can't help but trace the edges of the frame with your fingertips, connecting with the warmth radiating from your mother's beaming smile. Miss you, mom escapes your lips as your eyes linger on the photograph for a heartbeat longer before the rest of the room demands your attention.

In the compact kitchen, a handwritten note from your aunt beckons, strategically placed beside a bottle of wine on top of a stack of takeout menus. Her words resonate with warmth and encouragement. "Welcome to your new home! I am so proud of you for taking me up on my offer. Disregard the bedroom chaos—I started painting the walls but didn't quite finish before taking off. Feel free to pick up where I left off if the mood strikes. And if you ever need a hand with anything, Joel Miller across the way is a nice guy. I've already told him that you’ll be staying for a while, or who knows, maybe forever. Love you!" The paper carries the unmistakable fragrance of her perfume, and a smile graces your face after you finish reading it.

Setting the heartfelt note aside, your attention shifts to the menu for Sang Garden, a vibrant pink post-it exclaiming, "Right down the street! Super yummy!" Hunger gnaws at your stomach; the last meal was a distant memory from this morning, and you're ravenous. Without hesitation, you dial the number on the menu, your choice a steadfast favorite: orange chicken. “10 minutes,” the older lady on the phone tells you, not bothering to say goodbye before hanging up. Huh, efficient, you think.

As the aroma of anticipation fills the air, you finish unpacking your suitcase and weave through your new space until your food is ready. Only having to go down a flight of stairs and less than a block down the street to pick it up is a new feeling for you. If you wanted something like this at home you’d have to drive at least 20 minutes to pick it up.

You finish the entirety of the meal within minutes curled up on the couch, Sex and the City on the T.V.. Your aunt was right, it’s good. Probably the best orange chicken you’ve ever had in your entire life; just the right amount of zest and sweetness. You can already tell you’ll be a regular. Everyone always talks about the pizza in New York, but nobody bothered to tell you about the Chinese. You can tell you’ll probably have a lot of moments like that, discovering new things for yourself instead of hearing about it from magazines or seeing the photos on Instagram.

With your belly now full of the sticky goodness, you settle into bed for the night. You stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for the past three hours. You feel giddy, like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time. You’re doing it. You’re really doing it.

The city is still thrumming to life, but the distant sound of sirens and honks eventually turns to white noise as you drift off to sleep.

++++

The next morning, you rise with purpose; new life breathed into you. You brew a cup of coffee and decide to savor it on the fire escape, enjoying the not-yet-thick spring, and still slightly chilly, spring air. As the city stirs awake beneath you, you’re determined to craft an agenda for the day. With another few days to spare before your new job starts, your thoughts drift to the bedroom, where the abandoned paint cans await.

It's been a while since you've had the chance to dive into something genuinely productive, or creative for that matter, and you decide that this is the perfect opportunity. Your aunt chose a deep, rich shade of green, one that harmonizes seamlessly with the space; not too dark, but not puke or pea green, either. It’s pretty. She always has had good taste.

And while you like the color, it’s not particularly one you’d like to see splattered all over your clothing, having only brought what you could fit into a small suitcase. Your aunt must have something, you think. The woman has more clothes than a department store and there is no way she could have brought them all to Italy, although you don’t put it past her to try.

You make your way to the guest bedroom and rummage through the dresser located there. The top drawer is full of nothing but scrapbooks, the middle drawer has only sweaters, but luck strikes in the bottom drawer, where you locate a handful of old shirts.

You pull out a dark blue, oversized “New York Fire Department” cotton t-shirt; the front of it has an emblem, and the back says “Rescue 1 FDNY” in faded blocky white letters, obviously well-loved. This will do, you tell yourself, quickly exchanging your tiny crop top for the large shirt. It hangs over your body, the bottom nearly hitting your knees. Why your aunt has such a large shirt in her collection you’ll never know, but you wager it’s probably from one of her many “friends” over the years.

++++

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" fill the room, you stand in the center of the bedroom, paintbrush in hand, ready to transform the space. The nostalgic chords of Stevie Nicks' voice in Dreams infuse the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint as you dip the brush into the can, and begin. “Like a heartbeat drives you mad,” you sing, slightly off-key, but no one is around to listen and you don’t mind. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainingggggg,” you belt, using the paintbrush as a microphone.

While most of the paint makes it on the walls, you have to admit that painting isn’t your strong suit and a fair amount of it has splashed back onto your face, shirt, and even your hair. You’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a while, even if you make a mess while doing it. Not like you’re gonna see anyone today anyway.

“Players only love you when they’re plaaaaaying…” doing your best Stevie twirl.

More and more green covers the walls, but as you’re about to get started on the final white wall, you’re interrupted by a loud steady stream of knocks at your door.

You hit pause on the music, and make your way to the door, unsure of who would possibly be knocking. You peer through the peephole to take a look, but you can only see the back of a man in a simple white shirt, his back turned to face away from the door. You undo the chain lock and swing the door open.

As the man pivots to meet your gaze, his presence sweeps over you, an unexpected force that leaves you momentarily disarmed. He’s handsome in a way that unmoors you; a mass of a man with broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and sculpted biceps that redefine your sense of composure. Whoa.

“Hi,” you murmur, your eyes conveying a blend of softness and curiosity, "Can I help you?"

The man looks at you, and you feel yourself heat under the attention of his gaze. His eyes gently caress your frame; lingering a little too long on the emblem sewn into the fabric, just above your breast.

"Uh," he clears his throat, his hand rising to his face, fingers subtly grazing the beard hair on his cheek, as if grappling for words. "Yeah, well – no, uh," he stumbles, the words caught in a momentary struggle. "Hi, ‘m Joel Miller, I live across the way," he greets, angling his body to signal to the door directly across the foyer. “Oh right, my aunt told me about you you,” you say, introducing yourself, voice smooth like honey. “She mentioned you were a nice guy and to call you if I ever needed anything,” you say, taking up space in front of him by leaning into the door. “Just stopping by to say hi, then? Or do you need a cup of sugar or something like that?” you ask with a playful tone.

Suddenly, the last thing he wants to do is admit that there's something you could help him with—like turning down your music. He likes Fleetwood Mac as much as the next guy, but the last three days on shift have left him craving peace, not a soundtrack reverberating through the thin walls.

Plus, he wasn’t expecting you to be so damn attractive.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting to be wearing his shirt when you answered the door.

“Ha, no, don’t need any sugar,” he chuckles, “just thought I’d make myself known.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. You notice the subtle flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes and the furrow of his brow. He’s painfully handsome. Just as you’re about to say something, he breaks the silence first, “But I'll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doin’...you look busy,” he tilts his chin to the paint that’s splotched over your bare legs. You can tell he’s looking for the story behind the mess.

His left hand leaves his pocket and he places it on the doorframe. He leans into it, and your eyes catch the firmness of his bicep flexing under the strain of his lean before meeting his face once more.

“Cute shirt, by the way�� he says, his voice low and even.

“Oh thanks, you like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric out in a tent from the center, noticing the little splatters of paint as you do. “It’s my aunt’s, I just borrowed it while I finish up some painting.”

“Yeah, I have the same one,” he adds, “looks a helluva lot better on you than it does me, though,” a little laugh leaves his chest and his cheeks flush, a little embarrassed that he just said that. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s tried to flirt with a woman.

Your skin prickles with heat, and you’re suddenly very self-aware of what a wreck you must look like, but you decide to be bold anyway. “Maybe we’ll have to compare sometime,” you playfully retort.

“Yeah, maybe we will,” he responds, looking you up and down, hoping the meaning behind his words isn’t too obvious.

“Well if ya ever need anything, ‘m just across the way,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe, hitting his thigh with a slight sound of a pat. “Nice to meet ya, Darlin’,” he says. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your chest once more, your stiff nipples now peeking through the fabric. He turns on his heels and turns his back to walk back to his apartment.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you purr. His head peers over his shoulder back at you, and the corners of his lips turn up in a little smirk.

Oh god.

You’re so fucked.

++++

Later that night, you text your aunt that you just met Joel Miller. You curse her for not telling you how incredibly hot he is. You also tell her that you decided to finish the painting, sending a selfie of you in front of the freshly updated walls with the message. You also add that you borrowed one of her shirts and that you’ll do your best to get the paint out of it.

Her response causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and your stomach swirls into a tight knot.

“The walls look amazing! Oh and by the way, that’s not my shirt, it’s Joel’s. I must have forgotten to give it back to him; the shared laundry downstairs sometimes causes mix-ups. Be a doll and give it back to him, will ya? Oh and quarters for the machines are in the clay pot next to the door.”

Fuck. Of course you would answer the door to your incredibly hot neighbor, covered in paint, in his shirt. You shake your head in embarrassment.

You look down at the shirt and notice just how much paint is all over it. You strip it from your body, bring it over to the sink, and begin to scrub the paint out of it with dish soap. As you watch the paint fade into the warm water, you notice the tag on the inside of the shirt and the rank inscribed in permanent marker on it.

Your fingers prune in the water, but you eventually get all of the paint out of the fabric. Satisfied with your cleaning job, you hang it up to dry and scribble out a note.

The following morning, on your way out to explore the city, you leave it neatly folded on Joel’s doorstep. You don’t bother to knock, you’re certain you might combust from embarrassment if you did.

Shortly after, on his way to work, Joel opens the door and notices the shirt by his boot, a little envelope placed on top of it.

“You could have told me it was your shirt, Captain Miller.”

Joel smirks. The cat’s out of the bag on that little secret then. He places it inside and lets out a little sigh. The image of your perky nipples, exposed legs, and messy paint-riddled hair flashes in his brain.

God, he wishes you would have kept it.

S U M M E R

As spring transitions into summer, the city experiences a gradual warming trend. Cherry blossoms and tulips from spring slowly give way to vibrant green foliage. Parks become lively with people enjoying the pleasant weather, and outdoor events become more frequent. The temperature rises, and there's a noticeable shift towards a warmer atmosphere with longer days.

It’s a shift you also feel in yourself, having found your niche, carving out your place in the ecosystem of the city. You’ve gradually adjusted, figured out how to successfully navigate the complexities of the subway system, and are starting to rely less and less on Google Maps to get around. You frequent a bodega around the corner from you, know where to find a decent bagel, and are a recognizable regular at Sang Garden.

Your new job keeps you busy. It’s tough work being a bartender in the city, but it’s granted you more than one opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, people you’d never get the opportunity to meet back in your hometown.

People like the gregarious and charismatic trader, who’s more than happy to make it clear he works in the financial district, even when nobody asks. People like the countless young professionals unwinding after a long day with their colleagues; some with sexual tension so obvious you can taste it. Designers. Architects. Engineers. Writers. Musicians. Actors. You don’t like them all, but you don’t have to, you’ll never see most of them more than once anyway.

You quickly learn the art of making a good martini, one you think would make Samantha proud. It’s all so posh. So far from your usual. But the money is good, and without having to pay rent – a luxury you now realize; having almost fainted when your coworker told you how much he pays in rent – it allows you to pocket most of it.

Your first few months in New York have been good, although a tad lonely. Making friends was never really a strong suit of yours, and you’re finding the city to be a particularly hard place to get to know people in any real way. Most of your free time is spent curled up with a good book or watching Friends for the millionth time, wishing Central Perk was a real place.

You see Joel in passing now and then, the in-between times when he’s coming home from work, and you’re just leaving for yours. Sometimes you pass each other on the stairs, and you have to angle your bodies side-to-side just to fit on the narrow stairs as you navigate around one another. You sometimes have to collect your composure when you leave for work and notice the faint smell of his cologne still in the hallway, it smells so good it makes you dizzy.

You find excuses to talk to him every now and then – a squeaky fire detector, to hand him his mail, or even for a stupid cup of sugar. Every time you find yourself knocking on his door, the butterflies congregate in masses as if preparing to migrate. You feel like a school girl with a crush for the first time, but as far as you can tell, Joel doesn’t feel the same, and you’re okay with that. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself.

The exchanges are always short; little blips in the grand scene of time, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you might faint under the intensity of his scorching gaze. Which doesn’t help, considering it’s already sweltering outside.

You severely underestimated how hot summer would be. Of course, you’re used to the oppressive Texas sun, but something about the way the buildings and concrete reflect the rays makes it feel like New York is at least 10x hotter.

The temperature in your apartment isn’t much better than outside. The air hangs heavy inside as you lay on your mattress, clad in only a bra and underwear, on crisp white sheets, attempting to cool yourself with a damp towel on your forehead. You listen to the feeble hum of the wall crying out for help.

As luck would have it, the overworked unit decides to give in to the heat. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you attempt to fix it, but it’s pointless. You stare at the lifeless unit, realizing that the city’s relentless heat has claimed it as a victim. Time for a new one.

Once the sun dips past the skyline, you venture out to your local hardware store to grab a new one. You wish you would have had some forethought to bring a cart or something, not thinking about the fact that you were going to have to carry the heavy unit eight city blocks. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you think to yourself. Once back to your apartment, you balance the quirky box on your hip, holding it steady with one arm as you fumble to grab the key from your purse outside the entrance of the building. Your cheeks are warm, you’re drenched in sweat even at this hour, and your hair is starting to stick to the nape of your neck. You manage to grab it, but inadvertently drop it, your fingers clammy.

“Shit,” you mutter, frustrated and hot.

“Need some help there, Darlin’?” Joel asks, making his way up the stoop. You turn to face him and oh.

Of all the times you’ve seen Joel, you’ve never seen him in uniform. The sight catches you off guard. His crisp, navy blue uniform emphasizes his broad shoulders and neatly tucked shirt, the shiny FDNY badge on his chest. He flashes a charming smile, revealing a hint of dimples, as he picks up your fallen key with ease. You’re not sure how he always manages to look so put together, a stark contrast to the way you always seem to look in front of him.

"Rough day?" he asks, unlocking the door, and for a moment, you forget the oppressive heat, captivated by his charm. “Here, lemme take that for you,” he offers, and you kindly accept. You shift the box out of your arms into his, and your stomach swoops when you watch the way his biceps flex as he grabs the unit with ease.

Grateful for the assistance, you offer a sheepish smile, “Yeah, you could say that” you reply, opening the door, holding it open for him. He begins to ascend the staircase ahead of you, giving you a full view of his ass in his uniform pants; it’s toned, and his thick thighs match. You walk behind him, trying to ignore the stickiness that’s beginning to pool in your underwear. You allow yourself to perv out for a moment, at least while his back is to you. He’s just helping you out, stop being weird.

Joel waits at the top of the steps for you to open your door. Once unlocked, you enter and he follows behind you. “Oh shit, it’s hotter than hell in here,” he says once inside, the irony is not lost on you that a literal man who fights fires for a living thinks it’s hotter than hell. He bends to place the box down near the front door and rises to full height, bringing both hands to his hips. You notice the little sheen of sweat that has now collected on his thick neck, fighting the impulse to lap up the perspiration. “You’re telling me, I’m rendering lard,” you say, letting your Southern roots shine through. You cringe a little at yourself, watering your accent down to not stick out as much, but you’re reminded of the age-old saying you can take the girl out of the country…

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead to push away the sweat that’s been collecting there all day and look at him. “Thanks for the help carrying it up,” you say, offering him a kind smile.

“No problem at all, need some help installing it? These units can be tricky,” he asks, trying his best to ignore the fact that your white shirt has gone see-through from your sweat, allowing him a perfect view of your breasts. No bra again, he notes. He shifts his stance a little, trying to prevent his cock from hardening at the sight.

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little unsure, but deep down you know you need the help. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as an independent and capable woman, you’ve never been one to be good with anything mechanical, and the heat has left your brain feeling like the static of a T.V. channel with no reception.

“Course. I’m a servant to public safety. Can’t have you accidentally pushing it out the window and crushing a person below, it’d be a lot of paperwork” he chuckles and takes out a knife from his pocket to undo the tape on the box. It’s an ordinary act, yet somehow you’re mesmerized by his dexterity and competency.

Midway through the process, Joel pauses, feeling the heat, and glances at you with a lighthearted grin. “Mind if I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the uniform shirt. You nod, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Sure, go ahead.”

His large fingers fumble with the buttons on the shirt, eventually revealing a white tank top underneath. The fabric clings to him, highlighting his defined chest, and a little bit of belly. You practically drool at the sight, once again resisting an impulse to want to sink your flesh into the softness above his belt.

He has an awful farmer's tan, but he wears it well; his forearms are a nice shade of golden and his shoulders are pale. You see from the lack of collar on the tank that he has a bare chest. He throws the uniform shirt onto a nearby chair and goes back to work installing the unit. You watch as he works to position it in the window, stealing glances at his glistening skin as he does. You think you’re being sly about it, but Joel can tell, he can feel your eyes heavy like bowling balls on him.

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?” you ask.

“About 15 years,” he responds. “Sorta always knew I wanted to do it, I was a contractor for a while, but wasn’t my thing.”

“Oh no? You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” you reply, your words suggestive.

“Never said I wasn’t, Darlin,’” he replies, shooting you a wink.

He plugs the unit in, and the screen comes to life. He sets the temperature as low as it will go, and the fan on high; the unit is about to put in overtime to make the air tolerable again.

“Well, that should do it,” straightening back up from his bent-over position, clapping his hands together as if to dust the task off. “Probably gonna take a while for it to cool down in here. You’re uh, more than welcome to hang out at mine for the time being. Don’t need you overheating on me,” trying to mask his excitement at you being in his space by carding his fingers through his salt and pepper curls.

You glance at the unit, and you can tell he’s right. “Alright, why not,” you say, offering him a smile. “Just gonna use the restroom fast,” you say, looking for an excuse to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and confirm that you don’t smell like a sweaty subway car.

Inspecting yourself in the harsh, exposing light of the bathroom, you grimace at your appearance. Not that you’d been expecting to look your best, but still. You pat the extra moisture off your skin with a clean towel, when you notice that nipples are straining against the fabric of your wet t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. You briefly consider changing shirts, but the cheeky side of you decides to leave it be. You give yourself a quick smile and internal encouragement in the mirror and you step out of the bathroom.

Joel waits in the foyer by the door for you, taking the opportunity to learn a little more about you, drinking in the details of your space for any glimmers of insight it might give him about your life.

He’s been in the space before, but it’s different this time – updated. It still has many of the same things your aunt had put up, but you’ve added new additions to the walls; photos of you with friends, and family, and vinyl covers in frames. His eyes gravitate to a photo of you at your college graduation; your smile ear to ear, a bottle of champagne in your hands. You always seem happy. He likes that about you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look for a photo of you with another guy, a hint that you might already be taken, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t find one.

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and you stroll out, shooting him a casual but confident smile. As you do, you casually tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giving off an easygoing vibe. It's a simple move, but there's a certain charm to it that doesn't go unnoticed by Joel.

“Ready?” you ask, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his pleasure that you opted not to change your still slightly transparent shirt. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, yanking on the handle, the door groans and opens with a loud creak. “Don’t wanna hit traffic.” Oh god, that’s a dad joke if you’ve ever heard one. You try to hide the stupid smile that graces your face, but Joel sees it, and matches it. Your shoulder brushes against his chest as you walk through the door, and Joel straightens in response, a little tingle shooting up his spine from the brief touch. Get a fucking grip, Miller, he thinks to himself, pulling the door closed behind him.

++++

Once inside his apartment, you gasp. It’s not at all what you expected.

If his front doorstep was any indication, you expected his apartment to be full of Ikea furniture, bare walls, and maybe a fake plant in the corner somewhere. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s the exact opposite; you feel like you’ve just wanted into some swanky bar. The air smells like palo santo, but above all, it’s cool. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Can I get you a beer” he asks, and you nod your head in response. He walks into the kitchen, and you’re mesmerized by his space. It’s a similar layout to your apartment, but somehow it feels bigger, even a tad cozier, plus he has exposed brick, a detail you wish your apartment had.

“Your apartment is amazing,” you tell him, spinning around to get a full 360 view of the space. You hear him yell something like thanks from the kitchen.

You find your seat on the cognac-colored couch and run your hand up and down the texture of it. The leather is cool on your skin, and your body temperature slowly begins to return to normal.

Joel returns from the kitchen, and hands you a Bud Light. And for once, you don’t wish for it to turn into a martini. Now having spent a few months in the city, you’re starting to realize that you’re more of a bud girl than a cocktail girl, and that fairy godmothers are a tad overrated.

You’re not sure when he did it, but your ear tunes to the classic sound of Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones playing in the background at a low volume, adding a funk you adore to the moment.

He finds a seat on the couch next to you and throws his arm behind you on the ledge. He crosses his legs over one another, and you squirm, not out of discomfort, but nerves.

“I am impressed with your apartment, it’s well decorated,” you compliment him, bringing the bottle of beer to your lips.

“Had a bit of help, ‘f I’m being honest,” he replies. Your stomach flips.

“Oh?” you say, a bit breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, he would have a girlfriend. You see it plain as day now, the feminine touches built into the apartment, hanging on the walls in plain sight, taunting you with the obvious. He even has like ten live plants for fucks sake. Joel Miller is taken.

“My daughter, Sarah,” he replies, bringing the beer to his mouth for another swig. You try not to make your sigh of relief too obvious. “Oh!” you squeak and turn your body to face him. You don’t know if you’ve scooted closer or if he did, but your thighs are now touching.

“She’s studying interior design. Begged me this past year to let her fix up my apartment, and well…I didn’t have the heart ta say no,” he replies. “Said my apartment resembled a frat boys bachelor pad,” he lets out a gruff little chuckle and you smile at him.

His arm drifts close to you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. It’s not quite there, but you can feel the heat, the electricity, his fingertips shoot to your skin. So much for cooling down.

“Well, if you didn’t decorate the space, what’s your favorite part about it then?” you ask, taking another swig at the bottle. Joel stares at your lips as they latch around the glass, admiring how plush and warm they look. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what they might look like around his cock.

“Ah, good question,” he says, bringing his hand to cover his crotch with the bottle, all while subtly trying to adjust himself from his previous thought. He’s surprised he even heard your question at all. “Probably the table over there,” he says, nodding his head back to signal to the dining room.

“Made it myself,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice.

You crane your neck to look, but can’t get a good view with how plush the cushions are. You slightly angle your body upwards, coming onto your knee on the couch to look, bringing your chest closer to Joel’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really must be good with your hands,” you playfully tease, letting your body sink by his side once more, feeling the warmth he exudes. Your words cause his gaze to go dark. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his beer, sure if he said any more he might regret it.

You notice the music switches to Kings of Leon, a favorite tune of yours echoing through the air. “Oh shit, I love this song,” you exclaim, barely able to contain your excitement, much to Joel’s delight.

“Yeaaaaaah, your sex is on fireeeee,” you belt, and you inadvertently tilt your beer bottle a little too far down in the process of your solo, and a splash of beer pours out onto Joel’s lap. The action abruptly causes you to stop.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you, noticing the box of tissues as you do.

“Don’t worry about it, Darlin’,” he says, voice mellow, placing his beer on the table, too.

You frantically grab a handful of tissues and bring them over to the wet spot pooling on Joel’s crotch. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the liquid, the realization not fully hitting you that your hands are literally on his crotch until – oh.

Joel’s been walking the fine line of a stiff one all night, and your simple gesture throws him over the edge, the dabbing causing blood to rush to his cock.

You continue to blot at the liquid and notice him stiffening underneath you. A heavy rush of arousal courses through you, and heats your core. Joel’s hand darts to grab your wrist, the size of it completely swallowing up your entirety of it, his fingers wrapped around it, and you’re certain he feels your pulse quicken under his touch.

You look up at him with big doe eyes, only to find his own pupils are blown open wide with lust, his jaw tense. His other hand finds the side of your face, and he holds you up to look at him. You both pause there, letting the tension of the moment swallow you whole. He looks at you like you're a juicy summer peach, ripe for the picking.

His grip on your wrist softens, and you flatten your hand to palm at his growing bulge. Joel lets out a deep groan in response to the full contact. “Shit darlin’,” he says, voice wrecked. His hand drifts to the column of your neck, and he begins to pull you up so you’re face-to-face with him.

The anticipation builds, and just as your lips are about to meet, a sudden shrill sound shatters the moment – the fire alarm.

“Fuck.” Joel groans.

TO BE CONTINUED - READ PART 2

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). Might transition to a notifs blog soon.xx

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedro pascal #new york #firefighter smut #pedro stories

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luveline · 1 month

Note

Gah, your Peter Parker leaves me sighing in the best way every time! If you feel like it, could you write a little blurb of him melting from fondness when reader gets bashful following him doing/saying something soft? It’s so sweet, seeing two people mutually melt around and because of each other. Even when it’s the smallest thing, it means so much more when it’s from one of YOUR important people.

ty for your request! <3 fem

Fuck, Peter Parker thinks, jogging up the steps to your apartment building, this is the life. It’s a hot day in New York City but there are cold drinks to be had and that electric fan in your bedroom is calling his name. There’s genuinely no better place to be than laying on your sheets in pyjamas you wash with that apple blossom laundry softener he loves, knowing you keep using it ‘cos you love it, and knowing you wash his pyjamas because you love him.

Spidering is going well, he saved a kid today who nearly got crushed by a ten tonner, so he’s feeling pretty good about himself, or at least feeling good about his decisions. He made Aunt May lunch and took it down to the hospital, he flirted gently with the older nurses, and now he’s gunning up the stairs to your apartment, every step a crinkle.

Your door is wide open (awful) but you have good reason —the floors and the countertops shine. The windows are open, and the room is fragrant with your oil diffuser. You’re on your knees by the TV wiping down the table with a damp rag in loose-fitting clothes, sleeves pushed up, brows puckered.

“Hey, baby,” he says.

“Peter, I’m not talking to you today.”

“Why’s that?”

“You know how many pairs of your socks I found when I was cleaning today?”

He grimaces. “Two?”

“Nine pairs of socks, Peter.”

He puts the flowers he’s brought you down on the coffee table and his back on the floor. He’d been hoping to do a grand unveiling of the bouquet to surprise you, but he feels terrible. “I don’t even know how that happens,” he mumbles dejectedly, kneeling down behind you, his arms threading in front of your tummy to give you a backwards squeeze. “They just disappear.”

“They don’t, evidently.”

“I’m really sorry.” He kisses your cheek. “I’m genuinely really sorry. That’s sloppy. I’m not a kid.”

“No, you’re not… I’m not that mad though, you don’t have to sound so serious.”

He holds the place just under your breastbone in his hands. “Oh, you’re not?” He tugs you to his front to stop you from moving prematurely and reaches blindly behind him for the flowers. You laugh as he tips back, taking you with him, the sound vibrating through you and into him. “That’s good. Don’t need these then, do we?”

He twirls the bouquet, pressing it carefully to your chest.

You immediately relax in his arms. He treasures that feeling, your weight leaning against him, your cheek listing down into his arm. You raise a hand, his arm trapped in the crook of your elbow as you examine the lilac petal of a sweetpea. “I love these ones.”

“I know.”

You take more time than anyone else would sifting through the flowers of the bouquet, breath the only evidence of your delight. You breathe out slowly whenever one of the flowers is particularly beautiful, and then you hug the bunch to your nose for a mild sniff.

“Thank you.”

Peter kisses your cheek. He savours the feeling of it, your skin under his lips, being that close to you, his hair on your forehead and your eyebrow tickling him as he hugs you just that little bit closer. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, affection in every word, and a little drop of shyness too, “I was thinking of you, and they looked healthy for once, considering they’re off of the corner by Mandy’s.”

“They’re so pretty,” you mumble, turning into him as much as you can. He lets up his tight hold.

“Like you.”

You brush your forehead against his chin. Peter actually gets goosebumps, letting the flowers fall to the floor by your leg so he can hold you. “I feel bad for caring about the socks now,” you mumble.

He laughs with lips still closed and offers you a soft kiss.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 months

Text

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [1.2K]

Written for @carolmunson’s writing challenge. Feel free to join in, you can find the rules here 🧡 everyone say thank you to Carol for taking the time to create something so cute.

“If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem, sweetheart.”

Eddie was grumbling, but it was all affection and barely any real scolding in his voice. It’s why you laughed, a dirty cackle that only came out when you were properly tipsy and you continued your harassment as the boy juggled the his keys and your wobbling frame.

You were still snickering, nuzzling at the boy’s neck, your hands slipping up the inside of his leather jacket and t-shirt. You were bolder after a few drinks, tongue tasting like cranberry and something stronger, tequila shots that Robin brought to the table going down like water and Eddie had declared it was home time when you draped yourself in his lap, glassy eyes on his lips as he tried to talk to Steve.

“You normally - oops - like it, oh fuck, when I touch you,” you bashed your shoulder on the doorframe when Eddie finally managed to coax you inside, your hands still vying for his attention.

Eddie was pink in the cheeks, unused to seeing you like this, the relationship still new, your affection still overwhelming at times. You were a cute drunk, tipsy and hiccuping as you let yourself flop onto his sofa, mumbling something into the cushions. He followed, leather jacket throw on the armchair and he bent, untying your shoes and smiling when you hummed, your toes wiggling in your socks and he pretended to bite at them, snickering when you squeaked.

The trailer was lit by just the streetlights, the rest of the park and the town asleep, quiet in the darkness. Eddie seemed to make the navy shadows a little brighter through, everything about his brash and intimidating exterior melting away to a soft gentleness, just for you.

“C’mon, sit up for me, babe,” Eddie coaxed, pulling at your wrists until he was able to manhandled you into the sofa corner. “M’gonna get you some water and then we’re going to bed, alright?”

“Yessir,” you slurred but the salacious intent was there, all flirt as you tried to wink but one eye simply wouldn’t cooperate.

“You’re jokes, tonight, kid,” Eddie snorted and busied himself in the kitchen, heart overflowing with affection for you, a kind of fondness that clung to the spaces between his ribs and it was times like these he wondered how on earth the town pariah managed to bag a girl like you.

“Here,” he murmured as he walked back over. “We ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie handed you a mug in the shape of some sort of creature.

If you’d been more sober, you would’ve thought it was some sort of demonic Bigfoot, but you were too busy eying at spikes that protruded from the rim of the mug. You glanced back at Eddie warily, accepting his offer with a grimace.

“Watch for the horns,” he whispered when your tooth clinked against one. You groaned, flipping him off as you chugged most of the water, eyes slipping shut and Eddie’s hand found the back of your head before you tipped yourself backwards too much. “Jesus, sweetheart, don’t drown yourself.”

“Sounds like an easier way to go than how m’gonna feel in the morning,” you groaned, already feeling sorry for yourself. The third shot of tequila was a horrible, terrible idea. You vaguely remembered Eddie wincing at you from across the table as you knocked it back. You held the evil Bigfoot mug to your chest and waved him away, almost as dramatic as Eddie himself. “Jus’ leave me here to rot.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the boy pouted, hiding his grin behind pursed lips. He was kneeling in front of you again, warm wide hands running the lengths of your thighs and the guitar string callouses on his fingers scratched against your skin just right. “Don’t rot here. S’an awful place to deteriorate. You can rot in bed w’me.”

“Can’t,” you told him mournfully, your empty mug slipping onto the cushions as you let yourself lean forward, face finding Eddie’s neck. He smelled like smoke and spice and the cologne you’d got him for Valentine’s Day. “I’ll be a pile of sludge. Sludge and tequila. So disgusting.”

Eddie snorted, throughly entertained at someone else being dramatic for once. His hands made their way from your legs to your back, slipping nimble fingers inside your T-shirt so he could skate them along your spine. If he hadn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn you purred.

“Hey now, that’s not even close to being true,” he tsked, nudging your head with his until you whined and pulled back, facing him with a pout. He pushed his nose against your own. “My girlfriend is the prettiest pile of sludge.”

It was still new enough that you both got a kick out of him calling you his girlfriend, your body buzzing with a giddy kind of excitement that made your nose crinkle when you beamed at him.

Your forehead touched his, Eddie’s unruly curls brushing your cheeks and his fingers dipped lower, pressing into the dimples on your back and he held you there, fully encouraging whatever it was you were about to do.

Your lips brushed his, a barely there kiss that probably tasted like tequila and cherry liqueur but you were too drunk to care and Eddie really didn’t mind at all.

“You think I’m the prettiest?” You whispered.

“Damn right,” Eddie nodded, his voice laced with stern fondness and he grinned when you smiled even wider. “All the other piles of sludge don’t know what to do with themselves when you’re around.”

It made you laugh, a hiccuping thing that had Eddie kissing at your cheek, the corner of your mouth and the tip of your nose. It was overwhelming, to be doted on like this - your cheeks warm and the alcohol making you softer and sleepier, Eddie’s big hands the only thing keeping you upright.

“You’re so funny,” you mumbled through a yawn, falling forward again to bury yourself into him.

“The funniest,” Eddie agreed mildly, because he was already coaxing you into standing up with him, your socked feet standing on his boots as you swayed. “C’mon, bedtime.”

“You forgot bad day Bigfoot,” you mumbled, pointing back at your empty mug. “He needs to come too.” You lifted the throw pillow that Wayne had once tried to cross-stitch a dirty joke onto, holding it close to your side like some kind of teddy.

One look at your frown told Eddie you weren’t joking, so with raised brows, he grabbed the offending cup and held him in front of you. “He needs to come to bed with us? And the dick pillow?”

An array of different sizes and colours of badly stitched penises glared back at him from under your arm and Eddie raised his brows at you, unsure.

You nodded, already shuffling off into the direction of his bedroom where he knew you’d ransack his drawers for just the right shirt to sleep in. “S’only polite,” you told him.

You couldn’t see Eddie’s responding grin but he filled the mug back up with water before trailing after you. “Alright, but if he starts gettin’ handsy, he’s out.” He caught up with you just as you flopped into his unmade bed, burying your face into the sheets with a hum. “You’re my pile of sludge, remember?”

From beneath Wayne’s pillow, your hand shot out, a thumbs up offered as a sign of agreement and Eddie scoffed as he bit at the digit playfully.

“Fuck yeah, m’your pile of sludge,” was his answer.

#Eddie Munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #Eddie Munson Drabble #Eddie Munson blurb

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floralcyanide · 1 month

Text

ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴ — ᴄᴀʟʟᴜᴍ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ

callum turner x afab!reader (nsfw)

You and Callum are camp counselors. Both of you are up to no good one night and share an intimate moment.

✣ warnings: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex in a lake, cigarette smoking, female anatomy described, nipple play, semi-public sex, fingering

✣ word count: 1.7k (idk how it came out so short)

✣ author’s note: thanks to a friend for the camp counselor idea and making me feel things lol and thanks for all the votes for this fic! I enjoyed writing it.

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

“Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Want one?”

You stare at the cigarette in Callum’s outstretched hand, hesitant to take it. Your legs stop swinging on the dock where you’re perched next to the tall boy, your hand reaching out to take the cigarette from his fingers. You stick it between your lips, silently asking with your eyes, “Is this how I do it?” He nods encouragingly, sliding a match across its box and cupping the end of the cigarette with his hand before lighting it. The action alone sends butterflies raging in your stomach. You puff the cigarette, inhaling slowly so you don’t cough. Exhaling, tendrils of smoke leave your lips, and Callum watches in awe.

“You hit that like you’ve been smoking all your life,” Callum chuckles as you pull the cigarette from your mouth and offer it to him.

“Nah,” he says, “it’s all yours.”

The two of you are counselors at the summer camp outside your city and definitely were not allowed to smoke while on the campgrounds. You also weren’t supposed to be out past curfew. But the thrill of being caught is what gets to you. Callum just does it because his pretty face can get him out of any trouble. You stare out at the lake that seems to go on forever in a black abyss to the horizon. Callum bumps his knee into yours as you finish the cigarette, somehow managing not to cough too terribly much.

“Wanna skinny dip?” Callum suddenly asks, a giddy smile on his face.

“What? Are you delusional?” you laugh, putting out the cigarette on the wooden dock.

“Maybe,” he shrugs.

You search his eyes for any signs of him joking but see none.

“You’re serious?” you ask, looking around to ensure no one is listening.

“Deathly.”

You stare at each other momentarily before bursting into a quiet fit of giggles.

“Fine, but we gotta be quiet.”

You’re glad it’s dark so Callum can’t see the full extent of your body. But also disappointed that it’s dark because you can’t see Callum without his clothes, as much as you’d like to. Ever since the first day of orientation for counseling, you’ve been unable to keep your eyes off him. He seems to feel the same as you but less subtle. Callum has done nothing but flirt with you during the first two weeks of camp. Not that you mind, of course. But skinny dipping in the lake past curfew seems like a full-fledged affair.

Callum rips his shirt over his head, tossing it where his shoes sit neatly by the dock entrance. He then stands to discard his pants, and you watch in silence, unable to move as you drink in what you can see of Callum in the moonlight. You realize you’re staring and hurry to remove your own clothes, but you're hesitant to take off your underwear until Callum does. You avert your eyes quickly as he does so. You aren’t that experienced in seeing the male physique naked, given you’ve not had much experience with sex in general. Sure, you’ve given a blowjob here and there, but nothing past that. Maybe Callum's flirting is just for fun, and he isn’t expecting anything. Not that you’d say no to him starting something, though. After all, why not? He’s cute, polite, great with the kids, and isn’t bad to look at.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Callum slides off the dock and smoothly into the water. He surfaces after submerging himself fully, swiping his hair from his forehead.

“Coming?” Callum grins, wriggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but don’t look,” you say shyly, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

Callum closes his eyes but, unbeknownst to you, peeks through one of his eyes to watch you shimmy out of your underwear. He hurries to close it back when he sees you slip into the lake. The water is comfortable as the sun had warmed it earlier in the day. You swim over to where Callum is, stifling a laugh as he pumps his fist in the air at you, joining him.

“Never would’ve thought that little ol’ you would be skinny dipping,” Callum shakes his head, tutting at you.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t do it with anyone else,” you say honestly, and Callum smiles softly at you.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Callum sinks lower into the water until his chin is just above the surface.

You copy him, your eyes locked on his. Callum reaches out and tucks some hair behind your ear, the gesture sending chills through you despite the warmth of the lake. He swims closer to you, his legs nearly kicking against yours.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Would it make things weird if I kissed you?” Callum asks, his eyes flickering to your lips.

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t think it would.”

Callum lifts a hand from the water to cup your cheek, the moonlight shining in his eyes as he leans in to kiss you. You let your eyes flutter shut as his lips press to yours, those butterflies from earlier returning. Both of you aren’t too far out in the water, so you can easily plant your feet on the bottom to anchor yourselves. Callum snakes a hand to your waist, his fingers gripping your skin slightly. He takes advantage of being near the shallows so he can pull you close to him without worrying about sinking. Callum deepens the kiss by catching you off guard and letting his tongue sneak into your mouth. One of your hands finds the back of his hair, water dripping onto his neck and your fingers. His hand slides up your side, his thumb brushing over your breast, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.

“Is this okay?” Callum asks, pulling away but barely parted from your lips.

“Yeah, I just,” you bite your bottom lip, “I’ve never…” you trail off nervously.

“Never?” Callum raises his eyebrows, “A pretty thing like you?”

Your ears burn as you glance down awkwardly, “Never.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t want to take your virginity in a murky lake,” Callum snorts.

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t care where it was. I like you, Cal.”

Callum flashes a smile at you, “I like you too.”

“You can do as you please. I don’t mind,” you say, “It’s about time, anyway. I’m not getting any younger.”

Callum chuckles at your last comment before grasping your breast under the water, letting his thumb wander over your nipple again, “Don’t worry, I’ll be slow with it.”

You shudder as Callum does it again, leaning in to kiss you once more as he teases you. He moves from your lips to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses there as he plays with your breasts, eliciting soft moans from you. You hope you don’t get caught. You brush that out of your mind as you let your hand move to Callum’s length, slowly pumping it until it hardens. He groans into your skin, kissing your shoulder gently. He lets his focus move from your upper body to your lower body, his fingers tracing your clit with softness. You move close to Callum until you’re against his chest for leverage, letting him play with you. He slips a finger inside you, your eagerness allowing it to go in without much struggle. Callum uses his thumb to swipe your clit as he adds another finger, curling them inside you and stretching you out deliciously. You bury your face in his neck, whimpering at the warmth spreading in your belly. Callum can feel you clenching around his fingers, noting you’re ready for him.

“Let me know if I need to stop,” Callum whispers in your ear, nipping the skin of your lobe as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and your arms are around his shoulders as he slowly pushes himself into you. It comes with some resistance as you’ve never had anything inside of you before, so Callum allows you to take deep breaths and relax before pushing anymore. He cards his fingers through your hair, encouraging and telling you how good you’re doing. It makes you take him easier, your cunt swallowing him nearly whole. Callum finally bottoms out, letting himself feel you around him for a second before pulling out slightly. He thrusts back in steadily, careful not to be too rough. After adjusting, you allow Callum to start fucking you properly, and you’re honestly shocked you didn’t do this sooner.

“Fuck,” you screw your eyes shut, gasping as Callum hits your g spot with a particularly harsh thrust.

“Just like that,” Callum says as your walls suck him in, “Doing so good, love.”

Your fingernails dig into his back as you bounce on Callum’s cock, him bucking his hips into you simultaneously. Callum takes advantage of your breasts being near his face as he clasps onto one of your hardened nipples, flicking it with his tongue and sending waves of electricity through you. Everything is clouding your head with pleasure as you feel yourself growing close. Callum grips your hips, his fingertips boring into your skin as he feels himself growing close, too.

“You can cum inside me,” you say in Callum’s ear, and he curses under his breath at that.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Callum plummets his hips against your thighs as you move yours in fluid motions, feeling him at every angle. He nudges your clit with his thumb again, and you tumble over the edge, clenching harshly around Callum’s length. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him and the filthy sounds you’re making in his ear make him cum without warning. You feel his warmth inside you as he shudders against your neck, leaving soft kisses along it.

“You did great,” Callum says, slowly pulling out of you.

You catch your breath, glancing around to see if anyone is nearby. Thankfully, you’re still alone, “That was amazing.”

“I’m glad,” Callum says.

“Let’s get out, I’m getting all pruney,” you cringe.

Callum laughs and agrees before realizing something.

“Didn’t think to bring towels,” he sighs.

“Race you to the showers, then?” you grin as the two of you climb back onto the dock.

“Get ready to be beaten.”

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner smut #callum turner x reader smut #callum turner x you #callum turner x you smut #callum turner x y/n #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fic #callum turner fanfic #callum turner imagine #callum turner x y/n smut #camp cousnelor au #floralcyanide writes

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adventuringblind · 9 months

Note

Hi, would you be able to write Oscar Piastri x Shy!reader. Maybe she’s absolutely stunning so other drivers go up to her and flirt with her but she doesn’t respond. Then they see her with Oscar and are a bit shocked.

Thanks 🤍✨

Shy

Oscar Piastri x reader

Genre: Fluff

Request: yes :)

Summary: Sometimes being shy makes people want to know more

Warnings: terrible flirting

Notes: I cracked myself up writing this because I am terrible at fluffy things. I love it.

Masterlist

To say you're shy is not exactly the word you would use. More like... particular.

Your words are few, and you like talking to the people who matter most in your life. Mingling at parties is not something you get joy out of.

When your friend decided to drag you out for the night, you were already frustrated. Even more so when everyone seemed to want to talk to you about their personal lives and amazing achievements.

Then there was Oscar.

You hid from the party in a quiet corner. The breath you'd been holding finally escaping through your teeth. Until He came around the corner.

His stupidly pretty eyes and fluffy hair caught you off guard. You blame the alcohol you had to help you get through this event.

"I take you your not one for parties?"

You wanted to say something snarky and sarcastic. But his voice was far to pleadent to let you do such a thing.

"It's okay, I'm not either, wanna get out of here?"

A simple proposal that changed everything. Oscar kept conversation going, and if you didn't feel like talking, he didn't care.

Sometimes, you would just bask in the comforting silence of each other. Words became unnecacry.

He obviously made the first move as you were far too shy to attempt an advance.

You blushed a lovely shade of red when he kissed you the first time.

And now you're here, traveling the world with him as much as possible, watching him race. It's funny how things work out.

You spend time walking around the paddock looking for the few friends you'd made. Lando being one of them. He teased you and Oscar relentlessly because of how private you are. The papaya colored Brit seemed to be the only one who knew you two were dating.

Other drivers had asked on multiple occasions if you were with Lando. The majority of them thought you were someone's relative and tried to hit on you.

The awful pick-up lines were becoming a running joke in the McLaren garage.

Finally, it became too much for you. The reporters wanted to know who you were. The drivers would nit leave you be despite your best attempts at politely telling the to 'fuck off.' And the fans were starting to get out of hand.

"You sure you want to do this? If your not comfortable with it I can always talk with the PR team."

"Yes, but this way will make them all shut up."

"Fair point."

You walk into the paddock with the two papaya boys that day. Again, you could see people's wheels turning.

Oscar dragged you to one of the skysports reporters, knowing they would be the best ones to get their point across.

Lando pulls his phone out to record, and Daniel, Esteban, and Carlos, who'd been trying to win you over, sidle up next to him. Confused as to why you're standing with Oscar, your hands intertwined.

"Oscar, it's great to see you! Can I ask who the lovely lady standing with you is?" Greets an enthusiastic Laura Winters. You'd always liked her the most.

"Actually, Laura, if it's alright with you, I have a request."

Laura eyes him skeptically as he whispers something in her ear. She nods enthusiasticly, which is a good sign to you.

Oscar turns to you and takes your hands in his. You were expecting him to kiss you. Prepared for it all week. You'd already deleted your social media.

It's a real shock when he gets down on one knee, pulling a box out of his pocket.

Lando is squealing in excitement. The drivers next to him stand frozen, their mouth hanging wide.

You mimick that.

"So I know we planned to just kiss so everyone would finally leave you alone, but I thought this would be even better." A blush creeps across his face, and Laura is grinning so widely you think it might fall off. "I've known since pretty early on that I wanted to spend my life with you, regardless of if anyone says we're too young. I've never cared what they thought, and I'm not starting now. You are the most amazing person I've had the pleasure of meeting. Your witty comments reserved only for me make me feel incredibly lucky. You make me feel important, and I hope I make you feel the same. I want that, forever and always. So, marry me?"

Just like with most times in your life, words don't come easy. You manage to squeak a quiet yes, barely Audible to anyone but Oscar. But he's trained his ears to hear everything you say.

He places the ring on your finger and spins you around in utter joy, landing a perfectly placed and loving kiss to your lips.

Everyone is clapping for you, and you couldn't be happier than I'm this moment. The rest of the world is falling away.

The drivers next to Lando are still processing.

"Did we ever have a chance?" Asks Daniel finally.

Lando snickers. "Afriad not, mate. She's been trying to tell you guys, and you didn't take her reactions as a hint. Looks like you wasted your time on a girl who had her heart stolen."

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bigfatbimbo · 3 months

Text

I could be a better boyfriend —

Vox x Reader ,, 1.1k Words

summary — Reader yells at Valentino for being an asshole to Vox, spiraling them into an argument that eventually causes feelings to come out.

warnings — angst-ish, Vox and Val being the worst, toxic relationships, mild sexual tension

a/n — I had a great time writing this, to be honest. Hope I didn’t make Vox seem to innocent. Just to clarify he’s also the worst and a manipulator, he’s just the worst and a manipulated who’s desperate for validation and deserves better.

“Um, what the fuck was that?” Vox spat at you, after leading you into a different room.

The two of you were in Val’s porn studio. You, only to see Vox, and Vox because, well, who knows why he would go to that god awful place unprompted.

You didn’t want to start a fight with Val, but it was so easy when you saw how he treated people. Especially Vox. It got under your skin, how they affected each other.

It was so embarrassingly apparent to everyone that they were dysfunctional, and all Val did was stress Vox out with his useless bitching and overall toxic attitude

“I know, he’s such a snobby dick. I can’t believe you hang around with that guy—“ You turn to face him and realize it wasn’t Val he was talking about.

Your chest swelled when a deep gust of anger overtook you. Not necessarily at Vox, but at his inability to understand how the situation escalated.

It started with normal flirting between the two, normal, obnoxious, terribly disgusting attempts at flirting. The word ‘attempt’ is used because calling it ‘flirting’ implies there were any undertones of romance.

However, unsurprisingly considering the current company, there was none. Val spoke only from his dick, and it was agonizing to watch.

Especially after the two inevitably started arguing because that’s what happens when they’re in each others company for too long.

“Oh, come on, Vox. I’m the problem here?” You scoff and nod to the other room.

“Well, you did try to start a fight with a powerful overlord who’s, oh yeah, right, also my boyfriend,” Vox shouted, screen glitching out slightly.

Still, you didn’t see error in your ways. You considered yourself a level-headed person, so when you lost your shit it really meant something.

And, oh, it really did this time.

It was almost impossible to remember what Val had been bitching about on this ever-so joyous occasion. Something about Vox being in his space and crowding his area. ‘Fucking up his concentration,’ or something.

Of course, Vox fired back, and then Valentino, and so on. You almost rolled your eyes and left when Valentino had rose from his directors chair and started yelling at Vox like he had just committed the worst form of betrayal ever.

This time though, you could tell some of Valentinos words had gotten to Vox because, just for a second, his anger flickered into despair. It wasn’t noticeable, you were sure no one else picked up on it. After all, Vox would rather die than show vulnerability in front of a room full of pornstars.

But before Vox had a chance to fire back, you had stepped in. Your face scrunched up recalling the moment.

“Vox, I was looking out for you, jesus christ. God forbid I help a friend stand up to his shitty, awful boyfriend,” your hands fly up in the air mockingly as you recount the events in your head.

You didn’t remember exactly what you said, just that you went off. You do, however remember leaving the studio speechless after your outburst.

And Vox having to drag you away, with you still yelling at Val, in order to prevent a physical fight. That’s how you ended up here; a break room in a porn studio, being reprimanded for attempting to be a good friend. How tragic.

“What makes you think you need to look out for me? I am well aware of Val’s—” he searched for the word, “—quirks. It’s nothing I can’t handle on my own, like I have been doing for the past decade, you asshole.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it on your own,” you reasoned, voice still harsh and cold, “Maybe, if you were dating someone better—“

“Oh? Like who? Who would possibly ever—“

“Me, you fucking dumbass,” You yelled in a moment of thoughtless impulse.

That shut him up fast. Whatever argument he was cooking up slowly faded away into a blank stare.

The silence lasted too long.

“What— what are you saying?” Vox inquired, quieter than before. His eyes searched yours, desperately wanting you to explain yourself.

“You deserve someone who would treat you better, Vox. Someone, well, preferably me.” You finish, stepping towards him.

“I could treat you better, so much better. And hell, if not me, please just choose anyone but Valentino. I can’t—“ You try to grab his hand but he steps back.

“How?” He looks at you, trying to stay composed but silently pleading with you for an answer.

“How, what?”

“How would you treat me better?”

You simply look at him. His performative walls were slowly coming down. Or at least they will, depending on how you answer.

Still, you stay quiet for too long.

“Well, I wouldn’t yell at you for just being around me,” You try, but continue after realizing it wasn’t enough, “I’d listen to you, actually listen. Not just complain and expect unconditional comfort or support.”

That sparked his interest so you keep going.

“I’d make you coffee when you work late, black, just how you like it. Oh, and I wouldn’t forget our anniversary, thats…fucked. I’d let you lean on my shoulder when you were tired and— and I’d take care of you when you bite off more than you could chew, work wise. I wouldn’t yell at you. Not too much, anyways. I’d compliment you and praise you, tell you how proud of you I am.”

You had inched closer and closer to him during this speech, until your bodies were practically pressed together.

His usual facade was almost completely gone, he looked needy, no desperate, miserably craving something from you. He didn’t know if he wanted to be fucked stupid, or hugged until he fell asleep.

“Well, I…” He tried, but unfortunately Vox’s charismatic demeanor wasn’t helping him here, “…I wasn’t aware you felt that way.”

Your hands fell on his cheeks, or more accurately where they would be, and caressed them gently.

His eyes fluttered shut out how gentle you were. His hands subconsciously flew to your hips to brace himself when he leaned in to kiss you.

You kissed back, harder, as if you’ve been waiting forever. Which, it felt like you had. His hands drifted up to pull you in by your shirt collar, deepening the kiss, as yours fell to rest on his chest. Eventually, they went you his back and pulled him closer to you than before.

The kiss was tender, sweet, but hungry and depraved. When you finally broke, neither of you spoke for a long time, still breathing heavily, foreheads almost pushed together.

“Why didn’t we—“ Vox panted, “—why didn’t we do that before?”

You laugh weakly. “So, what’s it gonna be?” You ask, “Me or Valentino?”

a/n — Probably gonna be the last fic of the night. I am SO tired. So sadly no railing Vox fic, like I hoped.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel fluff #vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox

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hotchfiles · 3 months

Note

instead of hotch being protective what about bau!girly standing her ground when a reporter flirts with her man

you knew better than to be jealous. aaron was more than loyal to you, more than faithful, to betray, to cheat, those were not things even in his vocabulary, definitely not in his moral code. but the thing is, you weren't jealous, you were baffled, to say the least. just before the press conference the woman you had your eyes fiercely glued on right now saw aaron gripping on your waist and placing a kiss on your forehead as you wished him good luck. she knew.

she knew very well she wasn't flirting with a single man, and she proved it every time she touched his arm after the cameras shut off, her eyes betraying her as she looked at you for few seconds at a time.

aaron had already told her he was busy and needed to leave, but she was insisting on keeping the one sided conversation going, taking advantage of his politeness and the fact he couldn't be rude to news reporters, he couldn't misrepresent the fbi.

luckily. or unluckily for him, he decided to date someone not as preoccupied with the bureau's image, so after the second time he tried to leave and the reporter held him by the wrist, you stepped in, gently taking her hand from him.

"for a news reporter you're really slow on catching on, huh?" your voice and the smile you gave her sickly sweet, aaron giving you his best i'm still your boss do not do this look, even if he knew you well enough to see it was a lost cause.

"excuse me!?" her eyes finally gave attention to anyone else rather than hotchner, giving you her best offended expression. it was pitiful, to try and conceal her true intentions from an experienced profiler, really.

"sweetie, this man is not interested in you. and we have a job to do here, so get off of him, will ya? jesus." you shook your head at her, not giving her time to try anything else, pulling aaron with you by the end of the sleeve of his blazer.

in other occasions he might have apologized for your behavior, but he was indeed bothered and he wanted to leave just as much as you wanted to take him out of there. it was nice to be the protected one at times. and it was cute to see you jealous.

"what about the whole too mature to be jealous talk we had months ago?" he teases you, hugging you sideways.

"hotchner, don't try me, i could've arrested her, i was completely sane and controlled." you glanced up to him, met with his very known smile, lips lightly turned as he shook his head at you.

"arrested her in what grounds!?"

"trespassing federal property! i'm a federal agent and she was touching my property!" you're obviously making fun of the situation now, but your face looks dead serious and you're using your most threatening voice tone.

"terrible, awful, jealous thing you." aaron laughs and you mock his list of adjectives directed at you, he opens the door of the suv so you can get on the passenger seat, and he puts the seat belt on you, kissing you tenderly right after. "i love you."

"love you too."

#today you walk free from your crimes bc this was the PERFECT request jo #aaron x reader #aaron x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader

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jazzythursday · 11 months

Text

Wylan leaves in the morning.

He doesn’t plan to, not exactly, but he definitely doesn’t plan on staying, either.

Wylan is no stranger to one night stands. He can’t say he gets around very frequently, but enough to know the general plot of how they're supposed to go.

Flirt, drink, fuck, leave. The order isn’t necessarily set in stone, but the list ends the same every time.

He has a good time, for the most part, and it’s always a welcome break from the awful chemical smell burned into the Tannery or the staleness of the empty rooms in cheap boarding houses (when he can afford them) that Wylan is used to. Wylan likes the freedom that comes with it, too. It’s liberating to go where he wants and do what he pleases; to not worry about who he’s seen with or sleeps with or what they might think of him after. And he likes feeling wanted, for a little while. He likes being reminded that he exists.

So Wylan does not make a habit of falling asleep with the people who take him to bed.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, really.

He doesn't remember, and yet, Wylan wakes up with his head pillowed on Jesper’s chest. With Jesper’s arm draped over him. His breath is warm where it ghosts over the top of his hair, and if Wylan glances up he can see the way Jesper’s mouth— those lips— fall open in sleep.

It’s the best morning he’s had in months, possibly. Certainly the most comfortable.

He knows it can’t last.

Wylan looks at Jesper, still sleeping peacefully next to him, and he panics.

He’d woken up in Jesper Fahey’s arms.

He’d slept with Jesper Fahey.

Jesper has a reputation, and Wylan knows it, even new to the Barrel as he is. He’d heard about Dirtyhand’s second and resident sharpshooter plenty— Can’t resist a gamble, never misses a shot, and not just with bullets. Jesper Fahey is an excellent marksman, they say, with terrible luck with the cards, and a soft spot for pretty girls and even prettier boys.

Jesper’s played the field— multiple fields— went on a seismic world tour of fields.

Wylan is very good at not being noticed. He’s also very good at listening. People tend to look past him, they never pay any mind to the too skinny boy with the wild hair and the hunched shoulders and the grime that never seems to wash off completely after his long shifts at the Tannery. Wylan knows this, knows he’s very adept at being able to disappear, when he needs to.

So by the time Wylan actually meets Jesper, he’s well aware of his place in Ketterdam’s booming rumor mill. Jesper has many, and Wylan thinks by now he may have heard them all.

And yet, none of them do a thing to prepare him for Jesper.

They’d met in a tavern.

Wylan had been nursing his drink for the better half of an hour, trying to come up with reasons not to go back to the sad cot he had waiting for him in a rented room, with the only window overlooking the brick wall of a dark alley.

So far, he’d only come up with the one.

Wylan had seen the tall Zemeni man from across the room and hadn’t stopped looking since. He was flirting with a girl at the bar, twirling one of his guns in one hand demonstratively with a drink in the other. The girl— a curly haired blond— was giggling, hand pressed to her mouth with eyes that had very clear and direct intentions.

Wylan had almost resolved himself to a night of wasting the few kruge at his disposal with little to show for it, when the man had looked up and caught him staring. The man had smiled, twirling his gun with an extra flourish and then tipped his hat. Wylan smiled back, and gave a little wave. Embarrassing, He’d thought, stop it, he’s already with someone else anyway. He’d looked down, and stared at the near empty contents of his drink until someone sat down next to him and said, in a voice like apple butter and sweet syrup, “Can I get you another of those?”

Then Wylan had looked up into the eyes of the handsomest man he’d ever seen, and thought, he has the most perfect lips.

Out loud, he’d said, “I, uh, well—” His mouth was wide open, he’d realised, and shut it quickly. Again, the man had smiled. Again, Wylan had smiled back. “Yes, please.”

And that's how he’d met Jesper.

Afterwards, they’d stumbled through the streets— I know a place, Jesper said, If you want to take this somewhere more private— until they’d passed a corner where a vendor was selling traditional Kerch sweets out of a cart.

“Stroopwafels!” Jesper had stopped. “I love stroopwafels!”

Wylan was tugging him toward the cart without really making a conscious decision to move, and Jesper had laughed, surprised and delighted.

Wylan bought them both stroopwafels and handed Jesper his with a shy smile and a shrug. “For the drink.”

Jesper looked at him consideringly, head caulked to the side, and Wylan felt himself blushing in the low light of the lamps. “You’re sweet,” he’d said eventually.

“Is that bad?” Wylan had asked, sheepish. Jesper was already shaking his head.

“It’s good. Just not that many sweet things to be had in the Barrel. It’s refreshing.” He’d bit off a piece of one of the waffles and smiled. “These are sweet too,”— he’d leaned in, smile still earnest but with something decidedly different underneath— “I like sweet.”

Jesper had not touched him like he’d been expecting to be touched. Jesper made no assumptions; he’d asked, about everything, in a way that was near gentlemanly if it wasn’t for the fact that he radiated trouble through his pores. Jesper was— not quite gentle, because Wylan had expected hot and heady and everything deep, and Jesper was all of that and more— but he wasn’t rough. He didn’t bruise, not if Wylan didn’t say yes first, and afterwards he’d laid back down and settled Wylan into his arms in a way that he had no real way of protesting— didn’t want to protest, anyway— and kissed him.

It was that that had scared Wylan the most, he thinks. Because Wylan is rarely kissed for the express purpose of it. It was always the promise of more— the rush of what was to come. But people do not generally tend to kiss Wylan for the sake of kissing Wylan. It’s different. Jesper is different, and Wylan can’t afford to be stupid enough to do something like get attached. Can’t afford much at all— really.

But Jesper had kissed him, pleased and lazy and warm, and at some indeterminate time later they had both apparently fallen asleep.

And it was nice.

It was too nice. It hurt with how nice it was.

Wylan peels himself slowly out of Jesper’s arms, careful not to wake him, and decides then that he cannot stand to be here any longer.

Jesper Fahey is not what he’d expected, he’s better.

Jesper Fahey is lovely, and beautiful, and kinder to him than anyone has been to Wylan for almost as long as he can remember.

Jesper Fahey is more than he could have ever hoped for, and he isn’t going to stick around for someone like Wylan.

So Wylan leaves, and he doesn’t look behind him as he closes the door.

#wesper #inspired by the tweet about what kit said about their first meeitng #wesper drabble #wesper ficlet #wesper fanfic #wylan hendriks #wylan van eck #jesper fehey #shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone fanfiction #Jazzy writes #jazzy writes fanfic #a drabble for your troubles?

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aluraveil · 1 year

Text

♡ Poly relationship with Yandere Fyodor, Nikolai, and Sigma!! ♡

If you were the darling of 3 of the 5 members of the Decay of Angels, it would be pretty bad luck for you.

All 3 of them are very possessive of you just like any other yandere. All 3 of them aren't very strict with you, the only rule is that escaping isn't allowed. Fyodor, Nikolai, and Sigma all know that there's no escaping from them with their vast connections and excellent combat skills plus the thousands of people under their command. They're confident that even if you somehow manage to escape, they can easily bring you back. If somehow they still can't find you, they might even pay a visit to Fitzgerald and "borrow" his Eyes of God.

Fyodor is the scariest one out of the trio. Unlike Nikolai, he doesn't necessarily give off a very friendly vibe. Fyodor gives off a don't-piss-me-off-or-you-will-regret-it vibe. It looks like Fyodor is always staring at you and judging you secretly with his challenging and cold gaze.

Fyodor often likes testing you, such as leaving the front door unlocked or even giving you an opportunity to escape. The first time you took the opportunity you were immediately caught and dragged back. Fyodor was dissapointed with you and you certainly didn't want to see him angry.

Fyodor sometimes even flirts with you just to mess with you and to see your reaction. It makes him laugh whenever he sees you blushing or getting nervous.

Fyodor can be pretty sweet with you sometimes and he loves giving you gifts! For your birthday he got you cake and flowers which made you happy. Fyodor glanced in awe at you as you happily ate cake without a care in the world.

Fyodor often calls you his Myshka (little mouse) as a nickname for you. It's only right for him because he's the leader of the Rats of the House of the Dead.

One time you even went with him into the underground base and you saw him typing away with a huge computer setup. Whenever you're at the base, Fyodor wants you to be in the same room. Under different circumstances, he would let you roam around but the underground tunnels were easy to get lost in and he wants to be able to have you at arms length.

This other time you were walking with Fyodor when he was giving out instructions to some of his underlings. You remember when you met some guy named Ivan and he gave off a pretty weird vibe.. you also heard from Pushkin that he was a "total nut case"..

Nikolai is the chillest one out of the trio. He's funny and he shows you tons of magic tricks. You could even fall for him if he wasn't a terrible person plus him being one of your captors.

Nikolai is pretty entertaining and there's never a dull moment with him. You entertain his silly theatrics and he always knows when to make you laugh. Nik's always messing with you by using that stupid coat ability of his. One time, he even grabbed your leg as a joke and he started tickling it. You bursted out laughing both from it being funny but it lowkey creeped you out. Especially with the look he gave you where he grinned really widely and started lifting his eyebrows up and down in a way.

One time, you tried escaping from Nikolai by running into a store and he contacted Fyodor and Sigma letting them know of the instance. Next thing you know, Fyodor and Sigma are laughing their asses off behind a computer screen on the security cameras at the way Nikolai messes with you by having random objects fall on top of you. You're scared shitless when Nikolai decides to drop a random mouse on you..

This other time Nikolai had wanted to show you something during one of his missions that he dragged you along too. Nikolai was recording some video in a meeting room with government officials. You couldn't help but laugh your ass off when Nikolai messed up during the recording session especially since it was live.

"Oh no! An on-air-oopsy! Quick stop the camera, I can't go on any longer!"

You couldn't help but feel bad for the "tiger boy" (as Nikolai referred to him as) when he got hit by a pole as a result of Nikolai's ability..

Sigma is the most lenient one of the trio. For instance, he grants you more freedom than the other trio members and he forgives you a lot more if you make a mistake and you're sincerely sorry about it.

Sigma often has you sit on his lap while he's busy at his desk at the Sky Casino. Whenever Sigma is busy with other things besides paper work, he'll even give you some money and let you roam around the casino.

You have fun playing with the machines and Sigma might even rig one of them to have you win the jackpot. He might even be watching you through the camera and smile at how happy you look when you win.

You're gonna be pretty confused when you see random explosions plus some weird people claiming themselves to be "Hunting Dogs".. especially when you head back to Sigma's office and see a random hole in the wall with Sigma panicking. Who knows what was even going on? Being around the Decay of Angels had its fair share of strange experiences so you weren't surprised when weird things happened in the Sky Casino..

Should you be worried when you spot a pink haired girl who could magically age herself up?..

Hm.

Nah.

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pitchsidestories · 6 months

Text

How You Get the Girl II Mapi León x Reader

"And that's how it works That's how you get the girl And then you say I want you for worse or for better." How You Get the Girl, Taylor Swift

masterlist I word count: 2401

It was close to midnight. The bar was crowded and FC Barcelonas womens team was already a few drinks in. With your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, you watched as Mapi sat across from you, sipping her cocktail. There was a slight pinkish blush across her face as well as she grimaced. You weren’t quite sure if it was caused by the taste of her drink or by what you had just told her. Luckily, she didn’t let you wonder about it for too long.

“So you want me to tell you how you get the girl.“ “Yes.“, you nodded with some clearly alcohol-induced confidence. Mapi laughed; “Why?“ “Because I’m terrible at flirting and you seem to charm every woman you meet!“, you explained, briefly gesturing across the bar. There were definitely some women earlier that night that had taken a particular interest in Mapi but she had politely ignored. The defender gave you a slow wink; “Trust me, I usually don’t even do that on purpose.“

Keira who was sitting next to and had finally ended her conversation with Aitana nodded in agreement; “But it’s true. She’s awful at that.“ Your jaw dropped in feigned outrage. Mapi raised an eyebrow at the midfielder; “Like you?“ “Oh shut up, Mapi.“, Keira rolled her eyes, turning back to the other players. “I was just kidding.“, the defender shrugged.

You focused your attention back to her; “So? Will you help me or not?“ You even tried your best to give her innocent doe-eyes. With sigh, Mapi nodded; “Yes. I’ll help you.“ Grinning, you raised your half empty glass and clinked it to Mapis; “Cheers to that!“ “Cheers!“ “Cheers to what?“, Patris voice interrupted the two of you. “To finding her a girlfriend.“, Mapi explained with a laugh.

Claudia shook her head in confusion; “She doesn’t need help for that. I mean look at her face!“ She scooted closer and pinched your cheek. Mapi waved her off; “Yeah but have you heard her talk to a girl before?“ “You mean apart from our team? No.“, Claudia admitted. “Better that way. You don’t want to see that.“, Mapi answered amused. You could feel your cheeks get hotter, so tried to casually adjust the topic a bit; “Are we starting right now or another time?“ Mapis eyebrows knotted together; “What do you want to start with?“

“Whatever is first on your how to get the girl list.”, you smiled nonchalantly at her. Thoughtfully the Spanish defender stroke her chin:” Let me think about it.” “Alright.”, you tried hard to keep your voice calm and collected. The eyes shone bright of the woman whose body was covered in a mix of playful and artistically tattoos: “Let’s start with the basics.” “Sure.”, you nodded enthusiastically.

Grinning Mapi announced: “The way you talk to her.” “Okay.” “Just be confident. Like you talk to us.”, the defender told you beaming. Suddenly you felt very cold because that was one of your problems when it came to meeting other women outside the team. At Barca you felt confident with the girls aswell as on the pitch but outside you felt weirdly out of place:” That’s different.” “How?”, the Spanish woman glanced irritated at you. Her reaction made you bit your lip:“I don’t know I know you guys but with strangers.. one never knows how they perceive one.” “That shouldn’t matter. If they don’t like you then they’re not the right one.”, Mapi said earnest. In a similar tone you summed up her first advice:” So I should be talking to them like I talk to you girls, what else?” “You just need to be yourself and be confident.”, the Spanish woman stated.

With a smug smile on her face Alexia laid an arm around your shoulder:” Anyone who caught your eye in the club so far?” “Oh uhm.”, nervously you went with one hand through your hair. Immediately Mapi intervened: “I thought it’s no one from the club.” “But wouldn’t this be the perfect way for her to try out your advice?”, the midfielder asked innocently. Laughing the defender declared:” She could try with me?” “That’s actually a good idea.”, Alexia agreed satisfied, giving you one last squeeze before she went back to another teammate.

The alcohol and that gesture of her was giving you some confidence as you stood up:”Mapi, do you want to dance?” “Is that you trying to flirt?”, the Spanish woman was throwing a teasing eyebrow up. A small giggle escaped your mouth: “Yes?” “Okay, then I totally love to dance with you.”, she answered delighted. Her animated face made you laugh a little harder:” Okay, you can be yourself Mapi, you don’t have to pretend to be super enthusiastic about it.” While the song was switching from a faster to a slower one, Mapi was pulling you closer and whispered into your ear:” I just wanted to be the perfect date.”

“You are.“, you smiled at her, moving your body in rhythm with Mapis. She laughed politely; “Thanks.“ “It’s true.“, you confirmed once again. The defender gave you a smirk, shaking her head; “I don’t know what you want my help with. I think you’re charming.“ “Stop it…“, you answered, your gaze drifted towards the floor in embarrassment.

But once the song changed again, you looked back up at Mapi; “I love that song!“ “Really?“ She frowned, trying to listen closely to it over the sound of the bar. You bit your lip while you nodded; “Yes. It’s one of my favourites to play on the piano…“ “You can play piano? Why didn’t I know that?“, the defender asked. Between the delighted tone of her voice was some shocked surprise. You shrugged; “I guess we just never touched the topic… but we do like the same music.“ “Do we now?“, Mapi asked, her voice more teasing now.

“You know if you want to, I could play something for you at my place.“, you suggested nonchalantly. Her eyes brightened with excitement; “That would be cool. I’ve never heard you play.“

Just a few days later, you found yourself sitting in front of your piano. Mapi watched you patiently, her bag from training right in the middle of your living room. “Do you have any song in mind, Mapi?“ The defender leaned back on your couch, stretching her arms; “Just play me something cool.“ “Alright.“, you shrugged and started playing with skilled fingers. You had Mapis full attention now. She was sitting very still and listening carefully; “Wow.“ “Do you recognise the song?“, you asked over the final notes of the song that you danced to a few nights ago in the bar.

She nodded slowly; “That’s impressive.“ “Thank you.“ For some reason, the flush in your cheeks was back again. “You definitely need to tell the girl that. Girls love to be serenaded.“, the defender laughed. “Okay, noted.“ “Trust me. That’s a bonus.“, she assured you. You got up from your seat; “While you’re here, maybe you can help me with my first date outfit?“ “Oh, trust me. I’m good at that.“, she said, nodding and ready to get started. You grinned; “I know. That’s why I’m asking you.“ You extended a hand to help Mapi off your couch and guided her into your bedroom.

She opened the doors of your wardrobe and inspected the possibilities; “Okay, let me see.“ You watched as she unfolded shirts, took blouses off their hangers and threw a selection of pants on your bed. Not sure what her plan was, you asked; “Did you find anything you like?“ “Yes. This is cute. And this. But also this.“ While she spoke, more of your clothes landed on your bed. Uncertain, you eyed the pile in front of you; “But that’s almost everything.“

The defender sheepishly smiled at you:” Sorry. Not my fault you have a good style.” “I guess that means I’m ready?”, you sighed relived. The smile on Mapi’s face deepened as she heard your question: “With the outfit part, yes.” “Yeah, right, did not get the girl yet.”, you admitted with a groan, letting yourself fall on to your bed. “And you’re not done with learning yet.”, the Spanish woman pointed out. Curiously you looked at her: “True, so what’s the next lesson?”

“Body language, Mapi explained before continuing, it’s important. If the date is going well, make sure to subtly touch her. Put a hand on her arm during the conversation or let your hands accidentally touch. Trust me it works.” With an innocent expression you softly touched her:” You mean like this?” “Basically yes.”, your teammate laughed. Suddenly a bit shy you put a loose string of your hair behind your ear: “Obviously, the timing needs to be better.” “I’m sure you can do it better in a real situation. And if things go very well, you can lean over and brush a strand of her hair out of her face.”, she cheered you up.

A new text message from Alexia made you go:” Oh.” “What’s wrong?”, worried the Spanish woman glanced at you. Clearing your suddenly tight throat you told her:” Ale has set me up for a date tonight.” “She did? With who ? Do you know her?”, Mapi wanted to know, her voice tainted with slight concern which confused you. Quietly you answered:“No, I don’t know her, but Alexia does. She seems to be a musician.” “A musician?”, she repeated surprised. Slowly you nodded:” Yes.” “Oh wow. That sounds like the perfect match for you.”, the defender tried hard to express her happiness for you while she was not sure where her own disappointment came from.

Nervously you got up from your bed:” I guess I should get ready.” “You’re well prepared, so I guess I’m going to leave you to it.”, Mapi sighed. With a grateful smile you turned to her:” Mapi, thank you for your help. Really.” “You’re welcome. I know you’ll do well and get the girl.” Excited you waved at her:” We’ll see about that. See you in training.”

The day after your date with the musician, Alexia sat down noisily next to Mapi before they were heading from the changing room to the pitch for their team training:”Mapi have you heard how her date went?” “No, I haven’t. Why?”, the defender replied trying to sound unbothered by the question of her old friend. Truthfully the midfielder said:” Me neither, so I was just curious.” “I haven’t talked to her since she left for the date.”, Mapi informed her teammate.

Alexias gaze drifted away from Mapis face, nodding in the direction of changing rooms door; “Here she comes.“ Out of breath, you stopped in front of the two football players and dropped your football bag on the floor. “Hey.“, Mapi greeted you plainly. “Hi.“, you replied, too busy pulling out your cleats out of the bag. You could feel Mapis eyes on you; “So? How was it?“ “We won’t see each other again.“, you answered truthfully. Your gaze was fixed on the floor as you deliberately focused on slipping into your shoes and tying them. “Why not?“

Finally you looked up at her, shrugging; “It did not work out. That’s all.“ Mapis frown deepened with worry; “I’m sorry. I hope it wasn’t my tips that ruined it for you.“ You got up from the bench and walked past your teammate; “No, your tips were great.“ With big strides, Mapi followed you outside to the training pitch. With a smile, she tried to lighten your mood; “I’m glad it wasn’t that then.“ “Yes, you can keep giving away your wisdom.“, you return her smile, nudging her amicably with your shoulder. She laughed; “I will.“

Training felt good today. You were exhausted but happy when you to left the pitch, until you felt a hesitant hand around your wrist, stopping you on your way to the changing room. You turned around to see Keira looking at you. You and the English midfielder were the last ones on the grass. You tilted your head in question, waiting for her to speak.

“Are you really that blind?“ Keira sounded more exasperated than angry. “What are you talking about, Kei?“, you replied, confused. “You can’t tell me that you are.“ Impatiently, you shook your head; “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop speaking in riddles.“ The midfielders face took a pained expression and you suspected it was because she found this conversation as awkward as you did; “You have the perfect match right in front of you and you don’t see it?“ Your brain made the connection subconsciously and before you knew it, you could hear yourself whispering her name; “Mapi.“ “Yes.“, Keira confirmed. “But Mapi was just nice. I don’t think she’d be interested in me…“, you thought out loud.

The English football player sighed; “Maybe you should think again.“ The memories of all the time you had spent with Mapi recently came rushing in; the looks and touches, the comfortable closeness between you two. And you had to admit, Keira wasn’t wrong. “If you excuse me, Kei…“, you said and hurried into the dressing room. But Mapi was already gone.

As you were getting ready to leave as well, you made the decision to walk past Mapis house on your way home. It had started raining while you walked and you started to second-guess your decision. You were soaking wet when you reached her door and rang.

It took Mapi only a few seconds to answer her door. Her eyes widened, taking you in; “Uh hi?“ “Hi. I just want you to know that I don’t want any other girl if it’s not you.“, you said. The defender blinked at you; “Wait… Me?“ With a determined nod, you answered; “Yes, you.“ “You came here all the way in the rain to tell me that you want me?“, she recapped the situation, obviously bewildered. “Yes, I did. Oh my god. Sorry, I’m such a fool.“ The realisation of this situation had kicked in and you buried your face in your hands.

All of a sudden, Mapis arms were around you, rubbing your arms soothingly; “Calm down. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.“ „Really?“ You dared to look up at her. She was genuinely smiling, moved by your gesture. “Trust me, you don’t need any lessons anymore. This is how you get the girl.“, she nodded happily and bent down to kiss you.

#mapi leon #mapi león #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #barca femeni #espwnt #alexia putellas #keira walsh #barcelona women #woso oneshot #woso community

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ladyinwriting18 · 6 months

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The Start Of Something New (Bruce BannerxReader)

Summary: Meeting you sparks something new for Bruce AND Hulk.

Words: 5,852 Warnings: Sex on the first date, PIV, Oral sex (female receiving), Hulk is a flirt, Only sex with Bruce tho.

When Tony had handed over the username and password to a newly made dating profile, Bruce had been very confused, and honestly, a tad reluctant.

However, after being hounded by his best friend to just give it a try, he gave in. The first few swipes had gone horribly. Most women unmatched with him after the first few messages. Or worse, they knew he was in the Avengers and had some sort of weird fetish about it. That is until he matched with you. Sweet, funny, beautiful, hard-working you.

You were like a meteor that knocked him out of orbit.

Something different than anything he had experienced with other partners. Messaging back and forth in the app had quickly turned into an exchange of numbers. Texting with you had been easier because it gave Bruce time to analyze his responses, but hearing your laugh while talking on the phone? God, he was certain there was no better sound. You were so open and honest that communicating came naturally. Which wasn’t something he was used to after his failed relationship with Natasha. He pushes those thoughts from his mind and instead focuses on nervously pacing outside of the Aquarium. After a month of good morning texts and late-night phone calls—today is the day. The day the two of you would finally meet in person and go on your first real date. You two had shared coffee over Facetime a few times, but to Bruce those weren’t dates. This would decide if you’d want to continue communicating. And though you made him feel at ease whenever the two of you spoke, the thought of fucking it all up weighs heavily on him. Bruce checks his watch for the fifth time before catching sight of his reflection in the glass exterior of the building. He fixes his hair while giving himself a pep talk. “Come on, Bruce. You’ve got this. Don’t overthink it, just be yourself.” Your Uber pulls up just as he finishes his words of affirmation. He quickly straightens his back and turns to see you just as you step out of the car. You’re wearing the prettiest little sundress that sways softly in the summer breeze. He gulps. You look perfect. Jogging over to you, he holds out his hand to help you up onto the curb. “Hey!” He closes the car door behind you with a nervous smile, “T-thanks for coming. You look amazing.”

You can tell that Bruce is nervous and it warms your heart. Little does he know that you feel similar. Not only is he a brilliant scientist, but he has saved the world multiple times…what right do you have to spend time with him? You try not to let your insecurities show and squeeze his hand, not only as a comfort to him, but for you as well. “Aw Bruce, thank you. That’s so sweet of you to say.” You let yourself size him up before quirking your head to the side. “You look rather handsome.” His cheeks flush, though he tries to hide it by talking about where he’s chosen to take you for your date.

“I was glad to hear that you enjoy the aquarium.” He keeps your hand in his as he steers you towards the entrance. “I thought it would be the perfect place to bring a so-fish-ticated woman like yourself.” Bruce laughs at his own dad joke before rubbing his face in embarrassment. Tony had told him to keep the dumb jokes at a minimum. But then his ears perk up at the sound of you giggling and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Just like the first time he heard you laugh over the phone, he’s instantly put at ease, “Thank you for not clam-ming up at my terrible humor.” You giggle harder, your free hand coming up to grip his bicep. “Your humor is not terrible!” you lightly scold as you approach the first tank of colorful fish. They instantly capture your attention. “Wow, they’re all so beautiful!” Your hand on Bruce’s bicep feels so warm. He can’t stop himself from staring at your reflection in the glass—you look good together.

“Which one is your favorite?” he asks to stop himself from planning out an entire future with you. It’s too soon for that. Especially when there are so many variables that could mess things up. You tilt your head to the side, taking a moment to respond, “Hmmm, probably this one.” You point to a fish with a blend of blue and purple scales.

He nods and looks at the corresponding identification card printed next to the tank.

“Oh look here, that one is native to Wakanda. The scales are used to produce important and sustainable fertilizer for their diverse agricultural offerings.” He realizes he’s rambling, and looks to you wide-eyed. “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I get excited.” You smile and turn to face him fully. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re so smart, Bruce. I could listen to you talk for hours.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. He can’t deny that the praise feels good but he feels undeserving. “I mean I only read what the identification card says,” he deflects with a teasing grin, hoping the joke would hide his insecurities. You cock your hip before playfully swatting at his upper arm. There’s such a fire in you. Bruce adores it. “You know what I mean, Doctor Banner. Now, show me which fish is your favorite?” Your curiosity about his interests has him lighting up. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you over to another tank. “My favorite is right over here.” Dropping your hand, he instead comes to stand behind you. With one hand on your waist and the other pointing out the fish. He hadn’t meant to tuck you so perfectly against him, but he did, and now he doesn’t ever want to move away. The smell of your shampoo and perfume mix together, leaving him totally captivated. It takes all his restraint to keep talking and not bury his face into your hair.

“That’s the puffer fish, or Tetraodontidae. They have this defense mechanism, so basically, when they are threatened, they can expand to over double their size. I guess I have a soft spot for them.”

You find yourself leaning back against his chest as you listen to his explanation. His reasoning not only makes perfect sense but shows you how insightful he can be. “I can understand why. It’s almost like you and Hulk.” You turn your head to meet his gaze. It’s only then that you both realize just how close you’ve both become. Bruce can’t help but notice that his lips are inches from yours. “Yes. It’s like me and Hulk.” His voice comes out huskier than he intends. There’s a tension building. One that’s begging to break free. All either one of you would have to do is close the last remaining inches, but before you can, Bruce’s watch beeps. It breaks the trance and has you both stepping back from one another. He checks his watch and silences the alarm. “Shoot, we have to hurry. There’s something I need to show you!” Without another word, he takes your hand and starts leading you to another part of the aquarium. There’s a bounce in his step as he walks you to the big surprise. His whole reason for picking the aquarium for your first date is because on your dating profile, you had written that your favorite animals are otters. Bruce had tucked this piece of information away until he needed it. He had painstakingly looked for an aquarium that not only had an otters exhibit but gave people the chance to pet them. He couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you found out. But when you both turn the corner you are instead faced with a giant sign that reads “Exhibit Closed for Renovation”. His heart drops and the blood in his veins starts to boil. He had checked the website! Had planned the entire date around this! “The website said it was going to be open!” he grits out as the hand not holding yours clenches into a fist. He feels Hulk beneath his skin, tugging to be let out. Bruce tries to suppress the feeling, but his chest begins to heave. Things have been better between them. No longer did he treat Hulk as a monster but as a part of him. Bruce made space for him in his home and life, which led to them not needing to fight one another for control. Instead, they attempted to live side by side. However, this is different. It mirrors a time when even the slightest inconvenience would trigger the Hulk. The tips of his ears and fingers prickle to a subtle shade of green. “This isn’t fair. Now everything is ruined!” He lets out a low growl and grips the hand he’s holding until you wince. You don’t have time to respond before you’re forced to rip your hand out of his grasp. That’s when you notice the color of his fingertips. Not knowing what to do to help, but not willing to abandon him, you step in front of him and cup his face. “Bruce? I need you to look at me. Nothing is ruined.” As you talk, you maneuver him backward until you’re both tucked away in a corner close to an emergency exit. You figure this is the best place for him to be if he did in fact lose control. Unfortunately, Bruce doesn’t respond. Instead, he tucks his chin to his chest and continues to breathe heavily. You say his name with a little more force, but still, nothing. He’s too preoccupied with the fury bubbling in his stomach. It causes tendrils of anger to spread through his limbs. Your words are muffled and your touch is hot. All his internal attempts to calm himself are destroyed by the deep seeded anger and self-loathing.

“This always happens. I can’t do anything right. Everything is ruined.” You’re more panicked now, it’s evident in your tone. “Forget about the otters! I don’t care. Please, Bruce, I’m just happy to be here with you!” What do you do? How do you break him from this spell? You needed him to focus on the good! An idea pops into your mind and before you have a chance to think it over…you do it. You grip his face, jerking it towards you, and kiss him—hard on the mouth. Your arms encircle his neck, putting your all into the kiss and trembling slightly. All you can do is pray your plan works and he kisses you back. For Bruce, his world stops spinning and time stands still. The kiss is enough to bring him back to the present. His heart rate settles and his skin tone reverts to normal, but his eyes are shut tight. He can’t kiss you back, not like this. Not when you were only kissing him for your safety. So he gently pushes you away. “T-Thank you…for that but I’m…I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to…do that just to shut me up.” His words confuse you and you speak over him before he can continue, “I didn’t do it to shut you up! I did it because I wanted to and because I thought giving you something happy to think about would help.” You lose your nerve, faltering momentarily. “I…I’m sorry if I was wrong. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your consent.” Bruce’s brow furrows and he finally meets your gaze again. “Wait, you wanted to kiss me?” You nod in earnest and he smiles. He brings his hand to cup your cheek. “You were so brave and strong. I can’t thank you enough for being here for me.” You relax into his touch, letting your face rest in his palm. You’re so beautiful and sweet. It makes Bruce long for things he hasn’t allowed himself to want. “I’m also sorry for assuming you were kissing me out of pity. I guess I just couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kiss…that.” He motions behind him, to where the Hulk had almost been standing.

You tilt your head to the side, giving him a questionable look. “The Hulk is just a part of you. I know you’re used to people being afraid of him, but I’m not. I would kiss you, him, and anything else in between.” His cheeks twinge pink. Someone kissing Hulk? That wasn’t something Bruce could even fathom, but the feeling of his pulse skipping a beat tells him that his green counterpart is excited by the offer. Nervously, he chuckles at the realization. “W-Why don’t we take things one step at a time?” He says this not only to you but to appease Hulk into calming down. You take his hand and nod in agreement. The touch sends tingles from his palm and up his arm, making him feel bold. “Can I…I mean, may I kiss you? For real this time?” You nod with a smile and Bruce closes the distance between you. The kiss is soft and chaste but he can still taste the sweetness of your mouth. He hums at the taste but pulls away before he loses himself. “There’s one more thing I wanted to show you.” He extends his hand to you. “Come with me?” You take it and let him lead you to the back of the aquarium. He leads you past countless tanks of exotic fish until you come to a dark room. So dark that it’s almost pitch black, but quickly your eyes adjust, revealing tanks filled with various-sized jellyfish. You gasp at how delicate they are, their subtle glow showing their translucence. Their bodies pushing and pulling them through the water in an almost intricate dance.

“Did you know that jellyfish are the world's oldest animal?” You shake your head ‘no’, transfixed on the tanks before you but soaking in his words like a sponge. “Scientists have found fossils indicating they preceded dinosaurs. I think they're magical.” You’re alone in this small dark space, and Bruce steps closer to whisper into your ear. “I think you’re pretty magical too.”

You gasp and turn towards him, whispering his name just before he captures your lips in another kiss. He’s more confident now, pulling you closer by your waist and gripping your hips tightly. You make out like teenagers, anxious and hungry for more. He whimpers at how good you feel and you can’t help but shudder against him in response. Your hands slide up to wrap around his broad shoulders. You feel safe in his arms so you push your body flush against him. He responds in turn, opening his mouth so that your tongues can touch. You’re so turned on that you’re certain you’ll combust, but he breaks the kiss. He’s breathing hard, clearly attempting to calm his heart rate. You give him space to do so and instead lace your fingers with his. He smiles his thanks before speaking. “How about on the way out, we take you to the gift shop so I can buy you a stuffed otter to make up for not being able to see the real ones?” You nod in excitement until it clicks that the date will be ending soon. “I would love that, but…what if after, I didn’t want to go home? What if I wanted to go home with you?” It takes Bruce a few moments to process exactly what you’re asking, but once it does his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Yes! Uh…I mean, I would be honored.” The gift shop, walking to his car, and the drive to his home go by in a blur. One minute, you were asking him to take you home, and the next, you were holding a stuffed otter in your lap as he opened the car door for you.

You smile at the gesture, letting him help you out of his car, and walking up the front steps to his home. Little do you know, Bruce is holding his breath in hopes that he hadn’t left his home a mess before leaving. He sighs in relief after unlocking the door and seeing that the house is relatively clean. You step forward, taking in your surroundings, but his eyes are taking in your body. He imagines taking you to his bed and undressing you slowly. You move about his home, having no idea he was undressing you with his eyes. “You have a lovely home, Bruce. Most guy’s homes are…well…gross.” You giggle to yourself before placing your otter on the couch. He says your name in a way that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It sounds hot…needy…sexual. You turn to him, and like the opposite ends of two magnets, you’re pulled together–crashing into each other. No longer able to resist, your hands grope and mouths meet. You want to beg for more but he’s already hoisting you up by the waist and carrying you down the hall. You don’t know where he’s taking you, and frankly, you don’t care as long as he keeps kissing you.

He stumbles while pushing open his bedroom door with his foot, but quickly regains his stride over to his bed so he can carefully lay you down. Your hair fans out along his pillows and he sighs. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Hearing him curse has you biting your bottom lip. You grip his shirt and tug him towards you until he’s leaning over you. “I want you, Bruce. I’ve wanted you since the first time we talked on the phone.” He nearly chokes at your confession because he’s certain he had made an utter fool of himself on that phone call. “Please…” Your plea breaks him from his thoughts as your fingers start working on unbuttoning his shirt. “Please don’t make me wait anymore.” Shit. Shit. Shit. This was happening. This was really about to happen. Bruce’s cock jumps within the confines of his pants. “I won’t, Princess. I won’t make you wait.” His words are rushed, breathless as trembling fingers work on unzipping your sundress. “I’ve been wanting you too.” You’re both rushing to get one another naked now. His shirt. Your dress. His pants. Your bra. His cock is freed from his boxers and Bruce sighs with relief. You blush at the sight of how hard and thick he is. It would fill you up so perfectly. He looks at you with the same amount of desire in his gaze. Your nipples harden under that gaze, causing his cock to throb. And then he’s on you, crawling over your body so he can cage you beneath him. He can’t help himself from kissing his way down your chest and stomach, pausing only when he gets to the waistband of your lace panties. “May I?”

He doesn’t need to ask, but the fact that he does warms your heart. You nod, giving your consent, and he hooks two fingers under the lace. You lift your hips, making it easier for your panties to be pulled down your legs. Once free of them, you let your legs fall away to reveal your cunt to him. You blush, knowing you’re already wet with slick. “Your kisses have been making me wet all afternoon,” you whisper, embarrassed. Bruce perks up at this information, letting a finger trace along your folds. “Wow, really? All afternoon?” You nod, your face feeling hot. “I love that you’re this wet for me.” He turns his head so he can leave kisses along your inner thigh. “I want to taste,” he groans, hungry for it. So hungry that he dives his face between your thighs, licking from your slit to your clit. He moans as the taste and scent of your cunt fill his senses. You moan at the feeling of his tongue alternating between licking your clit and slipping his tongue inside. Each time, your inner walls clench around the muscles of his tongue. “Oh God, y-you’re so good with your mouth!” you pant, starting to buck your hips. Lewdly, he devours your wetness, grunting against your flesh. His arms wrap around your thighs and pull you forward so your cunt is smashed against his face. He turns his focus on your clit, eagerly sucking on it. He’s so turned on by the noises you’re making and the taste on his tongue that he can’t stop himself from rutting into the mattress to get some relief. “I want you to cum on my face,” he declares suddenly, as if the idea just popped into his head and he couldn’t stop himself from saying it out loud. “Can you do that for me?” You find that you can only nod as the pleasure steadily builds throughout your limbs. “Here, let me try this,” he says as he slips his middle finger into your awaiting hole. Instantly, you grind down on it, crying out his name when he starts fingering you harder. His mouth returns to your clit, swirling his tongue over it to drive you closer and closer to the edge. And damn are you close to that edge. You scream for him, tell him how good he’s making you feel. He doesn’t let up, and without warning, your back is arching off the bed as you cum all over his face, just like he wanted you to. He works you through your aftershocks, licking up every drop of cum that spills out of you until your body slumps back onto the bed. It’s only then that he eases his finger out and sits back on his knees. “That…was incredible,” he pants with a light chuckle and then leans over you once more to leave a kiss on your temple. “Thank you for that, Princess.” You practically purr at the nickname. Usually, names like that give you the ick, but Bruce saying it gives you butterflies. “I love it when you call me that. I like being your Princess.” You hook a leg around his waist, beckoning him closer so his cock is nestled against the cleft of your cunt. He whimpers, grinding his erection against you. He wants to be inside you, wants to fuck you hard and deep, but he needs to slow down. “W-Wait, wait,” he pleads, holding your hips firm in an attempt to keep you both in place. “We…We need to talk first.” Something about his tone gives you pause. “What’s the matter?”you ask, giving him your full attention. Bruce worries at his bottom lip, wanting to say the right thing. “I don’t want to scare you but…sometimes…uh, when I cum, I turn a little…green.” A blush works its way up from his neck. “If you catch my drift.” You sit up, more intrigued than afraid, but the man before you misunderstands and continues on nervously. “You have n-nothing to worry about, I promise you. I would never let anything happen to you.” You silence him by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’m not afraid. Not of you or of him. I want to make you cum.” Your hand drops, replacing it with your lips, whispering against his mouth. “I want to make you both cum.”

Your acceptance of him and his other half stirs an animalistic lust from deep within him. When he moves on top of you, it feels as if it’s in tandem with Hulk. They had never moved as one before. Had never wanted the same thing so completely as they do now.

Bruce kisses you roughly, tongues rolling along one another while their bodies grind. He aligns his cock with your opening, moaning in between your kisses. “Is that what the sweet girl wants? To make us cum so hard that we turn for you?” His voice is deeper, with pupils blown wide with lust. His words have your heart racing, and although this is your first time in Bruce’s bed…something tells you it’s both he and Hulk who would be fucking you tonight. You push your forehead against his and nod eagerly. If he was going to speak, it’s cut off by the growl that bubbles up from his throat. He’s completely overtaken by his feral alter ego, and in one fell swoop, sheathes his cock fully inside of you. You yelp, tensing at the sudden intrusion, but damn does he fill you up. However, the sound seems to bring Bruce back into himself. “S-Shit, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

You feel him starting to pull out of your heat. “Don’t!” you cry, wrapping your legs around him to keep him in place. “D-Don’t stop, Bruce. You feel so good. Please don’t stop.”

He nods, relieved that he hasn’t hurt you, and starts rolling his hips. “Mmhh, you feel good too. So tight.” But his slow pace doesn’t last long. His hands push your legs away, giving him space to pull out and then slam back in. You both throw your heads back, swearing loudly at the first deep thrust. Your walls had clenched so perfectly around his length so he pulls out and does it again. The drag of his thick cock along your walls is making you gush. You scream his name and claw at his back. You can’t seem to focus on anything but the hard pounding rhythm of his cock. Bruce bows his head and starts kissing, biting and sucking at your breasts. He does so as passionately as he had eaten your cunt, making you wonder if he has a slight oral fixation when it comes to sex. Not that you mind. You’ll wear the marks he’s leaving on your breasts with pride.

A hand reaches between your legs to find your clit and rub firm circles on it. You arch into his touch and thrusts, trying to meet both. It causes a wet slapping noise to fill the room as he ruts into you.

Every thrust brings a flush of green across Bruce’s broad back. But he can’t cum. Can’t turn.

He needs to make you cum and he needs to keep you safe. But his control is slipping the closer his orgasm becomes. “A-Am I making you feel good, Princess?” You don’t hesitate to moan your reply in between desperate pants, “Yes, fuck yes! G-Getting close. More Bruce. Fuck m-me more, make me cum!” Any momentary self-consciousness fades at the sight of you falling apart. He gives you exactly what you need and cracks his hips faster, harder, rougher, while keeping firm pressure on your clit. It has your muscles tightening, that feeling of sweet release just within reach. His movements become sloppy, unable to keep away his own orgasm for much longer. But you’re too close to cumming to notice or care. “Cum for me, Princess. I…I need you to cum with me.” His words are all you need to come crashing over the edge. Your orgasm rocks you to your core, the entire time chanting his name like he’s your own personal God. Your inner walls pulse around every throbbing inch of his cock, coaxing him to reach his own peak.

His back contorts and green flashes down his arms and legs as he cums, filling you with it as he screams, sounding more monster than man. Was he about to…turn?

You don’t have time to react, because as quickly as it started, Bruce collapses on top of you. You’re honestly too stunned to react but the sound of a whimper breaks you from it. “Bruce?” Your arms come around him so you can stroke his back and hair. “Are you alright?”

It takes him a few minutes of heavy breathing before he’s able to lift his head.” I-I’m okay. Could we just…lay here for a little while?” He sounds exhausted and lost. It tugs at your heartstrings. “Of course, for as long as you need,” you whisper, allowing your fingers to delicately trace over the lines of his back. For a long while, you lay together with his cock still nestled inside you. Not that you mind, it feels right being close to him. When he’s ready, Bruce slowly props himself up and slips out of you before looking you in the eye. He sheepishly thanks you, looking rather flustered. “I’m uh…sorry if I scared you earlier…you just felt so good and he…” Bruce trails off, clearly too embarrassed to continue, so you sit up and cup his cheek so he looks at you. “You have nothing to apologize for. You made me cum so hard. I’d let you fuck me over and over again if you wanted to.” He visibly perks up at that and can’t stop the boyish grin from spreading across his features. You grin back. “I guess I made him feel good too…if he was fighting to break out.” He takes a calming breath and runs a hand through his hair. “He uh…still does.”

“Really??” You sound shocked but intrigued. “Do you…uh want to let him out? I wouldn’t mind meeting him.” Bruce hesitates, not knowing if letting Hulk out is a good idea, but then he looks back at you. His eyes roam over your beautiful naked body that is now sitting back against the headboard.

An image of you relaxing in his bed every morning from now until the end of time flashes through his mind. But it isn’t just his fantasy…it’s Hulk’s. “Well…he does think you’re pretty.” “Really? He told you that?” You blush, biting your bottom lip, and Bruce can’t help but chuckle at how adorable you look. “It’s more like a feeling, but yes, in a way.” You nod in understanding and wait for his final say on the matter. “Okay, you and Hulk can meet,” he agrees, and you happily squeal. “I’ll see you in the morning?” “In the morning,” you repeat, and Bruce leans in to give you another kiss before standing. He makes his way over to his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of boxers that are enhanced to stretch to Hulk’s size. “Now, if anything goes wrong, don’t hesitate to use my phone and call Tony,” he says over his shoulder while slipping the boxers on. “Call Tony, got it! But everything will be fine,” you reassure as you reach over the side of the bed to grab your underwear, and Bruce’s discarded shirt and put them on. When you look back at him, he’s facing away from you with his back rounded. He groans as loudly as he did when he came but is undoubtedly pained. Green muscles ripple out from his spine, up his neck, and down his limbs. You watch amazed as he doubles in size right before your eyes. He sways for a moment before gaining his footing and turning around to face you. Your breath catches in your throat at the realization that the famous Hulk is standing in front of you. “H-Hi there. I’m–”

“HULK KNOWS.” His deep booming voice cuts you off. “You do?” Hulk nods. “YOU’RE PRETTY LADY.” The pet name makes you giggle and move closer to him but still remain perched on the edge of the bed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your eyes roam over him, wondering what being held in his arms would feel like. “Is…Is this where you sleep too? Or do you have your own room?” You use the questions as a way to distract your mind from thinking about his touch. He scrunches his green nose up in distaste, “BANNER’S MATTRESS TOO LUMPY. HULK HAS BIGGER BED.” He points down the hall to where the home’s second bedroom is. “PRETTY LADY WANT TO SEE HULK’S ROOM?”

“I would love that.” You smile and he holds out his hand for you to take. You do so, and with more gentleness than should have been capable of someone his size, he helps you out of bed and leads you to his room. However, the entire way, your eyes stayed glued on Hulk–memorizing and taking in the parts of him that were still innately Bruce. With your tiny hand in his massive one, he steps inside his bedroom, no longer needing to crouch down because the ceiling is higher now. The walls are covered with photos and newspaper clippings of the Avengers and their families. You smile, it’s endearing to see that he has a soft side. Hulk flops down on the extra-large mattress with a smirk, stealing your attention away from the photographs. “HULK’S ROOM BETTER. BED SOFTER AND BETTER FOR SNUGGLES.” He pats the spot next to him on the bed, silently inviting you over. You raise a brow in his direction.

You couldn’t believe it…he was flirting with you. Boldly flirting with you at that! As if he already knew he had you right where he wanted… Those green eyes look at you like the alpha of a pack, ready to lay beside his mate. Maybe Hulk wasn’t just Bruce’s rage personified but also his self-confidence with the opposite sex. Not having an answer, you decide to climb up and join him on the bed. If he wants to be a flirt, then so would you. You lay down beside him so you can rest your head on his rather huge bicep. “Mmhm, you’re right…much more comfortable.” You smirk up at him. Seeing the smug look on your face has him laughing, his frame rumbles with it. “PRETTY LADY LIKE HULK’S ARMS BETTER! BANNER WILL BE JEALOUS.”

You shake your head at his silliness. “I love both of your arms,” you lightly scold until you yawn without warning. “Shoot, sorry about that. I guess I’m more tired than I realized.”

Hulk shakes his head at your apology and lightly pats your head. “NO SORRY. PRETTY LADY SLEEP NOW.”

You nod, suddenly finding it difficult to stay awake. He pulls you in, letting you fully nestle against him.

“BANNER SAYS PRETTY LADY LIKES HAIR PLAYED WITH.”

At first, his words confuse you, but then you remember one late-night phone conversation when you told Bruce that having your hair played with always puts you right to sleep.

You smile at the memory, confirming Hulk’s words, and his fingers find their way into your hair. He gently strokes and pets, leaving you nearly purring.

Hulk chuckles under his breath but doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers. “PRETTY LADY SOUNDS LIKE KITTEN.”

“I guess that makes me Hulk’s kitten,” you mumble, trying to stifle another yawn.

“HULK’S KITTEN,” he repeats softly in agreement. “CLOSE YOUR EYES, KITTEN. HULK KEEP YOU SAFE FOR BANNER.”

Your half-lidded eyes finally fall shut.

It only takes another moment and you’re asleep.

Hulk watches you, not wanting sleep to overtake him, but it isn’t easy when he feels so relaxed with you in his arms. Eventually, exhaustion seeps in, winning him over. But just before he fully subcomes to sleep, both Hulk and Bruce share the same thought.

This would be the start of something new.

#lady in writing #bruce banner #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #incredible hulk #hulk x reader #bruce banner smut #mark ruffalo #bruce banner fanfiction

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