ruriread

[ruriread]

When Jake Met Polly

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller or Jake Seresin has never seen When Harry Met Sally.

Warnings: Not much, fluff, flirting and refs to sex.

Note: This is just a short little idea i've had for agesss... reader has a 'name' but it's just her callsign, Polly, as in, short for Polaris. Ty to @hangmanssunnies i wuv u <3

“Hangman to Tower, I am coming in hot.”

You roll your eyes at the all too familiar voice that crackles through your radio, a smile pulling at your lips as you adjust your microphone and briefly throw a glance over your shoulder, just to make sure your commanding officer wasn’t lingering.

“Tower to Hangman. We are appalled at the gross lack of radio etiquette on display,” you respond. Barely a few seconds pass before you receive a reply.

“Come on, Polly, we've been working together for over a year now, what’s a little informality between colleagues?” Hangman says, and despite his jet only being a blip on your horizon still, you know he’s grinning.

“A commercial airline, Lieutenant.” You deadpan, your own smile growing as his laughter comes down the line. “You are cleared for landing, proceed to runway B,” you continue, not wanting him to have to ask again seeing as his approach was cutting it close already.

“Polly, have I ever told you that you’re my favourite Controller?” He asks as you watch him enter the pattern, and click your pen.

“Only every day we work together, Lieutenant.” There’s a beat of quiet as he expertly manoeuvres his jet toward the correct runway.

“And how sexy your voice is?” He goes on, sounding vaguely distracted.

“Once again, Lieutenant, this is not a commercial airline.” You respond, twirling your hair around your finger at his compliment anyway.

He doesn’t reply, and a shock of horror flickers through you as you watch the jet touch down once, something happening with his landing gear that makes the jet shudder, then seem to bounce momentarily before it drops back onto the tarmac and skids to a stop.

“Hangman, do you require the emergency crew?!” You ask quickly, eyes scanning the aircraft as it powers down fully. You wait tensely as the canopy pops up, and a broad figure jumps out, scrambling down the ladder, and once on the ground, he bends low to get a look at the problem.

“No, Polly, thank you. Seems the landing gear malfunctioned, must’ve been in a position to sustain damage once I landed…” his voice trails off, and you watch him straighten, and greet the ground crew who’d raced over to help.

“Glad you’re safe, Lieutenant. Tower out.” You say as he begins discussing with the crew, but briefly turns up toward the tower and raises a hand.

You let out a sigh of relief and settle back in your seat.

–

Around lunch time you make your way down to the tarmac. Hangman’s jet had been cleared off some time ago, and by now you know reports would have been filed, including your own, and his aircraft will have been taken in for inspection and repairs. You’re milling around the ‘crash’ site, inspecting the scrape marks left behind when you hear footsteps from behind approaching you.

“Can I help you ma’am?”

You know his voice immediately, but you know his face too, and when you at last turn back to him you’re graced by the sight of it, bright and unworried, despite the accident he’d had earlier.

“Oh, don’t mind me! I just watched someone bounce their jet off my tarmac earlier, just checking for potholes,” you tell him wrly. It takes a moment, but his face flashes with recognition and soon he’s taking a step towards you.

“Polly?!” Hangman asks, sounding surprised. You hum in response, then round on him.

“Where is it that you found your qualifications, Liuetenant? We should probably return them,” you tease him. Hangman only takes up a stance and stretches his arms out, his flight suit stretching desperately around his biceps as he does.

“Oh, Polly, if I’d known that was all it took to get you down here, I’d have started chipping bits off months ago,” he flirts shamelessly. You smile at him but don’t speak and after a moment, he drops his arms again, crossing them over his chest instead and blinking at you curiously. “What?” he asks.

Your smile grows, and you shake your head at him.

“Your terrible lines work better when I can see you, that's all,” you inform him, making him uncross his arms and laugh.

“I would say that’s generally the case, even if a guy ain’t me,” he replies coolly. You only shake your head again, and look back out at the expanse of tarmac ahead of you.

“Thanks to you getting your pilots lisence off the back of a cereal box, we’ve ruined our Sleepless in Seattle thing,” you say with a forlorn sigh.

When you look back at Hangman he’s frowning at you in confusion.

“Our what?” he asks. You roll your eyes and turn to face him fully at last, waving your hand as you speak.

“You know, our Sleepless in Seattle thing. We talk all this time, but never meet, and if we cross paths, we don’t realise it? It’s ruined now,” you accuse him lightly. Hangman hums, and seems to think for a moment.

“I get to be Meg Ryan in this situation, right?” he says, making you chortle.

“Well you’d have to be. No way I’d leave 90s Bill Pullman!”

“Well, what if we’re not Sleepless in Seattle? What if we’re more… When Harry Met Sally?” he suggests. You squint at him.

“Have you seen that film? I’m not sure that’s the implication you want to go for…” you ask him, making him falter for a moment.

“That’s the one with the emails right?” he responds unsurely. You laugh again, and shake your head.

“No, that’s You’ve Got Mail.”

“What the hell did I just suggest, then?” 

You stare at him for a moment, and can’t stop yourself from grinning up at him.

“More or less not speaking for like ten years, but on the rare occasion we do meet up, we argue,” you tell him, watching him frown even deeper, and shake his own head this time.

“That would be kinda hard, considering you’re the voice in my head,” he says.

“Oh, so we’re doing Her now!”

Hangman fixes you with a deadpan expression and a slightly smirk.

“I don’t even want to know.”

You laugh at him, and begin walking, unsurprised when he immediately joins you, falling into step at your side. “So,” he begins again after a moment, peering down at you. “Despite playing hacky sack on your tarmac, you still gonna let me take you out?”

You falter briefly, but keep walking, this time glancing up at him.

“I didn’t think you were being serious all those times you asked me out,” you don’t bother hiding your surprise. Hangman looks back at you, squinting, and cocks his head.

“At this point I think you’ve shot me down more than Dagger combined, why would I not be serious?” he asks you, sounding oddly serious. You chuckle.

“Right, so, say if, I don’t know, Rooster got a few more hits on you, you wouldn’t leave me hangin’ would you?” you know you’ll say yes, but you can’t help but tease him a little longer.

Hangman raises an eyebrow at you and grins wide and beautiful.

“You? Never,” he says. “Mostly because I’m legally obligated to respond when you speak to me.”

You lift your own eyebrow and fix him with a wry smile.

“I like that in a man.”

Hangman laughs.

–

“I mean it, your voice is sexy,” Jake tells you once he’s sat back down from replacing your drinks. You can’t help but chortle and stir your cocktail with the straw.

“Really? Me telling you to line up and wait in the pattern gets you going?” you ask. Jake grins, but nods very seriously as he takes a short sip of his beer.

“Absolutely. I also like when you tell me about the weather and conditions, and direct me to land.”

Leaning forward with your elbows on the table between you, you put your chin in your hands.

“I liek when you flirt with me,” you begin, waiting for him to smirk at you before continuing on. “And you don’t realise my boss is in the room, so I just have to respond ‘roger’ and ‘acknowledged’ whenever you say something stupid,” you finish. Jake rolls his eyes and leans forward to meet you.

“To be fair, I’d probably be saying something stupid anyway,” he tells you.

You have to let out a laugh at that and finally lean back again.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me, are you ever gonna tell us all how to ‘bury a fossil’? You know, those things that you famously dig up and do not bury?” you tease, earning another eyeroll. Jake shrugs and copies your movements.

“I foretold Mav’s career comeback, didn’t I?”

You laugh again, but this time, get a good look at him sitting casually across from you, out of uniform and seemingly more relaxed than you’ve ever seen, or heard.

“I like your voice too,” you tell him at last, smiling a little at how he seems to preen at your praise. “Your accent is more pronounced face-to-face though, and you don’t sound like you’re performing all the time.”

Jake takes a sip of his beer and shrugs again.

“Can’t be Hangman all the time,” he says. You make a face.

“I like Hangman. He entertains me at work… but I think I like the guy who hasn’t seen When Harry Met Sally, and has a Fisher-Price pilot's lisence even more.”

Jake laughs and nods at you.

“Splash one,” he says before he leans in to you again. “Toddler’s generally have pretty good taste, in my opinion, they’re all about shapes and colours and boobs… can’t fault ‘em!”

You have to laugh and concede that at least, the two of you clinking drinks before you continue to flirt and chat for the rest of the evening.

When Jake drops you back at yours, you invite him inside, under the guise of lending him your DVD copy of When Harry Met Sally, but when he simply lingers in your living room, you start to consider other tactics.

“Jake?” you say, standing up from ‘searching’ your stack of DVD’s and facing him. “This is the part where you save me from admitting I don’t really own a physical copy of the film by having sex with me,” you inform him dutifully, watching as he straightens up and blinks at you. Then, he’s shaking his head, smiling, and taking a step closer toward you.

“I guess every good rom-com does have an earth shattering lie at its core, doesn’t it?” he steps closer, and this time, anchors his hands at your waist, tugging you into him a little more.

“Let's skip the conflict part and go straight to the happy ending, shall we?”

[ruriread]

i am so sick

what a truly horrific thing to say

[ruriread]

no she did not go over the wall

SHE DIDN'T SHE STAYED GAHHHHHDHHHHHHGHH BRO BRO BROOOOOOOO

WHAT ABOUT REYNOLDS!?

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

BRIMSLEYY WE LOVE YOU. YOU ARE MY FAVORITE EVER. GIVE HIM SOME HAPPINESS STAT!!

I'M SO SICK GAHHHHHGHHHHG

sobbing on the kitchen floor rn typing this cause emotions are stupid

[ruriread]

Lessons in Love.

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings - None

Word Count - 3615

Author's Note - hello gorgeous people, hope you're all doing well. writing this has made my heart so full, and I hope it makes you feel the same. requests are always open and more than encouraged!! currently working on a stunning jake seresin request that's just so lovely. i'm SO open to more jake requests, but also any marvel, top gun maverick, criminal minds, narcos and any others you have in mind!! just send them over, and I'll see what I can do. as always, so much love x

Masterlist. Requests.

“No way. How is that even possible?”

You look at the bewildered man in front of you and can’t help but smile.

“It’ll play anything you want it to. Anything in the world. Just ask it!” you encourage, beaming grin still plastered on your face.

“Alexa,” he says tentatively, “play Marvin Gaye.”

The first notes of Trouble Man begin to sound through your apartment, and his eyes light up. He’s looking at you like you’ve discovered something completely revolutionary.

You laugh – a real, genuine, delighted sound that flows through Bucky like a beam of light, illuminates his bones, makes his heart beat that little bit faster.

Grabbing your notebook, you delicately place a check next to Number 26 – voice-controlled devices. Number 27 is air fryers. Number 28 is Bluetooth. Number 29 is kindles and e-readers. Number 30 is Doordash. You’ve already checked off Spotify, and ATMs, and Google, and online banking, amongst many others. A list of things to better integrate Bucky into the 21st Century. A list of things to make him feel less like a man out of time. A list of things that allow you to spend all the time with him that you can.

A warm hand on your left hip and a cold one on your right pull you back into reality.

“Dance with me.” he murmurs. “Let me teach you something, for once.”

Before you can process his words, he’s gliding across the kitchen with you in his arms. Trouble Man isn’t playing anymore, instead replaced with something slower, richer. Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you, not even for a second. He’s watching your every move, every expression, every twitch of your lips. Reading you like a book.

You bring your hands to rest around his neck, and he relaxes into you. He’s leading, swaying you gently, occasionally twirling you like a ballerina in a music box. Perfectly effortless. He’s good at this.

The sun is setting, casting a warm orange hue across the kitchen. The light is reflecting onto your hair, making you glow, giving you a halo. Angelic, he thinks. My guardian angel.

You close the space between your bodies, wrapping your arms around his middle. Resting your head on his chest, he prays you can’t hear how his heart is working overtime. You shut your eyes, and breathe him in. He smells faintly like the Bakery, like sugar and coffee and cinnamon. The place that started it all.

　            ⋆ 　　 .  ✵　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 

When Bucky first moved into his apartment, he’d noticed the Bakery down the street immediately. The smell of cake and coffee drifted out of the lilac colored door, enticing him in. He resisted the urge, and told himself that he’d go inside tomorrow.

The next day, he stood outside of the red brick building, and read the menu on the noticeboard carefully. Then he reread it. And then read it again. Since when was coffee so complicated? And don’t even get him started on cake. He swore there was only a few types back in the forties. Now, there was at least fifty different kinds on this menu alone. He was overwhelmed. He thought he’d be able to walk into this Bakery, get some coffee, maybe something sweet, and leave content. Instead, he's stood on the sidewalk on the verge of a panic attack. Tomorrow, he thinks to himself. I’ll go in tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes. Every day, he takes a walk, and purposely passes the building that he longs to go into. But somehow, he can never find the courage. He knows he’ll just look like an idiot if he walks in. He’ll look lost, and out of place, and everyone will laugh and mutter. Look, they’ll jeer, The Winter Soldier can’t even order a coffee.

And so, he spares himself the pain. Lets his feet carry him past, only slowing down slightly when he passes the lilac door. Every day for three months, he takes the same route. Willing himself to go in, to find the courage. It’s just coffee, he tells himself. Get a grip.

Until, one day, you decided to change his life, unknowingly. Or maybe knowingly. He’s still not sure.

He takes his usual path, and just as he gets to the lilac door – you’re there. Stood, waiting, soft smile on your face. Bucky panics, and wills his feet to move faster, to take him away from this inevitably awkward situation. You stop him before he can make a run for it.

“Hi.”

Oh. You’re talking to him. You’re staring into his soul with no judgment, or fear, or trepidation. You’re staring into his soul with gentleness. Kindness. Friendship. He’s terrified.

“Uh – hi.” He rubs the back of his neck. Nervous habit.

“So, uh, I hope this isn’t weird, or anything. But, I’ve been watching you walk past every day for like three months, and, well…” you trail off. Now you look nervous. “Actually, I haven’t really thought this far ahead. I just see you, and I wanted to… invite you in, I guess? Not that you need an invite, of course not, we’re open to everyone, but… you always look like you’re going to come in, and then you never do. And I’ve been telling myself for months that I should properly invite you in, but now I’m realising this is, uh, really weird. And I’m sorry.”

You still have that gentle smile on your face, but it’s more tentative now. A dusting of pink is making its way onto your cheeks, and Bucky thinks it might be his new favourite color.

It’s now that he really starts to take you in. Your hair is blowing slightly in the breeze, and the sleeves of your sweater are pulled down over your wrists, to try and keep the New York chill at bay. You have bright, inquisitive eyes – eyes that contain hope, love, laughter. You make him feel almost peaceful. No one makes him feel like that. Damn.

You’ve stepped closer to him now, to get out of the way of the customers making their way through the door. You smell like sugar, and coffee, and optimism. He wants to breathe you in, let you settle in his lungs. A comfortable warmth spreads through his chest.

He decides to take a gamble and bear his truth to you. He’s not sure why, but he trusts you. He doesn’t trust anyone, these days. But he trusts you.

“Can I be honest with you?”, he asks, looking at you expectantly. You’re almost expecting him to laugh in your face at the absurdity of it all. You nod anyway, signalling for him to continue.

“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come in. But every time I try, I just, uh-” he stutters, and you can tell that his mind is screaming at him, sounding alarm bells, begging him to stop with all this sudden vulnerability.

“It’s overwhelming, right?” you ask, cutting him off. Saving him. Guardian angel.

You see the relief in his body at your question. His fists unclench, the tension leaves his shoulders. He smiles bashfully. Half grateful, half embarrassed. You get it.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. You giggle, and he’s convinced that the melodious sound will circle around in his mind forever, like the Earth orbiting the Sun.

You fiddle with the strings of your mint green apron, and look at him. You’re gazing at him so earnestly that he’s worried he might spontaneously combust.

“Are you busy tonight?” you ask suddenly, and he feels so dizzy he’s concerned momentarily that he’s going to pass out.

“Uh, no. I’m not,” he replies, managing to force the words out of his mouth.

“We close at 6, so meet me here at 7.”

You still have that sparkle in your eye. He couldn’t say no to you if he tried.

“Why?” he queries. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely petrified at the turn the conversation has taken.

“I want to show you around. Maybe make you a coffee, introduce you to some of my favourite things. You won’t believe how good my raspberry and white chocolate cookies are. They’re best sellers for a reason,” you beam at him.

Beaming. He wonders how he’s lived his whole life without your light illuminating his universe. Anywhere he goes without you is going to feel so dark, he thinks. How did I ever live like this?

He manages to pull himself together to smile back at you. His first genuine grin in God knows how long. He’s forgotten what joy feels like, and he’s almost drunk on it now.

He agrees to your plan, and you turn on your heel, about to make your way back inside.

“Wait!” he yells, louder than intended. “What’s your name?”

Your lips turn up into a smirk, mischief seeping out of your pores.

“Come back at 7 and find out.” You wink at him, and he has to take a few deep breaths in order to stay conscious. With that, you leave him alone on the sidewalk, where he’s silently thanking the universe for dropping you in his lap. Finally, he thinks. The cosmic punishment is over.

He does come back at 7. In fact, he’s stood outside waiting at 6:45. He can see you mopping the floor, singing as you go. His supersoldier hearing allows him to listen to your voice, even from this far away. He’s never been more grateful for the thing he used to call a curse. He’d be cursed every damn day if it meant he got to listen to you like this.

At 6:58, you appear at the lilac door, beckoning him to follow you inside. He knows that stepping over that threshold is going to change him fundamentally. He can’t wait.

Upon entering, he’s hit with the smell of cinnamon, sugar, coffee, and you. A beautiful mix of all three. Without a second thought, he reaches out with his right hand, and gently brushes some flour from your cheekbone.

“Bucky,” he murmurs.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Lips slightly parted, chest heaving, it takes you a minute to register that he spoke.

“What?” you ask, dazed by the handsome stranger with the steel blue eyes.

“My name,” he speaks softly. “It’s Bucky.”

You smile knowingly, and take a deep breath. It’s overwhelming, meeting someone that you know is going to be in your life forever. You’re both feeling the same, neither of you sure just quite what to do.

You grab his left hand, sighing quietly in relief at the feeling the cool metal against your heated skin. Leading him gently, he lets you guide him through the front of the store, until you stop behind the counter. He’s convinced he’d let you lead him anywhere, as long as he gets to feel your skin, soft and warm, on his. Grounding. Comforting. Easy.

“What kind of milk do you like?” you ask, fingers still intertwined with his.

“There’s more than one kind of milk?”

Bucky looks so disorientated, that you want to kiss the confused expression off his face. You chuckle softly, and the sound bounces off the metal in the room, twinkling around him.

“We have cows’ milk, oat milk, almond milk and soy milk.” You take one look at him, and decide to change course. “Let’s start with something less complex, actually. Any allergies I should know about?”

He shakes his head, mischievous grin beginning to form on his handsome face. There he is, you think. He’s with me.

“I’m going to make you a latte. It’s milky, and not too strong or too sweet. I think you’ll like it.”

She thinks I’ll like it, he muses. And he trusts you - whether it be with his life, or just a cup of coffee.

You reluctantly let go of his hand, and begin to flit around, gathering everything you need. Bucky leans back against the counter and watches carefully. He watches the way you bite your lip when you measure out the milk. He watches the way the steam from the coffee machine blows your hair back from your face gently. He watches the way you’re trying to make everything perfect. He can’t remember the last time someone paid attention to him like this. His mind is telling him to sprint in the opposite direction, to excuse himself and never come back. He’s terrified. But he stays. I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.

You pull him from his thoughts by handing him the mug of warm coffee. He takes it from you carefully, and, without breaking eye contact, takes a sip. He smiles, really smiles. That’s all the validation you needed.

“Let me show you where we bake everything,” you say quietly, as if you’re afraid to burst this bubble of warmth and trust you’ve created. You’re scared he’s going to bolt if you give him the chance. So, you don’t. You take his hand once more, and guide him through to the kitchen.

“Have you done much baking in your life, Bucky?”

No, he thinks. But I will. I’ll bake everyday for the rest of my life if it means you’ll love me. If you’ll make me coffee and smile at me like that.

Instead, he answers cautiously.

“Not really. I’d like to, though.” He adds that last part bashfully. You smile back at him earnestly.

“Well then you’re in the right place,” you wink. He has the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees. To pray at your altar. To worship you like an angel sent down just for him. He’s surprised he’s still stood on two feet.

Before he can even register what’s happening, you’re beginning to create a mixture for your infamous cookies. You direct him to stir, while you add meticulously measured ingredients into the bowl.

“Put those arms to good use,” you’d smirked, and a blush had risen up to his cheeks almost instantly.

You click the radio on, and a soft, jazzy melody begins to drift through the room. You’re humming quietly, gliding around the kitchen, and he decides that this is it for him. You’re it for him. He could watch you do this every day and die a happy man.

Cookies baking in the oven, you jump up to sit on one of the counters. Bucky moves to stand in between your legs, still being careful to keep his distance ever so slightly. He knows if he touches you, he won’t ever want to let go.

“This wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be,” he confesses.

“What, me?” you tease.

“No. Coffee. And cookies,” he chuckles.

“Are there lots of things that you haven’t done because you find them scary?” you ask genuinely. You want to know him. All of him. Fears, wants, quirks. All of it.

“Yeah, actually. The world is so different now. I don’t really know where to start. It’s all terrifying, honestly,” he laughs. You laugh with him, but you know there’s truth to his words. You want to wrap your arms around him. He may be 6 foot tall and made of solid muscle and vibranium, but you want to protect him.

“Why don’t we do it together?”

A pause. He’s confused again.

“Do what together?”

“All of it. The learning. I’ll help you. Everything is less scary if you do it with someone else.”

It’s now that he’s convinced he’s dreaming. You can’t be real. Why would you be here, offering him everything, after all that he’s done? He has to remind himself. I deserve this. I deserve something good.

You can sense his trepidation, so you keep talking.

“Why don’t we make a list? You write down the things you want to learn about. I’ll write down other things I think you should know. You’ll be an expert on the 21st Century before long, Buck.”

Buck. The nickname sounds like a gift coming from your lips.

“Okay. Yeah. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

The anxiety is coming off him in waves. He’s panicking. You grab a hold of both of his hands, and place one on each of your legs, just above your knees. He steps in closer, and takes a breath. You’re warm, and you’re soft, and you’re love personified. He’s okay.

“Of course I don’t mind. I’m excited!” you assure him. Then, quieter, “It means I get to spend more time with you.”

He aims a beaming, megawatt smile in your direction. He feels as if his nerve endings are alight. You’ve awoken something in him. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel like this. To feel alive.

You reach over and grab your notebook. In it, you simply write his name, followed by a love heart. Then, underneath, you begin to list everything you can think of that you want to teach him. You hand the list to him, and he adds his own requests. Between you, you manage to write 50 different lessons.

“Perfect. We’ll start with number one, and work our way down. Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

He chuckles at your eagerness, but secretly, he can’t wait. He knows he’ll be counting down the hours until he can see you again.

“Nope, I’m not. You are my only priority, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment seeps into your skin, settles in your ribcage. You’re convinced it’ll warm you up from the inside out. If he keeps calling you sweetheart in that Brooklyn drawl of his, you’ll never be cold again.

　            ⋆ 　　 .  ✵　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 

You’re not sure if you’ve been swaying in your kitchen with Bucky to Marvin Gaye for 2 minutes or 2 hours. You’re comfortably settled into him, as if the space in his arms was made especially for you. Maybe it was.

Bucky’s voice breaks through the solitude.

“You know, I’ve created my own list,” he murmurs against the top of your hair, where he’s resting his head.

You pull back, still in his arms, to look at him carefully.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Read it, and tell me what you think.”

He untangles himself from you and crosses the room, to retrieve his leather-bound notebook. He returns, and places it carefully in your awaiting hands.

You flick open the cover to reveal the first page. You recognise his handwriting instantly. It’s spiralling, and imperfect, but so Bucky. At the top of the page, you spot the title – your name, with a love heart next to it. Exactly the same as you’d done for him when you’d originally created your list together.

Underneath your name, only one thing is written.

I love you.

You look up at him, to see him watching you, holding his breath. Neither of you know what to say. You know what you want to say. You want to tell him that you hope the list never ends, so you always have an excuse to spend time with him. You want to tell him that you watched him walk past the door of the Bakery every day for 3 months because you thought he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. You want to tell him that every time he looks at you, you feel as if you’re going to pass out. You want to tell him that you can recognise him anywhere, by touch or smell alone. Instead, you say,

“You do?”

That genuine, million dollar smile is back, etched on his face. He’s glowing, light radiating from his bones.

“Yes. I do. I think I’ve loved you ever since I saw you waiting for me on the doorstep of the Bakery that day.”

You think you might be floating. Levitating above ground, fuelled by love. You laugh.

“That’s the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

He laughs with you, then. You could get drunk off the sound.

“I didn’t think love at first sight was a real thing. I thought I was going crazy,” he confesses.

He’s convinced that the two of you have discovered something, invented it even. Because he doesn’t understand. If love feels like this, so all encompassing, so consuming – how does anyone live? Every moment of every day, Bucky thinks of you. How does anyone go to work? How does anyone ever feel sad, or angry, when love like this exists?

You drop the notebook and cross the room to him. He closes the gap, and throws his arms around you, spinning you in circles, laughing with joy. He sets you back on your feet, and tilts your chin up, so you’re looking into his steel blue eyes. You could drown in the ocean of his irises if he let you.

He leans down, and presses his lips to yours. He’s giving you all of the love, the joy, the laughter – everything good that he has ever felt, because of you – through his kiss. Your knees go weak, and he holds you up by your waist, his strong arms encircling your frame. He tastes like coffee, and sugar, and promises. You’ll never want to taste anything else.

Eventually, you break away for air. You gaze up at him, and he sees sunshine in your eyes. He’s not sure what he did to earn a love like this. You seem to sense his doubts creeping in, because you say, in the most assured voice he’s ever heard –

“No one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you.”

I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.

[ruriread]

double vision in a rose blush -s.r.

a/n: first fic in like a year and my first spencer fic! please let me know what you think!

summary: she is the best part of his days, his life, these days, really. the only problem is she never touches him. s/o to @bitesizedgremlin for writing the most adorable touch starved spence fic that got me 🥰

wc: 1.6k

He loves looking at her. 

It feels hedonistic, like drinking a too-expensive wine. Looking at her brings a warmth that spreads all throughout him, like threaded gold embedded in her movements. It’s a lovely kind of ache, how she can bring the most open, the most raw parts of him to the surface. She is captivating, the way she laughs, the way she moves, the slightest intonation of affection she offers him in her tone. 

Tonight, she sits across from him at the team’s favorite bar. She’s wearing a deep emerald green top, the kind of thing that makes her look like something out of a dream. 

It’s not like it shows how much he likes her. He hopes it doesn’t. 

Sure, people tease them. She’s a consultant with their teams, one with a desk right next to his one. He initially thought he’d hate the company, but even on their first meeting, she was relentlessly kind. She had sat next to him, wearing a beautiful periwinkle sweater, and somehow he was talking for far too long about how the original blue pigments were sometimes made from toxic materials and how much modern effort it took to make a sweater that color.

He’d felt a familiar humiliation, the knowledge that a beautiful woman had sat down next to him and offered him kindness, and he’d met her with his own personal brand of anti-charisma.

But she hadn’t interrupted him. In fact, she granted him maybe the most welcoming, kind smile that he’s ever seen in his life.

And she’d asked more about the pigment. 

Spencer- he’d never known the kind of affection she offers so freely. It almost reminds him of Penelope- how open she is, how kind. Objectively, he knows she likes him at least a little bit. He’s a profiler, and he can tell at least that much. 

The hitch is, he’s the only one she doesn’t touch. 

Morgan gets shoulder brushes. Penelope hugs, and he even remembers her once giving Rossi a warm squeeze of her hand. But not him. Even now, she sits across from him after having held Morgan in a long hug of greeting. 

He looks up at her, her pretty fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. She moves with such grace, no matter what the action. The way she tops her head back, how a lovely grin spreads across her face. He’d give anything not to be her exception. To be one of the people she touches. 

“What you thinking there, wonder kid?” She says, and somehow her voice carries across the crowded bar. He thinks he could pick her voice out anywhere.

“Nothing really,” he says back. He never likes the way his voice sounds around her. He wants to be confident, smooth, like Morgan. She leaves him too weak for it. “How are you feeling?”

“I am wondrous, Spencer.” She’s leaning into his space. Her tone is just a little shaky, influenced by the alcohol. He’s near enough to smell the lily-scented perfume she wears, and it’s everything in him not to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He’d gotten it for her for Christmas. 

He remembers her reaction to it, unwrapping the bow and wrapping he’d sent an hour trying to make perfect. It was one of the few times she touched him, however brief- a squeeze of his hand and that earnestly grateful look- the image kept him warm all year. She’d worn it to work more often than not. It brought him a shameful sense of satisfaction. 

She carries me with her. She has a piece of me with her wherever she goes. 

I want to be touched by you, he thinks, I want to be the one doing the touching. What is it about him? He knows his limbs are a little spindle-y, and he’s not exactly experienced in most forms of physical expression. But he could be, if he was given the chance. If it was with her. It’s not something he could say, though.

“You look lovely,” he says, unprompted. “I love that shirt on you.”

She flushes, and almost, almost, touches his knee in thanks. He preens at the praise, even though it’s not verbal. She’s just so beautiful. It’s always been about more than beauty for him, the mind behind the doe eyes and sweet smile. 

Still, it’s hard to deny how much of an effect she has on him- how she can glance at him with that honey sweet look, how the red on her lips has him wondering what it would taste like. If there could ever be anything better. Without thinking, he grabs one of her hands; it looks just so pretty in his own. He runs his thumb over her knuckles. It’s like electricity, passing through them. 

There has to be something he’s done. There has to be, if she touches everyone but him. He always notices, but tonight, with liquor and courage in his chest, he wants to ask. If he knows, if there’s something- maybe he can fix it. Maybe then she’ll put her pretty hands on him just like this. Touch him in any way she wants.

It wouldn’t be close to what he wants. But it would be something. 

“Hey,” his voice comes out uneven and shaky, but his eyes are locked on hers, “I-I’m sorry if I’ve done something.”

Her face blooms into an adorably confused expression. 

“I-,” His stutter jumps out but he’s still holding her hand, and it’s so soft and his stomach just won’t stop that flipping feeling and he just cannot let go, “I know you like to touch people. I don’t know if I-I’ve done something, but you- you never touch me.”

Suddenly, the bar feels a good bit quieter, and her eyes feel like they can see right through him. Her hands are the only thing tethering him here. 

“I don’t touch you?”

“Touch is actually one of the most well-regarded indicators of closeness and geniality in personal relationship.” 

“Spencer-“

“It stands to reason that if you touch everyone but me, there should be a reason and it’s like something that I would have done to offend you.”

“Hey-“

“I just want you to like me.”

Her face, the most beautiful face he’d ever seen- softens into a delicate expression of fondness. 

“Spence,” and god, doesn’t that sound lovely, “I thought you didn’t like touching.”

He pouts without thinking, and all thoughts leave his mind when her other hand reaches out to hold his face, her fingers on the junction of his chin and neck, stroking the side of his cheek.

The truth of it is he thinks of her hands on him in every way. Pictures hands laced together, her graceful fingers running through his hair as they lay on his couch. 

He’s imagined kissing her way too many times.

“Not with you. You’re different.”

He’s too honest. But it’s overwhelming. Her hand in his, the other brushing delicately over his face. He leans into it, a little too eager, but the sensation of it is just too much not to. 

“Remember the second day of me being with the team? You told Garcia she’s the only one allowed to touch you?”

“I think so?”

“Well, I like to repeat your boundaries.”

“I like you to touch me.”

She tips her head back, laughing, and she looks ethereal, the kind of smile gracing her face that’d have you believe everything you’ve every worried about in your god-forsaken life was worth it to witness this. 

“I’d like to touch you too, Reid.”

“You can call me Spencer,” he says, realizing how close they are. Lilies. He’s overplaying his hand. He’s a friend at work, he wants to remind himself. He’s the guy who bought her perfume and hands her files and gets her coffee and that does not mean the same thing as a partner. He’s not even the kind of person someone like her would want.

It’s just hard to remember that. 

“Spencer,” she says, more tender than anyone else had ever been with him., “I could be reading this wrong, but-“

It’s actually a small distance, kissing her. If she’d been more than a few inches from his face then he wouldn’t have done it. But she was so close, and she smiles into him, open and warm and his arms are around her waist, hers cradling his face, and it’s more touch than he knows what to do with, far less than anything he’d be willing to give up. 

It lasts a languid second and then ends too soon, her gorgeous eyes meeting his own, her basically in his lap. He knows that this is basically a bar-kiss between two coworkers, and that it is unlikely to be anything but that, but he kind of needs it to not be. Needs it to be more. 

“I don’t-I don’t know if you wanted to do that or if you want me to stop, but I really, really like you, and I know we work together and you might not like me back, I mean, probably not, right? But-“

“Spencer.” Her soft fingers are still brushing against his face, and he can’t help but be grateful for it. “I’m free tomorrow night.”

He’s not usually good at deciphering social cues that don’t relate to serial killers, but this one- it seems intentional. Her hands move from his cheek (and he winces, visibly) before wrapping both arms around his neck. It’s awfully romantic to be anything else. 

“Do you want to be my plans?” 

“Yes.”

[ruriread]

stop this madness I need to be studying...shit's too good though

North Star.

It's New Years Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

Multi colored lights adorn the beams of the ceiling. Metallic streamers hang from the bar. Music is blasting from the jukebox. The Hard Deck almost looks unrecognisable. 

It's New Years Eve, and The Squad have agreed to spend it together. Hangman, Coyote and Payback are at the dart board, allowing Jake to show off his talent. Bob, Rooster and Fanboy are convened by the pool table, taking turns to shoot, unbothered by who's meant to be sinking what. You and Natasha are standing by the bar, waiting for Penny to serve you when she gets the chance. 

"So, come on, who are you kissing at midnight?" Natasha looks at you with a glint in her eye. Mischievous girl. 

"Yeah. Right. You, if you're not careful," you warn her, teasing lilt in your voice. Honestly, you don't think she'd be the worst choice in the world. 

"As much as I'd love that, I don't think the squad could handle it," she winks at you cheekily. "Seriously, who?" 

"I don't know!" you laugh. But that's a lie. You do know. At least, you know who you'd like to kiss. 

Jake Seresin. Hangman. America's Sweetheart. 

Pilot, Texan, Heartbreaker. 

Your friend, your teammate, the man you've been in love with since you met him that first day of basic training. 

The two of you were partnered for the first few exercises that day, and you beat every other pair by a mile. You both figured out pretty quickly that you make a damn good team. 

That hasn't changed. If ever you have to pair up for an exercise, a mission, or just a class, Jake's eyes find yours immediately. A silent question. Shall we? And your answer, always - of course. 

You seem to have your own language, this shared communication. You don't have to speak to know what the other person is saying. On the ground, or in the air, you know each other's next moves. Predictable, but comfortable. 

Maybe that's the problem. 

You believe strongly that women are more than capable of making the first move. You've thought about grabbing Jake and kissing him stupid more times than you can count. But you don't. Every time there's an opportunity, you brush past it, let it go. Because the comfort isn't worth sacrificing. At least, that's what you're telling yourself. 

Your friendship with Jake has been built on years of trust, empathy, and reliance. You know that no matter what, he'll have your back. He's demonstrated it more than once. Countless times. Showing up for you, without fail. When you were harassed by a man at the Hard Deck, Jake showed up. When you had a family member's funeral and didn't want to go alone, Jake showed up. When you broke your wrist and ended up in the hospital, Jake showed up. He was your North Star. Always there, always guiding. Always comforting. 

So you can't help but repeatedly ask yourself - why hasn't he made a move? You're convinced you know the answer to that question, though. Because you're friends. He sees you as a friend. A teammate. Which you wouldn't change for the world, not by any means. But it doesn't stop you from wishing that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't hold his cards so close to his chest. Just for a minute. 

The Devil Himself sidles over to the two of you, still at the bar, and throws an arm over each of you. Natasha manages to wiggle under and away from him, but you stay put. You don't mind. 

"Hey pretty ladies," he beams, "whatcha whispering about?" 

"It's kind of impossible to whisper when you keep queueing Duran Duran on the jukebox at full volume, Hangman," Natasha barks back. 

He laughs, a real, full bodied laugh that shakes both him and you, still with his arm slung over your shoulder. You laugh with him. It's impossible not to. His laugh is contagious, you think. Unavoidable. He laughs, you laugh. That's the way it's always been. 

It's at this moment that Bob pushes his way through the crowd, grabbing Natasha by the hand. 

"Phoenix, I need you. Fanboy doesn't believe you can do that pool trick you showed me last week. Come and prove him wrong!" 

She grins at you, and allows herself to be pulled into the swarms of people, on her way to earn some respect. 

You turn back to Jake at the bar, and see that he's ordered a beer, and your usual. Observant boy. 

You take a sip of your drink, only for a drop to miss your mouth entirely. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just his impatience, but Jake decides he's tired of waiting. He leans in to you, and slowly, deliberately, follows the journey of the drop with his tongue, from the bottom of your neck up to your jaw. He pulls back, and watches you with that gaze of his. Measured, careful. Adoring. Mischievous. Just so Jake. 

You feel the heat rise from your chest and up to your cheeks, but you don't break eye contact with him. It feels like a confession. You're baring your truth to him, silently, and he's understanding. That shared language. You're both saying so much, without saying anything at all. 

It's then that you realise where you are. The Hard Deck has somehow become even more crowded, and you keep being bumped left and right by people attempting to get to the bar. The music is too loud, the lights are too bright. You need a minute. As if he can read your mind, Jake speaks. 

"Let's get some air. It's hot in here." 

He grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers with his, and leads you out of the door, onto the deck outside. 

The cool night air hits you both, and you sigh with relief. You allow the breeze to flow through your hair, to ripple your dress, to cleanse you of your worry.

Jake's still holding your hand. Tighter, now. As if he's scared you'll blow away. Or run away, maybe. 

You lean into him slightly, and rest your head against his arm. He's warm, soft. He smells like Jake. Like love. Like home. 

"You okay?" he asks. Always so worried about you. Attentive boy. 

"I'm good. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess."

He starts to rub circles over the back of your hand with his thumb, grounding you. It's all so intimate, you don't know whether to pull him closer or sprint in the other direction. 

He makes the decision for you - closer. He kisses your hair, and then rests his head atop of yours. You can hear the squad laughing and cheering inside, all of them completely unaware that out on the deck, two of their teammates are baring their souls to each other. 

You have no idea whether it's been two minutes or two hours when Jake speaks again. 

"You're the prettiest girl in that bar, you know." Then, he says, a bit quieter, "You're always the prettiest girl in the room."

He says it so sincerely, so earnestly, that you want to rip your heart out of your chest and place it in his hands. You want to give it to him so that maybe he'll finally understand - it's already his. 

You don't know what to say, so you bring your interlaced hands up to your lips, and kiss each of his knuckles individually. He's so warm, so golden. Radiating light wherever he goes. Your North Star. 

You both listen to the gentle crash of the ocean waves, sitting with the weight of the moment. It feels like with every second that passes, silent revelations are being made. As if the love, the feelings, the comfort, are passing through your hands and into his. You're quite convinced that you could stay right where you are forever. 

Bury me like this, you think. Immortalise us here. 

All of a sudden, the sound of a countdown breaks through your solitude. 

Ten. Nine.

You smile gently, and look at Jake, to see him gazing down at you. Stars in his eyes. Cosmic boy. 

Eight. Seven. 

He glances inside, to see the squad all gathered together, arms around one another. His family. 

Six. Five. 

Jake turns to you, and cups your face in both of his hands. Those hands that have picked you up from the ground. Those hands that have wiped your tears. Those hands, so strong, but so gentle. That's him all over, though. Your gentle boy. 

Four. Three. 

He looks at you with promise in his eyes. You can understand, clear as day, what he's telling you. Life will never be the same, from this day forward. Neither of you can wait. 

Two. One. 

Jake leans in, and presses his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint, and the future. One of his hands travels to the back of your neck, to pull you in closer. Now that he has you this near, he knows he's never going to be able to let you go. 

Bodies pressed together as close as can be, you kiss him with so much love, you're surprised he hasn't fallen over. He's breathing you in, trying to commit this moment to memory. He knows he'll tell your grandkids about this. Hell, he'll tell any damn person that'll listen. 

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips. 

"Happy New Year, lover," you whisper back against his. 

Bright beams of light appear above your head suddenly. Explosions of color dance across the sky, illuminating Jake's face. You look at him, and feel the urge to burst into tears. He's not watching the fireworks. He's watching you. He's gazing at you like you hung the moon. You're looking at him like he's the North Star, guiding you home. And that's exactly where you are. Home.

☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆

Authors Note - Thank you so much for all the love on The Orange - I've been giggling and kicking my feet reading all of your comments and tags. I loved writing it, and I loved writing this one too. Please feel free to send me any requests, ideas, prompts, comments or questions - I'll always read them. If I could kiss you all, I would x

[ruriread]

Cyclone x Mavsdaughter 4

Masterpage

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Your head snapped to the side as you heard your daughter’s voice. You watched as Penny called for her to stay on the deck. But Emery was a daddy’s girl at heart, and no one ever could stop her from getting to Beau. Your body tensed as Beau crouched down to scoop her into his arms. You could feel the shock in the group around you. Could hear the whispers of “Daddy?” And “What the fuck”. That last one came from Rooster you knew. Emerys voice cut threw the panic though “Mommy! Look Daddys here!” 

Beau looked at you and even with his sunglasses on you knew he was looking at you with sympathy. He knew this isn’t how you wanted anything to come out, but life was pretty cruel. “The better question is why you’re here little lady.. Why aren’t you at school?” Beau asked as you got closer to him, having broken away from the group. You answered and told him it was canceled, trying to ignore the glare Maverick was giving you as you stepped next to your little family. 

Keep reading

[ruriread]

Project Christmas Match Up

Summary: Penelope insists on setting up Spencer and Derek's latest home improvement client for the holidays. Afterall, she's convinced they are soulmates.

Word Count: 2.5K

CW: Alcohol use & making out ( fem reader)

Note: here’s the second fic! hope you enjoy let me know what you think in my inbox. Ahh I'm so excited for this one! Thanks to Grecy for reading early and telling that it was not awful :) Also this self-insert is very self-centered with the librarian reader and the cats named after literary figures and the peach perfume so I apologize for that...

Project Christmas Match Up

“Honestly, Derek, you need to add some kind of decorations for her. Maybe a Christmas tree or offer to hang up Christmas lights. This is my favorite client of yours and I rather not lose her,” Penelope said. She held a glass of white wine in one had and gestured wildly with the other hand.

Derek sighed. He had his feet resting on the coffee table as Penelope talked eagerly. She was dressed in Christmas pajamas and went the extra mile of convincing him to match her as well. Spencer, when he walked in, smirked knowingly when he clocked their matching outfits.

“Pen, I’m not going to hound the client. She bought the house and was gracious enough to invite us over for dinner there. I love you, my love, but that doesn’t mean we have to be friends with every client that I get.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, throwing Spencer a look akin to a life raft. “He’ll agree with me,” she said, pointing at Spencer. He held his glass of brandy in his right hand and a jar of trail mix in the other. “He always agrees with me.”

“I do,” Spencer said sheepishly, dodging the popcorn that Derek threw at him playfully, “Hey! I mean, it’s Penny, Derek. Besides, who’s this client that she wants you to bring a Christmas tree to?”

“Oh, Spencer,” Penelope said with a twinkle in her eye, “She’s absolutely perfect. She’s a librarian. Bought the house specifically because there’s this little porch to the side that’s almost all windows. She said it’s perfect for reading all day on the weekends. Oh! And she has cats. They are the absolute cutest things in the world.”

“As you can see,” Derek said, “My wife has a crush on my client.” He said with a chuckle that turned into an exaggerated groan when Penelope elbowed him in his side.

“She sounds great.” Spencer said, “Uh, what library does she work at?” He asked, tossing a couple pieces of trail mix into his mouth.

“The Westfield Public Library,” Penelope said, “You know the one that you bring Henry to all the time for storytime and those STEM workshops.” She smirked as Derek rolled his eyes.

“You’re so smooth,” Derek joked, giving Penelope a side glance. “Penelope seems to think that you and Y/N would be, in her words, ‘totally perfect, totally soulmates, so in love that it makes everyone look like they hate each other.’ She’s rather confident in her abilities,” Derek finished. Penelope slipped into his side comfortably as she sipped on her wine.

“Y/N?” Spencer bit his lip nervously. “She’s the children’s librarian who runs storytime and…”

“STEM workshops?” Penelope finished, a gleam in her eye revealing she was hiding more than she knew, “Come on, Spence. She’s perfect for you. She named her freaking cats after literary characters. Her book collections, if her being totally adorable and pretty and smart and kind isn’t enough for you to love her then that’s totally going to make you crumble.”

“So she’s talked about me?” Spencer said, a blush peppering his cheeks. If Penelope or Derek called it out, he would have to blame the brandy. Because the alternative would be too much to bear. “Like just randomly, out of the blue?”

“So you do like her,” Penelope giggled, “See, Der. I told you they’d be perfect. I mean, tell him how she gushed about him the other day when the inspector came over. She made him mini freaking tarts, Spence. You have a sweet tooth! See that’s another reason why you two are just perfect for each other. Tell him, baby.” Penelope prodded as Derek held his hands up in protest.

Derek stood up much to Penelope’s annoyance and Spencer’s alarm. “I’ve decided to stay out of my wife’s matchmaking. But I will say that Spencer’s ears are turning red, which means he’s got a crush.”

Spencer’s face morphed into shock and embarrassment. His cheeks tinged further red and any attempt at hiding his feelings about Y/N proved to be futile. Spencer sipped his brandy, desperately hoping he would be able to cling to some level of calmness as his friends discussed his love life at length.

“She’s nice, I suppose. I mean she’s really good with the kids at storytime. And she knits sweaters for Virginia Woolf and Emily Dickinson.” Spencer continued, turning his head to the side as Derek and Penelope casted him looks of confusion. “She, uh, smells nice too. Like peaches and mango.”

“Those are her cats. The cats that are named after literary figures.”

Penelope slapped Derek playfully on his well-defined arm, “He knows the names of her cats. They’ve talked about knitting cat sweaters. He thinks about her being good with kids. He thinks she smells nice. Like freaking peaches. Peaches, Der! Come on, Derek. It’s all I want for Christmas. My metaphorical baby brother deserves the best person in the world. And that’s Y/N.”

“We both know that’s not the only present you want, angel face.” Derek told Penelope. “Dude,” Derek said, turning to Penelope“I get you’re scared or whatever that you’re not enough for her. Or anyone,” he continued, “But she’ll be the lucky one if you ask me.”

Spencer’s lips turned upward in a hesitant smile. “I’m going to have to disagree with that one.” He drank the rest of his brandy, “And I’m going to need another one of these before I fully agree with Penelope’s scheming.”

Penelope told him what to wear. 

Spencer reluctantly agreed, knowing his friend well enough to understand that it wasn’t worth the wrath of Penelope Garcia. He tugged at his tie, a chocolatey brown argyle pattern with maroon accents. She instructed him to wear a light pink button down shirt and brown corduroy pants with it because it brought out his eyes. 

The winter chill seemed to go right through him. So even though Penelope didn’t tell him with a sweater or cardigan to wear it with, Spencer decided to pull out his coziest one. It was dark brown and complimented his pants, shirt, and tie without being too matchy. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time when he paid so much attention to his appearance. He hardly got hit on when did frequent bars, especially if he tagged along with Derek. For a majority of his life, Spencer found himself indifferent to his appearance. But as he stood on Y/N’s porch stoop, he couldn’t think about anything but how his hair looked or if teeth were too crooked or if his tie looked like something an old widower would wear to bingo in the church basement. 

Luckily, the door opened, letting out the warmth and light from the house, before Spencer’s mind could spiral down more. 

“There you are,” Y/N said, “I was beginning to think that I got stood up completely.” She said with a smile. Y/N wiped her hands on the cloth napkin she held as she ushered Spencer inside. 

“Hi, Y/N.” Spencer smiled. “Here’s something for you. It’s small, but I saw it at Goode’s Used Books and thought about you.” 

“You thought about me, Dr. Reid,” Y/N whispered, taking the carefully wrapped package in her hands, “I have to say that’s quite the compliment coming from you. And your wrapping skills. I just might want to keep you around forever.” 

Spencer’s heart just about stopped. He felt it leap out of his chest and land directly into Y/N’s hands. He let her hold it, praying to whatever deity of love and passion that she’d hold it like a treasure. 

“Uh, wrapping presents is just basic math. It’s geometry.” Spencer explained. He held his coat over one arm as he watched Y/N open the present. She carefully ripped away the Christmas tree wrapping paper to reveal the gift. 

“Is this…Virigina Woolf’s illustrated biography?” She asked, “You didn’t, oh. Spencer.” 

Pridefully, Spencer smiled as he took in Y/N’s ridiculously happy expression. He nearly died of happiness himself as she tore open the book, flipping through page and page of colorful illustrations and carefully written text. 

Spencer felt Y/N’s arms wrap around his torso and the flatness of the book shoved into his chest as Y/N hugged him tightly. Unsure how to even breathe with her that close, Spencer decided that the best course of action would be to hug her back. He followed her, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s body and breathing her peachy, mango perfume. Spencer smelled it in her hair, he felt her heart beating as fast, if not faster than his. And for the first time in his life he felt light. 

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever gotten me,” Y/N said, pulling back from the embrace, “You’re going to make me cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, unsure what he was apologizing for exactly, “From now on I know presents make you cry.” He teased with a smirk. He wasn’t sure where the confidence came from, but was eager to see where it led. 

“Spence,” Y/N groaned, resting her forehead against his chest, seemingly not wanting to stop touching him, “Let me get you a drink so we can move from the foyer.” 

Spencer nodded, following Y/N into the kitchen. It was painted a warm yellow with daisies on the backsplash. He had yet to see the rest of the house, but already knew that it would perfectly fit Y/N. Spencer watched as Y/N poured him a glass of red wine. 

“Derek and Penelope on their way?” Spencer asked, hoping to keep the conversation going, “Penelope was pretty eager about your famous roast chicken and raspberry tarts all week at work.” 

Y/N gave Spencer a quizzical look, “Penelope called me three days ago and canceled. She said that Hank had the flu,” 

“Well Derek texted me a half hour ago that he was bringing a game for all of us to play. He said he was bringing something to pop culture so it's fair for everyone, besides me of course.” Spencer explained. 

Y/N handed Spencer his glass of wine, “Do you realize what happened,” Y/N said, “They set us up on a sort of blind date.” 

Spencer felt heat rush to his cheeks. He was unable to cast blame on the untouched alcohol in his glass. A sudden rush of embarrassment flooded Spencer as he realized exactly what Derek and Penelope bailing meant: he would be alone with the girl that he’s been pining after for a year and a half with enough wine to make him say things he kept buried deep inside. 

“Ah,” Spencer said, unsure what to say. He’s usually clueless in social situations that he’s familiar with, but he could confidently say that he’d never found himself getting hoodwinked into a blind date yet. “Well, we can just make the best of it, I suppose.” 

“Yes, I mean,” Y/N said, clearly attempting to not sound too eager, “A date with you sounds wonderful. I mean, if I had to get set up on a blind date or any date for that matter, I’d want it to be you.” 

“Really?” Spencer said, shocked. He sipped his wine and licked his lips tasting the leftover booze. “You mean that, Y/N?” His voice sounded deeper, more confident than the one he recognized as his own. 

“Of course I do.” She said, leaning in close to Spencer and placing her hand on his chest. “If you haven't realized yet, you’re pretty great and I’m kind of crazy about you.” She whispered, the mixture of sweet liquor and peaches clouding Spencer’s mind. He brought his hands to her waist, rubbing soft circles against her clothed hip. 

“I had a bet.” Spencer whispered back, setting the wine glass on the counter. “With myself, wondering how far I’d make it into this night before I needed to touch you, to kiss you, to feel your body against mine.” 

“And how far did you guess? Dessert? Coffee? Did you think about whisking me away from Penelope and Derek? Kissing me secretly, even though they knew exactly what was happening.” 

“In the car I finally decided on after dinner. Maybe the wine would help my confidence, but to tell the truth, Y/N it was when you opened the door.” 

“For me it was when I watched you walk up to the porch. You look really handsome in that jacket and cardigan.” Y/N confessed. 

The light flashed before Spencer’s eyes, and Y/N’s kiss on the top of his cheek burned a hole that instantly left him craving more. He’d let her draw any pattern she desired, as long as her kisses are the medium and he is her canvas. 

Spencer cupped her face, fingers craving the feel of her skin. He met her for a kiss and together they created something daringly beautiful and carefully passionate. Y/N kissed him back with the fervor and intensity that bubbled between them at least a year. Spencer grabbed Y/N’s wool sweater and slipped his hands underneath it as he pushed her against the counter. He smirked as he felt her mouth morph into a moan at the feeling of his coarse fingertips against her warm skin. 

Together, the pair of them formed a delicate bubble. It was fragile that Spencer knew any sudden movement would pop it. But it had the potential to build up into something strong, something beautiful, something made to last. 

“Spence,” Y/N says, her voice heady with desire and lips well bitten and colored from his kisses. “The oven…I want to do that again. I want to do that a lot, but the tart. I can’t let it burn.” She explained. 

Spencer chuckled, quickly kissing Y/N on her forehead as she slipped from his warm embrace to take the dessert out of the oven. Awkwardly, Spencer attempted to adjust his pants, hiding just how much the kiss affected him. 

“Hope you have a good appetite,” Y/N said, placing the tart on the oven to cool next to the roast chicken. “There’s enough food here for like five people. And it’s just us.” 

“And Virigina Woolf and Emily Dickinson.” Spencer mentioned, smiling as Y/N rolled her eyes teasingly, “You were too occupied with jumping my bones to introduce me to your cats, Y/N.” He teased her. 

“Spencer!” Y/N said, sounding aghast. She threw the kitchen towel at him laughing as he failed to catch it. “Well, you should meet them now, you know while we’re not occupied by the other things” She said, the flirtatious smirk on her well kissed lips making Spencer blush at the plethora of possibilities at hand.

taglist

@reidsbookclub @reidslovely @coldbrewat3am @fightingdragonswithwho @hotchandspencearedilfs @sadgirlml @goldentournesol @spencerslibrary @foxy-eva @paperbackprettyboy @reidselle @alexxavicry @justlivinginadaydream @reidsmilf @givemeth @reidslibrarybook @mrs-dr-reid @spencerreidsmommy @spencer-reid-wonderland @radiant-reid

[ruriread]

me

blorbo rating system

[ruriread]

all day every day

King of My Heart

title: king of my heart

rating: 16+

characters: robert ‘bob’ floyd x pilot!reader (callsign ‘siren’)

words: 5.8k

themes: friends to lovers, idiot in love, fluff, mutual pinning

warnings: alcohol, cursing, minor injury detail (bruises, cuts), plane ejection, use of petnames (sweetheart), mentions of illness and parental death, mentions of needles, making out, mentions of anxiety

summary: "and all at once, you are all I want, i’ll never let you go“

An accident during training and a little liquid courage has Bob finally making his move

tags: @sebsxphia​ 

a/n: part of the fly me to the moon universe. 

Falling in love with Robert Floyd was like standing in the eye of a hurricane, the world around you being torn apart at the seams and yet there is calm, serenity in the way he holds your hand when he’s nervous, in the way his eyes never leave yours when your talking, in the way he always makes sure to smile at you when you enter the room as a small way to say ‘hey, i’m here’ because he knows that despite your outgoing personality you can get overwhelmed in social situations and he wants to remind you that he’s a safe space where you can just sit in enjoy each other presence without committing to a conversation, in the way that he can read your body language and knows you better than yourself. 

Realising you were in love Robert Floyd was like walking through a soft spring rain, you don’t realise how intense it is until you’re soaked through to the core, until the feeling is so all consuming you can barely breath and you feel it seeping through your bones, setting every nerve on fire until it settles deep in your heart and you suddenly know that is love. 

Keep reading

[ruriread]

that end scene added millenia to my lifespan gotta represent we gay africans exist babes and honestly I'm just happy to see any of the Dora happy🤷🏾‍♀️ it's obviously a great honor to be a part of the great Dora Milaje but I don't think anyone in the military is having a great time...gay rights tho🤞🏾🏳️‍🌈

[ruriread]

my first girlfriend did something similar...if you see this Paris take me back I miss us

Kinktober 2022 - #8

Kinks: Body Worship, Mirror Sex, Nipple Play

Words: 967

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!Reader

Not gonna lie, I blushed when I wrote this and I kind of love it? Kinktober has been a little rough for me so far but this one- I like this one, you guys

I also couldn’t decide on a gif so it might change later

Kinktober Masterlist

“You look gorgeous.”

You bat your lashes at Benedict in the mirror, still perched on the chaise as he continues drawing.

“You keep saying that but if your gestures do not match up how shall I know you are being truthful, Bridgerton?”

You look over your shoulder towards him this time and he smiles, his eyes never leaving you as he puts down his graphite.

“Is there something you want to say, my love? Something you require to believe me?”

You roll your lip between your teeth and turn back towards the mirror.

There’s that quirk of his eyebrow and he sets down his sketchbook again. You sigh and tug the thin sheet covering you a bit higher again to cover your shoulder.

“I am growing quite cold, I admit.”

He sets the book down and you hold your breath in anticipation when he slowly makes his way over to you.

“My apologies, love.”

He lets his hands trace over your shoulders and you sigh. He takes a seat on the chaise and you instinctively lean back towards him, bathing in his warmth as he caresses your skin.

Keep reading

[ruriread]

Easy

Summary: An impromptu night out at a local speakeasy results in you waking up next to your crush.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: 18+ only, alcohol, shy!reader, drunk shenanigans, dancing, lots of fluff, flirting and cuddles, swearing, very minor angst, modern au.

Word Count: 4.2k

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

“C’mon, you have to come out with us tonight! It’ll be so fun,” Sharon exclaimed. 

Steve walked into your living room. “Yeah, come with us, it’s been forever since we all went out together.”

“Ahh, I wish I could. There’s a new episode of my favorite murder podcast that dropped and I need to catch up. Busy night,” you insisted. 

You couldn’t help but feel like a third wheel whenever you went out with the couple. While you loved spending time with them, getting drunk and being in their company usually led to you feeling quite lonely. You weren’t usually a sad drunk, but lately whenever you drank you couldn’t help but long for something similar to what they had. Pairing alcohol with a sappy couple to watch felt like a recipe for a minor breakdown, and you weren’t up for that. 

“What if I said I got the password for that newly renovated speakeasy we’ve been wanting to check out?” Steve quirked an eyebrow. 

Your ears perked up, you had all been wanting to check out that elusive bar since it reopened. Taking a moment to contemplate, you considered sucking it up and going just for the cool venue. But unfortunately it wasn’t enough to change the way you were feeling, so you shook your head. “Maybe another time.”

Steve nodded, “That’s too bad, Bucky’s coming out with us tonight and I thought it’d be nice for the four of us to spend some time together.”

Your wide eyes flickered to Sharon, a subtle smirk on her lips. You cleared your throat and looked down, not wanting Steve to know you had a crush on his roommate. “He’s um, gonna be there?”

“Yeah, he texted me confirming it a little while ago.”

Sharon chimed in, “It’ll be fun, promise. And if you’re not feeling it, we can go home or stop at a diner before calling it a night.” 

“Well I guess that’s true… okay yes, I’ll go.”

The prospect of spending some time with Bucky would have gotten you to tag along just about anywhere. And while you didn’t know him very well, boy did you want to. 

Sharon noticed the way you were eyeing him after you met him for the first time a few weeks back, and ever since she’s tried to convince you to make a move or stop by their apartment with her. You’d only seen him a few times in passing, but he had made an impact. Enough for your brain to fantasize and wish to know more. 

Nevertheless, you were scared, afraid of the potential rejection and subsequent embarrassment that could come if you put yourself out there. 

Meeting up as a group at a dusky bar was a good alternative. 

┈┈┈┈┈・・

The ride over was faster than expected, stepping out of the subway, you trailed behind the happy couple as they walked hand in hand to the nightclub across the street. You missed the dark-haired man lingering near the entrance until Steve greeted him.

“Hey Buck, you didn’t wait long did you?” Steve asked.

“No, I just walked over a minute ago. Nice to see you ladies,” he gave you and Sharon a broad, radiant smile. His gaze lingered on yours for a second before returning to his best friends. “Shall we?”

Steve nodded and the four of you headed inside. Bucky let Steve and Sharon walk in first, then trailed closely behind you – you suppressed a smile when you felt his hand ghost along your lower back, gently navigating you through the throngs of patrons. 

The front end of the bar was busy, with loud music blasting as people lined the bar, others sitting in the booths on the opposite side of the room. A little ways in was a dance floor, with lasers beaming over the people gleefully dancing. 

The dance floor was packed, so Steve looked to you and Bucky, gesturing towards the black door at the very back of the club. Your final destination was through that door. You nodded and he went on to lead Sharon through the crowd. 

Before you could feel yourself get overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people you’d have to amble through, you felt Bucky’s hand leave your lower back to grab yours firmly. With your hand securely in his, he guided you through the swaying people with ease, ensuring your path was clear, until all too quickly you were in front of the door. You felt a tinge of disappointment when he released your hand, but he had no reason to hold it any longer; it was lovely while it lasted. 

Steve spoke the password through a small retractable window in the door, and then the door opened. The moment you all walked in you felt an entirely different vibe; red smoky dim lighting, a live band playing soft jazz in the corner, vintage boudoir art lining the exposed brick walls, and a couple bartenders in vests and bow ties to complete the aura. It was a stunning blast from the past, and as an added bonus there weren’t nearly as many people inside the speakeasy. 

You settled into a crimson leather booth seated next to Bucky, opposite Steve and Sharon. The ambience was more laid back inside and you felt at ease because of it. 

A waitress in a black flapper costume came over to take your drink orders – the novelty of the place was their specially crafted beverages; mint julep, white linen, gin rickey, the bees knees and numerous more carefully chosen to fit the prohibition era theme. Sharon quickly suggested a round of vodka for the table to start, and you all placed your drink orders to get those going too.  

“It’s good to see you out, Buck,” Sharon said. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while. It’s really nice to see the both of you,” he turned and grinned at you. 

His adorable smile brought a flutter to your chest, and you were grateful that the waitress reemerged with the vodka shots before you had to reply. 

After you all grabbed a shot glass, Steve raised his, and you all followed suit. “Alright, to a great night, with even better company,” he beamed. 

Everyone clinked their glasses together in agreement and then to the wood of the table before throwing their shots back. The clear spirit warmed your chest as it went down, and you knew you were in for an interesting night. 

“I love this bar, Steve. I’m so glad you picked it,” you finally chimed in. 

“Oh it wasn’t me, it was Bucky. He sent me the password.”

Turning to the man beside you, “You’re into this kinda thing?” you asked in disbelief. 

He gave off dive bar or maybe EDM club vibes, you’d never peg him for a jazzy gin joint kind of guy. 

Bucky let out a laugh. “Well, you mentioned it was finishing up with renovations the last time I saw you. It sounded interesting, so I figured why not check it out with you guys.” 

“Hmm,” you nodded with a grin. You were surprised he remembered. 

The waitress returned with your drinks once more, and this time you put in the order for another round of shots. Bucky looked at you amusedly and you shrugged – you were in a beautiful bar with the best company, and you were gonna enjoy it. 

Conversation flowed easily, just as the drinks; the liquor making quick work of easing your shyness. Not long after you were very glad you came out, because you were enjoying yourself immensely. Bucky’s company and attention made you feel comfortable and nowhere near how you felt when you third-wheeled. 

Whenever Steve and Sharon would fall off into their own tangents, you had him to goof around with. You were happy and far from lonesome. 

In no time at all, Steve pulled Sharon away to dance on the little dance floor in front of the band, leaving you alone with Bucky. You smiled to yourself when you saw Steve pull her into him, swinging her around to the beat. Seeing the way Steve cared for her, how well they meshed together, gave you some hope in the matter of love. Good guys did exist, and perhaps they were closer than you thought. 

When you returned your attention to Bucky, he had his elbow on the table, propping up his chin as he gazed at you softly. Heat rose to your cheeks and you mirrored his form, propping up your own face so that you could look at him. This was the first moment you had alone with Bucky, and you were happy about that. 

“Hi,” Bucky whispered shyly, his eyes holding yours. 

You couldn’t fight the smile that graced your lips. “Hi, Buck.” 

His smile broke free when he heard you utter his nickname; your voice softly enchanting him with just two words. “Thanks for coming out tonight, I really wanted you to,” he confessed. 

“You did?” you asked, unconsciously letting out a dreamy sigh. 

Bucky nodded his head before chuckling to himself. “Big time.” He looked at you with a dopey grin on his face, the alcohol or more likely his nerves brought a blush to his cheeks. 

You giggled, bringing your hand up to cover your smile because he was just too damn cute and he was making you feel things; the kind of things that sent butterflies to your belly and a stirring warmth to your chest. He reached out for your hand upon its descent to the table, clasping his large one around yours. His relaxed grip felt casual – as if holding your hand was second nature and normal. 

The hammering in your heart at his touch begged to differ; his hold was new and exciting.

The waitress returned with another round of drinks, and you settled on trying the mint julep this time. Bucky thanked the waitress but kept holding your hand as he reached for his old fashioned. You followed suit, clinking glasses before taking a sip, relishing the close proximity you shared with your crush. 

“Oh my god, Bucky. This is so good! You have to try it!” you exclaimed enthusiastically, sliding him the drink. 

“Really?” He picked it up and took a sip. His eyes widened, a satisfied smile crossing his features. “Wow, that is really good.” 

“Right?” you happily sipped your drink. Your heart finally calmed to a normal rate because of how effortless it felt to be with him. No awkwardness, no self-consciousness, simply the wonderful present moment. 

Steve and Sharon returned to the table excitedly, the song ending and another slowly beginning. You thought about releasing Bucky’s hand, but decided against it; he made no move and you were happy as you were. The couple slid into the booth, gleefully knocking back their new drinks, paying no mind to you and him. 

Bucky squeezed your hand. “Hey, did you wanna dance?”

The new ballad was much slower and more romantic. Biting your lip, you nodded your head. 

With his fingers intertwined with yours, you followed as he led you out of the booth and onto the dance floor. 

You wound your arms around his neck as he splayed his hands across your back, holding you close. Swaying together, you were oblivious to anything but the music and him. His deep blue gaze held yours, and he hoped you couldn’t feel the way his heart was pounding. And when he brought his thumb up to gently stroke your cheekbone, you wished he couldn’t feel your heart speed up just the same. 

“You’re really pretty, Buck,” you blurted out before your mind could process your words. Your eyes widened upon your realization and you quickly tucked your face under his neck to hide your embarrassment. 

Bucky’s chest rumbled under your ear as he chuckled. “Baby, don’t go all shy on me now,” he gently coaxed you to look at him, nudging your chin with his fingers until your eyes were back on his.

Staring at him blankly, you waited for the mean joke that your honest admission would elicit. Instead you felt his warm lips press a kiss to your forehead. “You are the most beautiful girl, and you’re so damn adorable too. You never have to hide from me, okay?” Gracefully he spun you out, letting you twirl, before pulling you back up against his hard body. 

“Okay,” you murmured, entranced by his eyes, heart racing as he pulled you even closer. His chest was pressing against yours, and if you weren’t drunk already you knew you would have been from his proximity alone. 

This was what you wanted. The chance to see if the gorgeous guy you’d only met a handful of times was as nice as he seemed. Surprisingly, he was even kinder. 

Being with him felt natural. The conversations, the playfulness, and the ease you felt in his presence. While you anticipated apprehension, instead all you felt was familiarity despite the limited time you’d known him. It didn’t make sense, but in your inebriated state you weren’t going to question it. 

You were going to embrace it.

The song ended and he wordlessly led you back to the booth, releasing his hand, you slipped into your seat. But as soon as you were both situated back in place, you wrapped your arm around Bucky’s, clinging to him and his comforting warmth. Bucky grinned to himself before softly kissing your temple and settling his hand on your knee. Inhibitions were out the window and neither of you could keep your hands to yourself.  

Steve and Sharon looked at you two amusedly, cheeky smiles spread across their features. 

“Hey guys,” Sharon broke the silence. “Good dance?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, taking a big sip of your drink. Bucky whispered in your ear asking if you wanted the luxardo cherry in his drink, and you giggled before nodding. 

Steve nudged Sharon, wordlessly asking her not to press you two about your sudden affection. The couple watched on as Bucky playfully brought the cocktail skewer with the cherry toward your mouth before you captured it between your teeth. 

“Thank ya, old sport,” you babbled before chewing. 

Bucky let out a laugh, his eyes alight with amusement. “You’re most welcome, doll,” he said, booping your nose. 

You both broke out into a fit of giggles, and the couple before you could not believe their eyes. Sharon was over the moon inside because she knew how you felt about Bucky, and Steve’s hunch about Bucky’s feelings towards you were confirmed quite apparently. 

“Did you guys wanna get another round?” you eventually asked, remembering that you had company. 

Steve turned to Sharon, and she shrugged. “I could go for another shot. What do you guys think?” 

The guys nodded in confirmation, both deciding to head over and grab it from the bar themselves. Once you were left alone with Sharon, she got to interrogating.

“Girl, what is going on with you and Bucky?!” she grinned. 

You hiccuped before beaming at her. “I don’t know, but I like it! He’s so nice, and he thinks I’m adorable and he’s so handsome, Sharon. I wanna take him home, keep him forever,” you blabbered, trying to maneuver your straw into your mouth with your tongue.

She pressed her lips together to stop the laughter that bubbled up inside. Her best friend had it bad for her man’s best friend, what a perfect situation. 

“You should, you both look good together,” she smirked. She wanted you to experience the world with someone great and from what she knew, Bucky was definitely one of the good ones. “Do you want to stay over at their place tonight?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “They’re like a five minute walk from here.”

Your eyes widened, that was such a good idea. “Oh my goodness, yes. Let’s ask them!” 

The guys returned with the shots, and Sharon asked Steve and Bucky what they thought. 

“You both are always welcome over,” Steve said kindly.

“Of course, always,” Bucky reassured with a smile. He’d happily sleep on the couch if it meant getting to spend a little more time with you. 

“Then it’s settled.” You curled yourself up into his side, his arm wrapping around you. You were gonna seduce the hell out of Bucky Barnes. 

┈┈┈┈┈・・

You didn’t register the way he maneuvered your body so that you were tucked in under the sheets or the shift of his weight on the other side of the bed. 

It was only as the sun began to rise that you realized that you felt cozy – drowsily observing that you were much more snug and secure than normal. This wasn’t a cause for concern for your groggy brain, until you heard breathing and noticed that you weren’t alone.

What the hell. 

Cautiously opening your eyes, you saw Bucky’s sleeping face. His breathing was evened out, chest rising and falling under you. Only then did you realize your head was resting on his shoulder, your hand splayed out across his broad chest. His arm was around your waist, and your thigh was drawn up and across his legs.

Did you hook up with him last night?! Oh god, you did, you totally did. 

You were moments from freaking out when he shifted underneath you, squeezing your waist and placing his other hand on your bare thigh. You were trapped in the hold of the man you must have thrown yourself at last night, and that was bad. 

“I can hear your racing thoughts, baby. Go back to sleep,” he muttered without opening his eyes. 

Unable to contain your gasp, you watched as Bucky smiled to himself, still trying to sleep. 

“Bucky,” you whispered. 

He groaned under you, mumbling out a soft “no” as he refused to move or speak. 

You bit your lip to stifle a smile. He was so cute and grumpy in the morning. Taking a deep breath, you nuzzled your face into his chest. Maybe you could postpone your freak out until after a couple more hours of sleep. 

Bucky woke up a little after nine, your warm body still surrounding him. He smiled to himself, enjoying the feeling of having you so close. He vaguely remembered you waking up earlier, and he was glad that you didn’t leave. 

Peeking down at you, he couldn’t stop himself from gently brushing his finger over your cheek, taking a moment to admire you. He could get used to waking up like this, your perfect soft curves against him – his ideal blanket. 

Lightly he traced the outline of your lips with his finger, looking forward to tasting them soon. 

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and you saw Bucky watching you with an adorable smile.  

Embarrassed, you quickly brought your hand up from his chest to cover your eyes. If you can’t see him, he can’t see you, right? 

 “Baby,” he let out a laugh, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb. “I thought I told you last night that you never had to hide from me,” he whispered soothingly. 

You wondered how he was so calm and cool, but then you remembered that he always was. His relaxed demeanor is one of the first things you noticed about him. Cautiously letting your hand fall back to his chest, you loosened up when you saw the softness and sincerity in his gaze.  

“Sorry,” you mumbled nervously. “Um, did we?” you didn’t know how to ask, so you vaguely gestured between you two. You had hoped that you would remember your first time with Bucky, but unfortunately you didn’t even recall how you got in his bed or how you ended up in his shirt. 

“No, we got back, and you asked me for something to change into while I got some water. I didn’t hear movement for a bit and I thought you’d fallen asleep so I set myself up on the couch. But then you came out all groggy, saying that you needed cuddles,” he smiled as he recollected the memory. 

Even though he was completely drunk, he still remembered how precious you were. “You tried to get those cuddles on the couch until I decided to bring us back here.”  

You weren’t ready for all the details of what you did, but you distinctly remembered a different plan that involved more seduction; it was hard to believe that you ended up opting for cuddling instead. Although, given how peaceful the sleep was, you were grateful to your drunk counterpart. She knew what was best at the time. 

“Wait, so really nothing happened?” you asked disbelievingly, alcohol had a tendency to make you amorous and you needed to be sure. 

He grinned as he shook his head again. “I think we might’ve wanted to earlier in the night, but we were too tired and drunk by the time we got back,” he answered honestly. 

Heat rose to your cheeks, he knew you wanted to, and that was supposed to be your secret. You were about to shrivel into embarrassment again but then you realized he said he wanted to as well. 

Finally, you gave yourself full permission to open up to the sweet man. You didn’t need alcohol to fuel your confidence, he liked you and you liked him – there was nothing to bottle up or overcomplicate. 

“Do you think we kissed?” you bit your lip. The night was coming back in bits and pieces, but you couldn’t recall that. 

Reaching out, he dusted his thumb over your lip, before stroking your jawline, subtly relaxing you. “I know I’d remember that, so no, not yet. Soon though,” he stated with certainty, as if it was an indisputable fact. 

You smiled coyly. “So what happens next?”

“I’m thinking bagels with my girl, if she’s up for it,” he squeezed your hip. 

His girl. 

Bucky was so straightforward and direct, you didn’t have to guess where you stood with him, he made his intentions apparent. You adored that about him. 

“I’m very up for it. I need a cure for his hangover. But… I also don’t want to leave this bed. You’re ridiculously comfortable.” 

He beamed, “I can run down to get some, it’ll only take me ten minutes.” 

“You could, but then I’d lose my new favorite pillow,” you teased, fingers dancing across his chest. 

“Well then it’s a good thing your new pillow likes doing his job and will happily do it some more after he gets some food in your system.” 

“Yeah?” The prospect of spending the morning cuddled up in bed with bagels and Bucky was too perfect. 

“Yeah,” he sat up with you still in his grip, reaching out for his water. He let you sip some before drinking a bit himself. “Give me ten minutes, I’ll give you a change of clothes in case you wanna shower, then we’ll be right back here, okay?”

Nodding your head you leaned over and kissed his cheek. He made a dramatic show of getting out of bed, not wanting to leave, but knowing he’d have you back in his arms before he knew it. 

Quickly he brushed his teeth, then let you know there was a spare toothbrush on the counter. He also set out a big henley with some boxers for you to change into if you wanted. In a flash he pressed a kiss to your forehead before lugging a sweatshirt over his shoulders and nearly running out the door. 

It seemed he really was eager to get back to you. 

You took some time to shower and clean up, needing a refresher after the night out. Bucky was back by the time you got out, and he slipped in right after you. You were out in the kitchen drinking coffee with Steve and Sharon, when he stepped out of his room, wet and shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his well-built muscles, you couldn’t believe he had all that going on. 

“You’re coming back right?” he pouted adorably. 

The two of you spent the morning in bed, munching bagels, recovering from your hangover, and getting to know one another. The night before expedited a few dating steps, but you liked learning more about Bucky while snuggled up in his arms. He told you all the little things about you that made him develop the biggest crush, and you told him your many reasons for crushing on him too. 

Not long after, you shared your first kiss. His lips warm and soft as they moved against yours, slowly as if he was memorizing the way you felt. You didn’t know it then, but he was. His tongue glided into your mouth, his hands coming up to move your face, changing the angle of the kiss. 

He wrapped his arms around you as he kissed your lips unhurriedly, discovering how right you felt in his grasp, and kissing you some more. Until the need for air became too great, until you both realized how intoxicating the connection between you felt. 

As his beautiful blue eyes held yours, you could feel that this relationship wouldn’t be a difficult one. He was too considerate and honest for you to have to worry.

Your heart knew without a doubt that your future with Bucky would be joyful, silly, sweet, and easy. 

[ruriread]

YES YES YESSSSSS

hey everyone. been awhile. but uh. um. see i know matt murdocks hearing thing is something caused by the accident that resulted in him becoming blind. thats why he knows when someones lying, how he can hear heartbeats, ect ect. 

so now im thinking “hey, that jen and matt scene where he hears her heartbeat and tells her about it in the most sensual way possible was ABSOLUTELY AMAZING. what other characters can do that?” 

then i remembered. bucky has fucking enhanced senses. he must, ON SOME LEVEL, be able to hear heartbeats. make of that what you will please and thank you. 

[ruriread]

I was high off my ass last night and had this dream where I was in this dense ass forest and sitting there was a tall woman. She was so tall I couldn’t see her face but she was wearing gold and I was like “uh…hi?” And she said “I made you, do you know that?” And I nodded and she was like “I hear your thoughts. Why do you hate my creation? Why do you try to destroy yourself? I made you perfect as you are. Please don’t break my heart”. Then she started crying and it flooded and I woke up with fucking heart palpitations like what does it Mean™️????

[ruriread]

Touch Starved ✨Pietro✨

Pietro x F!reader

Warnings: None really, touch starved but obviously

Theme: fast boy needs to slow down, touch starved (duh) quick read, mutual pining

A/N: Hey! Here’s another one for you! I hope you enjoy!!

*Pietro POV*

‘To fast for you Y/N?’ Pietro said from the other side of the room, his grin to smug. Y/N roller her eyes as she lounged in the sofa.

‘Okay fastest boy alive, wanna stop being a show off all your life?’ Y/N replied dryly. Pietro held up his hands.

‘If he ever stops, let me know. I wanna get a picture’ Wanda said from her perch about their heads, the red embers of her magic holding her suspended in the air like she was in an invisible hammock, the book she was reading lazily flipping its pages by itself.

Y/N grinned.

‘You girls are so boring! Why can’t we do something!’ Pietro whined, moving around in a blur as he moved to each corner of the room.

‘That’s it- I’m going somewhere where I can’t here you complain’ Wanda said, floating out of the living room without looking from her book.

‘Y/N, can’t we do something?’ Pietro said, blipping from the corner of the room to appear in front of her. Y/N sighed.

‘Come here Pietro’ Y/N said, stretching her body out and raising her arm to become him on to the sofa.

‘What?’ Pietro said with a forced grin, trying his best to ignore the flutter in his chest as he thought about what it would feel like to lay on Y/N

‘Just stop being such a baby and come chill with me. Me and Wanda cuddle like this all the time.’ Y/N said wiggling her fingers in his direction. With a sigh, Pietro obliged, trying his best to slow his heartbeat as he moved to lay on top of Y/N. She encircled Pietro, holding him loosely as she ran a hand through his hair.

The constant rage of energy Pietro had felt building for the past few weeks vanished- the constant itch for him to keep moving ebbing away as he felt Y/N’s fingers run through his black/silver hair.

Closing his eyes, Pietro inhaled as he hugged Y/N close. She smelt like Lavender and lemon; the same scent as she had the first time they’d met; when Y/N had shielded him from being shot in battle.

The other Avengers had no idea who she was. Just a girl caught up in their battle. A battle she didn’t want to be in. Just like Pietro and Wanda had been.

But now she was one of the team, just like him, and it had been years since that first encounter. So for her to smell the same felt strange, like he was making it up.

‘Why do you smell like shortbread?’ Pietro said, his voice a whisper as to not disturb the calm that had settled between them.

‘Shortbread?’ Y/N said with a laugh.

‘Yeah, lemon and lavender shortbread.’ Pietro continued, lifting his head to look at her. Y/N grinned.

‘Well they’re my favourite scents, so I make sure I keep the same shampoo and perfume in stock so I can always smell like my favourite things’ Y/N said with a shrug. Pietro grinned.

‘What else do you like? Tell me everything and anything’ Pietro said, laying his head back down and closing his eyes as he spoke. He felt Y/N exhale.

‘Well I like the sound of rain on the glass roof of the balcony, I’ve fallen asleep up there before while reading. And I like bees, I love how they fly even though they physically should be able too. And…’

Pietro didn’t catch the rest, the sound of your voice slowly faded out as he fell asleep.

*Your POV*

‘And I like you, a lot’ you said, your heart racing as you let the words escape your lips. It was a cowardice move, you knew he’d already fallen asleep. The hand he’d been moving in slow circles across your side had been still for a while now.

You’d known he was in a mood for weeks now, his erratic behaviour getting worse and worse and he went on. A guy with super speed will always be chaotic, but when they’re touch starved too? They’re a hurricane trapped in a human body.

You’re not sure if Pietro knew he was touch starved, but you were glad to be able to help. You could admit to yourself that this course of action was purely self indulgent, getting him to lay on you was more for your own benefit than for his. But it had worked ether way.

‘You know you’ll have to tell him when he’s awake next time, right?’ Wanda said, slipping into the room on her feet rather than use her magic. You nodded slightly.

‘I know.’ You reply, still stroking his hair absentmindedly.

‘Have I always smelt like shortbread?’ You asked Wanda, frowning.

Wanda chuckled lightly.

‘He was so oblivious! He kept buying the lavender and lemon shortbread from the bakery down the street for weeks because “it reminded him of something”’ Wanda said, looking at her brother with love.

‘ I had to tell him you exclusively used lemon shampoo and lavender perfume. You should of see the shade of red his face went.’

‘Just because he thinks about what I smell like doesn’t mean he feels the same.’ You reply, looking down at his black/silver head. Wanda groaned

‘Okay, he’s not the only oblivious one’ Wanda said with a sigh.

Wanda might be right. Pietro might feel the same. But for just in case they both had the wrong idea. You were happy to keep your feelings quite for a bit longer.

✨A/N: A part two has been requested and I’ll be writing it ASAP! ✨

[ruriread]

I had an idea for Pietro Maximoff, maybe where like y/n is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and she's with Clint (I don't mean romantically, I mean like on a mission) in that scene where he knocks Clint down and says "you didn't see that coming?" And when he's about to speed of he gets distracted by y/n and then Clint almost shoots him so he leaves but after that he can't stop thinking about y/n

(Not My Gif)

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x GN!Reader

Song: I Was Watching Age of Ultron When Writing This To Make It Accurate To The Movie. All Credit To Marvel For That.

Prompt: The Request.

Genre: Nothing Specific.

Warnings: Swearing (LaNgUaGe!), blood, injury, canon fighting, and graphics, weapons are used. Probably types, but it’s edited, so that’s me being dumb.

Word Count: 1756

A/N: I'm back and I'm worse than ever! I'm rusty... And I changed the request to make it the actual scene in AoU, but Clint and Y/N are partners.

| Requested | Obviously...

“Shit!” Tony cursed.

“Language!” Steve commented after he heard the swear word come through comms. “Javis, what’s the view from upstairs?”

“The central building is protected by some kind of energy shield,” Jarvis informed. “Strucker’s technology is well beyond any other Hydra base we’ve taken.”

“Loki’s scepter must be here,” Thor chimed. “Strucker couldn’t mount this defense without it.” His hammer hit an attacker behind him, “At long last.” Before effortlessly flying right back into his hand.

“‘At long last’ is lasting a little long, boys,” Natasha checked in.

“You know I agree,” you said, knocking down one of the guys, the next one that attempted its attack getting hit with an arrow you shot–not to mention perfectly.

“Yeah. I think we lost the element of surprise,” Clint replied.

“You think?” You responded in a taunting tone.

“Wait a second. No one else is gonna deal with the fact that Cap just said “Language”?”

“I know,” Steve whined.

You laughed loudly, “Hey! Give the old man a break, he’s from ancient times, you know?”

Steve sighed, “Just slipped out.”

You let out another chuckle at his sound of defeat. “Oi!” You whistled loudly enough for Clint to hear from several feet away.

Once he noticed you, he jogged down. “You doing okay out there?”

“Look, I know I might be a newbie to S.H.I.E.L.D and all, but I got this—” You get cut off by a bullet barely missing you.

Clint raised his bow and shot the person. “You were saying?” He let his arms drop by his sides.

You huffed. “I’m not a child,” you claimed.

More bullets began to shoot at the two of you. “I got these ones if you got those ones.”

You nodded. “On it!” You ran off.

“And hey!” he paused to swiftly kick at someone, fighting the members of Hydra. “We’re a team!” he shouted.

“I know!” You punched a guy. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” you whispered to yourself.

You were fighting the last guy when he pulled out a small knife (~My Weakness~) You struggled against his strong force as he tried to stab it into your stomach. Fortunately, you won, unfortunately— "Fuck!" You swore when you saw the knife sticking out from your thigh. The guy you were previously fighting fell to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his torso. You turned around only to see Clint gone.

“Wha—” You heard explosions off in the distance.

You limped off in that direction, your eyes searching for your partner.

“Clint?!” you called out.

Nothing.

You closed your eyes for a beat and… there.

You heard the sound of an arrow sweeping through the crisp air. You pointed in that direction and followed the invisible line you drew. Suddenly you see a blue blur run past Clint. It knocked him up into the air. Clint groaned in pain once hit the ground. You were about to go help him when the blue blur became a person.

Tall with ivory skin, and platinum, almost silvery, blonde hair.

You heard the muffled voice say, “You didn’t see that coming?” His accent was evident.

You raised up your bow and shot an arrow, quickly, only to have the man catch it before it could even get close to hitting him, and he somehow ended up right in front of you.

You stumbled a step back and the pain sent a wave of nausea over you.

You didn’t expect him to freeze at the sight of you, considering how fast and cocky he was just moments earlier. He seemed at a loss for words. His eyes averted down to the leg that had the knife poking out, blood trickling down your calf and staining your suit. His gaze jerkily bounced back up to your fearful expression.

You fought the urge to stare at the blue of his eyes. They were striking and the snow made them glisten even more than you guessed they normally do. But, you were scared. Not that you would try to show it, nonetheless you did, and of course he noticed. Maybe Clint was right all those times he said that you weren’t ready. Was he right? That’s a first.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” the man assured. “I’m Pietro.” He reached out for you and you found yourself allowing it.

Clint recovered hastily at the sight of you injured and this man–Pietro–about to grab you. He jumped onto his feet and shot an arrow, and for the first time in the last five minutes, it nearly hit the man. Pietro jumped out of the way, it would’ve hit you if he hadn’t caught it.

“You’re welcome,” Pietro said, jokingly. He sprinted off in a blue blur.

“Y/N!” Clint jogged to you, out of breath. Just then a bullet shot right where Clint was standing prior to the current moment. He glimpsed behind then turned his attention back to you. “What happened?” he asked, gesturing to your leg.

“What do you think?” you bickered, distractedly. “I got stabbed.” You seethed. “Who was that?!”

Clint propped one of your arms up and around his shoulders. “I have no idea.”

“He told me his name,” you confessed.

“Oh, really?” Clint sounded uninterested.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I think I’m going to pass out now.”

“You do that.”

Clint’s words cued the darkness to surround you, drown you, bury you into a peaceful sleep.

“We have an enhancement in the field,” Steve reported.

“Y/N’s been injured,” Clint revealed. “They just lost consciousness.”

Natasha–not wasting another moment–came over to you and Clint. “Somebody want to deal with that bunker?”

Summoned, the Hulk destroyed the bunker that continuously kept shooting with a loud and aggressive roar.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She grabbed you and laid you down. She tried desperately to do whatever she could to patch you up and get you awake again.

“Stark, we really need to get inside,” Steve spoke.

“I’m closing in.”

“How’re they looking?” Clint asked.

Natasha sighed. “They’re looking like they’re not about to wake up anytime soon.”

“Jarvis, am I closing in?” Tony furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “Do you see a power source for that shield?”

“There’s a particle-wave below the north tower,” Jarvis stated.

“Great, I want to poke it with something.” He blasted the shield down. “The drawbridge is down, people.”

Steve retrieved his shield as Thor knocked down the rest of the Hydra members in his proximity. “The enhanced?” he questioned.

“He’s a blur,” Steve answered. “All the new players we’ve faced, I’ve never seen this. In fact, I still haven’t,” he paused. “How’s Y/N doing?”

“Unresponsive,” Natasha reported back. “We’re gonna need evac.”

“I can get Y/L/N to the jet,” Thor affirmed. “The sooner we’re gone, the better.” He turned to Steve. “You and Stark secure the scepter.”

“Copy that.”

Thor tilted his head towards the new batch of Hydra members. “Looks like they’re lining up,” he observed.

“Well, they’re excited,” Steve guessed and lifted up his shield.

Thor slammed his hammer against it creating a shock of lightning to strike the line. “Find the scepter,” Thor ordered and flew away with his hammer.

“And for gosh sake, watch your language!” Stark ridiculed.

Steve sighed, exhausted. “That’s not going away any time soon,” he told himself.

Wanda glared at Pietro when she saw him again. “I got that Captain America,” she informed. “But, I think he took down Strucker.”

“I took down two of their people out there,” he bragged in a scoff. “And they said we weren’t ready.”

“Who’s the person then?”

Pietro’s breath hitched in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can read your mind, Pietro.”

“I thought we set boundaries about that,” he argued. “And why should it matter? They’re just a person that was injured and I–I was worried.”

“They’re not one of us is the—” Wanda’s posture straightened. “Iron Man,” she whispered. “Let’s go.” She grabbed Pietro’s hand and guided him to where the scepter lay.

“Thor… I got eyes on the prize,” Tony said, nonchalantly walking up to the scepter.

Wanda appeared behind him and waved her hands around his head, a red spark of her magic entered his brain and clouded over his eyes.

And there she saw it. His worst fears in real life. All the Avengers are dead around him. The what if’s of their first battle. What if he didn’t save them? What if he didn’t do more? Why didn’t he do more? He saw a hole in reality and watched over the planet for only a millisecond. He woke up from the state, and Wanda gaped at the remembrance of the sight she just witnessed.

Pietro’s blur stopped right beside her about to go stop Tony, but she put a hand out in front of him. “Where did you go?” she asked.

“I wanted to go see something.”

“You wanted to see if you could find them.” She looked slightly up at him.

He gave her a look of confusion, a puzzled expression, and a little irritation. “We’re just gonna let him take it?” He changed the subject.

Wanda didn’t answer and instead slowly smiled.

They both watched as Tony raised his hand up, the glove of his suit attaching to his body. He walked around to the other side of the table and grabbed the scepter dramatically.

“They made them evacuate… by the way.” She shrugged and analyzed her twin brother’s face for any sign of emotion toward her words. “Stab wound. One of our people. Lost consciousness, and is unresponsible, but they'll be fine…”

“They will?”

Wanda gave him a look of amusement. “And you're the one who's so consistent in stopping Iron Man right now from taking the scepter, whilst you can’t even get your mind off of one of their people.” She chuckled, quietly. “Who knew you were such a softy…”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Let’s get out of here before he sees us,” Wanda suggested.

“So, we’re really letting him take it?”

“I know you like to do things fast, Pietro, but these things take patience, do you understand? Or are you too caught up on how ‘beautiful’ the person you saw was?”

With that Pietro sprinted away without another word spoken.

Wanda, before she followed, looked back at Tony with another smile, but instead a more sympathetic smile.

Both twins conflicted with their own inner battles.

Wanda with her feelings towards the Avengers.

And Pietro with his feelings towards a person that's in the Avengers

Tell Me If You Want To Be Added To The Pietro Maximoff "Quicksilver" Taglist By Either Commenting, Asking, Or Messaging Me.

|Requests are Open, Message, Comment, or (preferably) Ask you Requests |

xXTheBrookeLupinXx