#i still wish i could have written something else
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64 / 4.1k / soap soulmate au, final part
...
"You doing okay?"
Hearing Graves’ voice knocks what little breath you had out of your lungs. It's been months, but that's him. Your old boss. You never thought you'd hear his voice again.
"I've been better," you say finally. "Been awhile."
"Yeah, it has," he says. "Wish you'd've called me to catch up sometime, rather than under the circumstances. You don't sound too banged up. They treat you alright?"
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask how you feel. I asked if they roughed you up."
You feel your own temper shorten in response. "I need you to call KorTac off."
There's a pause. You can imagine his frowning face, the way he's thinking that one over. "I'll take that under advisement," he finally says, but you can tell he's not going to do what you ask of him. "Puttin' me in a predicament here, kid. You're giving those boys a hard time, and here I thought I was helping you out. Paying your bail, so to speak."
"It’s more complicated than that."
"Always is. Let’s just have you dropped off back on base with us. You can clean yourself up and we’ll talk."
He waits for your crisp yes, sir, but it never comes.
He speaks again. "You got somewhere else to be?"
"I can't go back."
"Can't or won't? You got something you ain't tellin me, soldier?"
"I said I can't go back. And I'm not your soldier anymore. You're not my boss. I don't work for you."
"You know Shadows don't leave one of our own behind. Not to rot in some CIA prison cell. So lose the attitude," he says, voice like iron. "This ain't a good time to play games, kid. You're comin' back with me because I spent a pretty penny on you. You owe me. You have your personal business, fine. Come on back to base and let's talk this out face to face before you go makin' any hasty decisions."
You're so frustrated it's hard to form words. You should be grateful. You know that. Graves doesn’t pretend to care about his men. He cares enough to lead from the front. But you met your soulmate, and you can’t act like it didn't change you. You need to make things right. You also can’t exactly tell Graves you kind of sold him out.
"Hey. Focus up." He doesn't raise his voice to a command. Still, the order is in his voice, and you have been long trained to follow your commander's orders. Then he sighs. "What happened to you, kid?"
"You betrayed the 141. You killed innocent people in Las Almas, looking for them."
You can almost hear his jaw working behind his clenched teeth, the muscles in his face tight. He does not allow this kind of disrespect. "You think I like what I had to do? General Shepherd's orders were clear. We followed them. 141 did not." He huffs out a sigh. "I didn't enjoy it. But that's the job. You of all people know that."
You swallow. "You told us they were our brothers. You killed innocent people, Commander. Johnny said he saw you do it--"
"Johnny?" Grave's voice rises. "You on a first name basis with Soap now?"
"We all know what happened in Las Almas," you retort. Your skin goes hot at the way he says Johnny's name. "I won't work for Shepherd anymore after that. I won't fucking do it."
"Don't pull that with me." The warning is written in his voice. This isn't like you. To the Shadows, you’re calm. Cold. You don't lose your temper. You don't talk back. Especially not to Graves. "You think you can walk away at the drop of a hat just because you don't agree with an order? It doesn't work like that. You follow an order, even if you don't like it, even if it pisses you off. You don't get to decide what you think is right or wrong to carry out. When I give you an order, you follow it. That's your job. Your loyalty is with me. Not with the 141."
"I did my job."
"Then act like it," he snaps. "Stop acting like I'm some evil bastard out here. I made the only choice I could. Task Force 141 was not supposed to be there. They knew my orders, and what did they do? They came after my men, went behind my back, screwed us over. We did what we had to. You wanna be pissed at someone? Be pissed at them."
You glare down at the ice, but say nothing.
"You know I'm right." He knows you. He's getting to you. "And you know what else I find interesting? You don't seem a bit surprised to hear me alive." His voice is too casual and sharp as a knife. "Didn't you get the memo? Did no one forward you my obituary, soldier?"
You stiffen. You're not supposed to know he's alive.
"You're an awful liar. Always have been." He pauses for a long moment. "It ain't easy, surviving against the 141 if they want you dead. You know how I managed it, soldier?"
Yes. "No,” you retort. “And stop calling me that. I'm not your soldier. I don't work for you anymore."
"The hell you aren't. Maybe you're not on the payroll anymore, and maybe you're no longer under my command, but once a Shadow, always a Shadow. That makes you my responsibility. And my goddamn headache." Something shuffles on the other end of the line. "You know exactly what I'm willing to do to keep one of my Shadows safe. But if you're so keen on turning yourself in, fine. I'll have you in front of Shepherd's desk first thing tomorrow. Is that what you want? You know Soap and Ghost put Shadows in the ground that night in Las Almas."
"Shadows tried to put Johnny and Ghost in the ground first."
"This isn't about who shot first. This is about you." His voice is dangerously low, but he keeps his temper in check. Then he huffs a laugh. "You keep callin’ him Johnny. Makes my brain itch." Johnny MacTavish. John MacTavish. Yeah, that's it. "I'll be damned," he mutters.
You touch your exposed soulmark compulsively as if to hide it. Most soldiers hide theirs, but yours has always been tough to cover up. He's seen it more than a few times.
"Got you right out from under my fuckin' nose."
Your stomach tightens. You feel too exposed, like suddenly he’s putting the story together--how 141 got in.
"Shoulda known. Shoulda known. You know the military has a registry for this shit. There are rules. What's wrong with you?"
"I made a mistake," you mutter.
That might be the funniest thing he ever heard. And he's heard some good jokes. "You don't make mistakes, kiddo. You never have. That's not how I trained you." He's right, and you know it. "But hey. Guess it's true what they say about it."
"What?"
"Soulbonds. Make you take your best-laid plans and raze ‘em. Full scorched earth.”
“This isn’t about that. I’m making this decision on my own.”
“You think?” He takes a puff on his cigarette. “I don’t. I don't blame you, either. You sure as hell fought it as best you could. Didn't give in to save your own life. If that's not the soulbond making your decision for you, soldier, I don't know what is."
You look up at the sky. For all the time you spent working with Graves, that past version of you might as well be dead. Maybe that’s the grave you’ve been digging. "I can't work for Shepherd anymore. I won't do it."
"You're a good soldier, 86. You were loyal. I still think you're loyal, even if I'm not who you're loyal to," he finally says. His voice is still calm. It doesn't make you feel any better. "You know if you choose to walk away from this, the next time we meet might well be as enemies."
"Then I guess we won't meet again, sir."
He says nothing. Then he lets out a long huff. You really are going to do him dirty. You can hear his scowl. "That's a damn shame, kid. But you have more of a spine than I gave you credit for," he says. There's a tone of reluctant respect to it. That's as close as you're going to get to a compliment from him now. "You're a loose end, then. You'd best stay well out of the way. Mine and Shepherd's. I hope you're not making the wrong choice, 86," he says quietly. "I really hope you're not."
"It’s out of your hands now. And pay KorTac," you add. "Pay my squad. They did their job."
That makes him scoff. "Now why would I do that? You might be a traitor, but you're still my investment. You were worth more on my payroll than theirs, and that’s a fact I intend to maintain."
"You owe me," you remind him.
"Don't push your luck," he warns. "You're an asset. You don’t get the privileges of rank anymore. But, well..." He sighs. You imagine him with his heels kicked back on his desk, cigarette in hand. "I’ll tell you what. I’m in a charitable mood. I'll pay them off. I'm a man of my word when the time comes to pay off my debts. Hell, I’ll even throw in a tip for a job well done." Despite the annoyance in his voice, you don't doubt he'll do just that. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you anymore. I trusted you once, and you went rogue. I let you go now, that means I expect you to keep my secrets. Don't you go singing if Shepherd puts you in a chair. You got that?"
You glance up out of the corner of your eye at Soap, whose hands are still clenched in tight fists at his sides. "If Shepherd puts me in a chair, he's the one who's gonna sing. Not me."
Graves chuckles. "You're a good soldier, 86, but you can't take on an old war dog like Shepherd. Leave that to someone more qualified."
"Like who? You?"
"As I said, you best steer clear. I don't want to hear your name again." His voice hardens, and you hear your old commander again. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. And give Soap hell."
You toss the phone back to Horangi. He listens to what Graves has to say. Then, eyes meeting yours for a moment, he wordlessly moves out away from the river, leaving you weary with relief. It's over. Finally.
Soap watches him disappear into the trees. Then, he looks back at you, alone and shivering on the ice. You look half-dead, bleeding, and your lips are near blue. He wants to make his way to you, but the ice is scarcely holding you. It won't hold him, too.
"Oi," Soap calls. His voice is rough with anxiety. "Get over here. You're gonnae freeze to death even if you don't fall through."
You blink up at him. Standing in the rising sun the way he is now, he looks like someone’s guardian angel. Yours? You'd like very much to be wrapped in his wings.
You make your way over to the bank, but the rocky ledge up is slippery and icy. Behind you, between the ice where you're standing and the bank, there's a yawning gap. To your left, there's a bridge, but snow has already melted off the surface of the ice, and it looks thin. "There's no way up," you call. "But downriver..."
"No’ a chance in hell I’m going to let you try to cross that," Soap says as he approaches the edge. "You'll be swept away and drown, hen. You're not in any condition to swim, and even if you were, that river's too bloody fast to risk it."
"Then what do you suggest?"
His eyes sweep over the river once more. It's wide; too wide to attempt a jump across. The ice has fallen in, leaving it almost impossible to make it to the bank. It isn't safe. The longer you stand there, the more the ice cracks under you. He admires your guts for putting yourself on the line like that to get back to him, but damn you. His blood pressure has never been higher.
Soap throws off his pack and slings his gear onto the bank. "I'll pull you up."
"But..."
"But nothing." With the adrenaline still pumping through his system, Soap thinks nothing of the risk of the bank collapsing under you both with his added weight. The only thing on his mind is getting you back in one piece. "We both know damn well, if I was the one on the ice now, you'd already be down there trying to help me, so for once, just shut up and let me help you."
Can't argue with that.
He pulls out an ice hook--mountaineering equipment; he was prepared to climb this mission, luckily--and offers it to you.
You toss the grenade as far as you can in the opposite direction. Then you raise your hands to grasp the rope. He's holding the sharp end and giving you the handle. You try to keep hold, but as he lifts, your bloodied hands slip just as the grenade explodes nearby, too close, spiderwebbing the ice with a final crack.
You land hard, break through, and disappear under the freezing water.
Soap has never known panic faster than when he sees you go under.
He dives after you. He has to get you back to the surface before whatever air you had in your lungs gives out. Your survival is his survival.
He finds you in the rushing black abyss when your fingers hook around his sleeve. Wrapping his hands around your arms, Soap anchors you to his chest.
You come to in his arms. You're colder than you ever have been in your life. Your fingertips tingle in pain and numbness. He's carrying you ashore somehow--far downriver, thinner ice--and he ducks into an old cabin with you in his arms.
Soap kicks the door shut behind him and moves into the cabin to set you on the floor, propping your back against the wall. His hands work fast as he pulls out his knife to cut away your soaked thermal clothes and gear. You dip in and out of consciousness until he wads up a fistful of gauze and packs it into your side wound. The sudden pain chokes you. Then a wave of nausea washes over you. You’d like nothing more than to tell him where precisely he can shove that gauze, but you’re too lightheaded.
"You with me, hen?" His gruff voice wavers. "I need you to stay awake."
He gathers you up in his arms and lifts you into his lap. It's a tight fit, wedged underneath the frosty window and between a table and an upturned stool. You register the warmth of his skin on yours and dimly realize he's stripped both of you almost bare, huddling around you to prevent hypothermia.
You soak up Soap’s body heat instantly. He's a furnace, and he needs to be, given the state you're in. He tucks you as close as he can. You're both shivering, but he doesn't care. He can be cold as long as you're warm. His broad body shields you from the drafts leaking into the decrepit cabin.
"No, no, eyes open." He tilts your face up as your eyes flutter. "Don't go passin' out on me."
You gaze up at him in your stupor. Maybe it's the blood loss, but even through your own pain and frustration, he's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.
"You have really odd eyes," you mutter. "Like blueberry soft serve."
Oh, you're definitely delirious. Maybe concussed.
But he can't deny the look you're giving him right now makes his stomach flip. The sight of you in his lap, your frost-scorched fingers wrapped idly around his ID tag and staring up at him like he's just pulled the moon out of the sky for you... it's the first time he’s seen you with your guard down.
He swallows and keeps you pressed against his skin. There’s a lot of blood. He can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. "You're in no shape to flatter me."
You hum, your fingers dabbing idly at a smear of blood on his chest.
He doesn't move to stop you. Instead, his eyes flick down to your hand. Your fingers leave a trail of sparks over everywhere you touch.
With a soft sigh, Soap catches your wrist. "Quit it, hen."
"Quit what?"
"Teasin'. Makin' me wish you'd put those hands to other uses," he says, voice quiet and rough. It's just you and him in the little cabin. The world is far away. His thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, trying to bring some warmth back into your skin. "You're in no shape to be feelin' me up, either."
Your head lolls against his shoulder. "Maybe it's the perfect time. Maybe we won't get another time."
Hearing you say that twists his insides into knots. He leans down to rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe you just need to shut up and let me take care of you. Don't talk like that." His voice leaves no room for argument. He tightens his grip on you, pressing you closer as if he can somehow press that into your skin by sheer will alone. "There'll be plenty of times for you to get your hands on me."
"Mm." You tuck into him tighter. You'd be mortified with yourself if you weren't half-dead from blood loss. "Sorry."
He exhales into your hair, pressing chaste kisses there.
You're practically in his lap, the two of you tangled into each other from head to foot in the space under the window. He's surrounded by the smell of you. It's a soothing presence in all that surrounds him.
He shouldn't want to touch you, shouldn't want to take advantage of your weakness--but the thought of having you so open and wanting, of you willingly in his arms, makes something in him ache. Makes the selfish parts of him scream.
"You're a pain in my arse," he says. He focuses on taking inventory of your wounds, brushing over your arms with his touch to assess the damage. "You gonnae bleed out on me?"
You shiver a little as he drags you closer by your bare thigh. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."
"Oi," he snaps in warning. He slides his hand up your side, checking for bleeding. It’s just as much a caress over your bare skin. He has to ignore how his skin tingles every time the curve of your body slides against his in that tantalizing way. Something in his lower belly tightens. "You don't get to tap out after makin' me go through all this trouble for you. You're livin' through tonight or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else." He moves his hand up to the base of your throat, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and tilting your chin up to look at him. He fixes his blue eyes on yours to take in the dazed expression on your face. "I'll drag your arse out of hell and tan it until you can't sit right."
You're too weary to laugh, but you rest your scuffed cheek on his thumb, and it pushes your lips into a smirk. "All for me?"
"Aye. Hell of a lot more trouble than your pretty face should be worth."
You pull free and rest your head on his shoulder again. "Where do you live?"
"Glasgow," he says. "Not sure I should be tellin' you that."
You trace his chest around the chain of his ID tag. So many muscles. "Probably not."
"And what about you? Do I get to know?"
"No. Maybe. If we get out of here."
"Yeah? Well, you're not goin' anywhere with this wound. Bleedin' out, nearly froze to death, and still mouthin' off. No idea how to shut up and be good." He looks down at the injury, assessing how bad it really is in the dim light of the cabin. "You lost a lot of blood. I bet you feel tired." He brushes your hair off your face. "Stay awake a bit longer. The boys'll be here soon."
"I shouldn't," you mutter.
Soap doesn't miss the slurring of your words. He knew the blood loss would affect you, but he was hoping for more time before he had to really worry. "Shouldn't stay? Too late to get away from me now," he says, trying to keep his tone casual. Your skin is too cold for comfort. The gauze in your wound soaking through with blood can't mean anything good. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Sure as hell not letting you out of my sight. You've got a lot to repay me for."
You try to keep your eyes open. Every blink is more sluggish than the last. "Like what?"
"Runnin' away and makin' me chase after you, for one. Puttin' yourself in the line of fire for me, second. Takin' a swim in a frozen river. Scared me to death." He presses his lips to the crown of your head, a gentle, chaste touch at odds with the possessive, dominating instinct he can feel creeping into his thoughts. You're vulnerable right now, something he should never want, but part of him wonders if he’d ever have caught up with you without this. "Aye, you owe me. First thing we do once you're patched up? We have a long talk. We have a whole hell of a lot we need to say to one another. And you'll answer every question I ask you."
"I dunno if you'll like the stuff I say," you mutter.
"Hardly matters. You’re plenty keen on spittin’ fire at me as it is. No reason you can’t keep tellin’ me everything I don’t want tae hear."
Another shiver wracks your body.
Soap rubs your arms. "You gotta give your word you stay awake for me, aye? Stay here."
His radio beeps nearby. You huff. "Fine."
"Fine." He leans over to grab his radio and tries to keep an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as he does. He keeps you cradled against his chest as he responds to Price.
"Soap here."
You don't hear the conversation. Instead, you listen to Soap's voice vibrate through his chest. He speaks to Price in hushed tones, talking about your condition and the team's ETA.
Price has a laundry list of questions, but Soap manages to wrangle them into holding off until they have everyone back on base. No sense exhausting you on a mission that's already been a shitshow. Finally, they're done. Soap lets the radio go to focus entirely on you again. "Still with me?"
"How long do we have?"
"Shouldn't be too much longer," he says. He checks your side again. The coldness of the air has soaked into the wet gauze. You shiver again. It makes something in him ache. "ETA's about ten minutes out."
You pull his lips down to yours and kiss him.
He's surprised, but he doesn't pull back--not from you. He lets you kiss him. Your taste seeps into his brain and turns all rational thought to white noise. One hand cups your jaw with a surprising gentleness, and the other slides behind your waist to keep you against his body. He's gentle--you need to be handled with care right now.
He pulls back before he loses himself in the desire to deepen the kiss. His eyes search your face, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips.
"You're lucky you're injured," he murmurs. "Or you'd be in a very different kind of trouble right now."
You shiver, but not with the cold. Just that one kiss has you feeling much warmer. You touch your name where it's written on his arm. Then you curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull yourself closer. "Hold onto that thought for later," you murmur. "Give me something to wait for."
Then you kiss him again.
...
← previous part / [part 13] / epilogue →
part 1 / more Soap / masterlist
thank you <3
#soulmate soap#mine#story#soulmate au#fem reader#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#soap cod#johnny mactavish#soap mactavish#soap x reader#x reader#soap x you#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x you#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#cod mw2#cod mwii#tf 141 x reader#cod#call of duty#tf 141#horangi#phillip graves
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dai love interests' letters to the inquisitor in veilguard, if anyone was curious to see them. transcriptions in alt text & under cut
Amatus,
I'm writing. Again. Yes, the sending crystals still work and yes, you'll be in Minrathous in a few short weeks. But a letter, written in blind longing, is real. It can be touched, and it can be held, when ink and paper must substitute for your skin on mine and my breath in your ear.
I used to scoff at frequent declarations of affection. Trite, I thought. Save them for rare and precious moments. But time and love are no longer things I care to squander, especially not as we race again toward calamity. And so, in each of these fleeting, ephemeral seconds, I will tell you that I love you. Whether penned or spoken, or conveyed by glance or action, I love you. In this moment, and in all the moments to come, for as long as they do, I love you.
I will find you soon.
Yours, Dorian
---
My love,
You have summoned me to Minrathous, and I will answer your call, as soon as responsibilities here in the South allow. I have missed being by your side.
Will these troubles be the last we face? The world seems always to conspire, through duty or disaster, to pull you away from me. I do not resent it. You are dedicated to purposes far larger and more significant than myself. I hope you do not think me a fool for hoping that one day, your only concern will be the color you wish our walls to be painted, or the flowers we will plant beside our gate. I'm partial to carnations.
Yours always, Thom
---
My love,
We are no strangers to duty, or the separation it demands of us. You head for Tevinter, and though I want to go with you, there is work we both must do. I will not falter in the tasks that wait before me and I pray my actions, in whatever measure they can, will keep you safe.
The others see only confidence in my resolve, but you have always known more than mere appearance. I confess to you, and you alone, that I am afraid. I'm afraid of what may happen, that Thedas will face such turmoil as it did before. I know not what awaits us. Yet even in the face of uncertainty, there are two things I cannot doubt and never will. The first is that our paths are never separated long. That I will find you at my side when I need you, as you will find me at yours. I will play my part in this and follow as soon as I can.
The second thing I never doubt is you. Whatever lies before you, trust yourself. Trust your heart as I trust it. It will not lead you astray.
Yours, Cassandra
---
Hey, Kadan,
Not the first time we've marched toward different battles. I know you're keeping the crap from catching fire up in Tevinter. Wish I could be there, but I'll make sure there's a world for you to come back to when you're done dealing with crazy vints and stupid Antaam and whatever other crap Solas kicked up. (Shit, the Antaam. Remember when I was worried what would happen if I went tal-vashoth? That right there!)
I know you're gonna be careful, and you've got Morrigan there. Just take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I'm going to have to take Krem and the Chargers and stomp across all of Tevinter to come get you. It'll be a whole thing, and you know it'll upset Dorian.
Being apart from you made me realize something else. I spent so long being whatever the Ben-Hassrath wanted me to be. An investigator. An agent. A mercenary sending reports. These past years, since the Inquisition ended, I've been able to be just what I want to be.
And what I really want to be is yours. I like the person I am when I'm with you.
So come back safe.
Love, The signature appears to be a stylized rendering of the Iron Bull's head.
---
(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.)
Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.")
North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker.
Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know.
We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow.
So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls!
We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.)
Still thinking of you sideways.
Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.)
The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out.
Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me.
I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why.
Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.)
You meet; I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on.
(The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.)
New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bestest (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short. -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)
---
The top of the letter has been punctured by small, sharp teeth, leaving most of a beloved name and a few sentences too chewed to read.
I fear the puppy started on this letter shortly after I did. I'd start over, but I must send this tonight if it's to reach you. Matters are settled here and I make for Tevinter as soon as possible.
I almost believed chaos might spare us this time. I can't say I wished to see Minrathous before now, but I am eager to see you. I long to see your face and know that you're all right. You are— I've— There's— I wish that I was better at putting into writing all that's in my mind. For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life.
The days ahead will not be easy. I know there's much you carry, more than many realize. But whatever you must face, you will not meet it alone. You have my sword, my counsel, my—I could write this list forever when all I mean to say is this—
Whatever you need of me, I am yours.
Cullen
---
My Dearest Lady, / My Dearest Lord,
I have spoken to friends in Minrathous. They offer us their hospitality, not to mention shelter from the worst intrigues of the Archon's Palace. While you're well acquainted with the roving eyes of grand courts, please take care. Tevinter's regard can be the oldest and cruelest of them all.
The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together.
There is a question I've wanted to ask you for so long. I would like to pretend I have been busy, or it was not the proper time. But, if I am being honest, I only waited because I have been afraid of choosing a poor moment. Please, let me make a promise to you here.
When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes.
Always yours, Josephine
Postscript: I cannot believe it nearly slipped my mind. Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child.
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In the Still of the Night, ch 3
Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.
But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.
Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Flirting, still a little awkwardness, blindfold, sensory deprivation, foreplay, oral sex (female receiving). Summary: Your day out with Zach gets more intense at every turn. Notes: Hopefully you're all enjoying the prolonged date as much as we -- and they -- are! (As always, chapter gifs are for the vibes, not to physically describe the characters.)
Ch 1 ~ Ch 2
It isn't hard for anyone who sees you during the rest of the day to spot the dreamy couple out on a date. The older woman who shows you to your table at the restaurant Zach picked out for dinner gives you a wink in agreement that he's an absolute cutie pie and comes back a few minutes later with two glasses of wine and a candle for your table despite none of the others having one set out.
He had chosen a restaurant that was more local than tourist and had been thrilled when there was no formal dress code. Eager to sit down with you after so much walking and talk about more of anything and everything that has been the topics of the day. “So how did you start out singing?” He asks curiously.
“My elementary school had a chorus.” It might be the first time in hours you haven’t been holding hands, but you’re still smiling as you sit side by side with your wine watching the sun set. “I stuck with it because I was a kid and it was fun, then the dance lessons got added, and then as I got older I realized that I also liked theater. It became a combination.”
“So you were a theatre kid.” He nods in understanding. He hadn’t been, but he had been friends with some and understood the passion of performing even if he didn’t have it.
“That’s how I ended up in New York.” You tell him, expression twisting into something like regret. “Just another small town kid convinced they could be the next Broadway star. Obviously that didn’t happen.”
“But you tried.” He reminds you, leaning against your shoulder and wishing he could take away the sadness. “Some people never try.”
“I go between thinking that maybe I should have tried harder, and wondering why I ever bothered at all.” With that offer of support there, you lean against his shoulder in turn and shrug gently. “It is what it is, I guess. But…how did you start cooking?”
Zach sighs softly, knowing that it would eventually come up. “Actually, I just started cooking a few years ago.” He admits.
“You did?” That surprises you enough to turn your head and look at him more fully. “So it’s just at natural talent, then?”
“I guess?” He shrugs slightly. “I got a job working in a kitchen. Saved my life.” He tells you. “Threw myself into it and experimented as much as I could and read everything I could get my hands on.”
“So you stumbled into your calling.” There is something else there, something he doesn’t want to tell you, so you don’t push. “That’s wonderful, though. Some people never find what they’re meant to do in their whole lives.”
“It helps with my anxiety.” He admits with a self deprecating grin. “So I decided that it was the best thing for me. One day I’d like to have a restaurant. One that I can plan every detail, down to free meals for the homeless.”
“I love that.” Without hesitation, the idea is not only a kind one but one you can tell means a great deal to him. “Some places have a system where you can pay for meals for others in advance, too. System like that can be used to pay for extra supplies so no one ever has to be turned away.”
“That would be amazing.” He’s had benefited from that kind of system before, but not often. And he knows how uplifting a good, hot meal can be when you are down.
"You can make it happen." Something in your gut tells you that he can and he will, and even though you have no stake in it, you can't help but feel proud of him for that.
“I’m hoping.” He flashes you a grateful grin. Even your confidence in him sounds so sure when he’s always wondered if he can succeed. “The club on the ship has given me so many ideas.”
"I've been eating your ideas," you remind him with a grin. "And they're fantastic. You're really good, Zach. Any place would be lucky to have you and any team would be lucky to have you lead them."
“What about you?” He asks. “This has to be a stepping stone for you. I’ve already heard from the crew that you might have some head hunters after you.” One of the passengers was apparently connected in the music industry and had been in to the club several nights.
"If I do, that's news to me." Whatever murmurings Zach has heard, you haven't. But you would be lying if you claimed not to be curious. "I don't know, honestly. I think I would rather be a headliner in a little club than wave a rose in a Broadway chorus for the rest of my life. But the chances of either are relatively slim." You take a sip of your wine and offer him a smile, shrugging one shoulder. "In my dreams I'm getting top billing in the biggest musicals and you're running the most popular restaurant in the country. Ultimate New York City power couple."
“That sounds amazing.” Zach chuckles. “Actually, running this style club, I think it would work in New York.” He tells you. “A dinner club.”
"I know it's something that you see in retirement communities in Florida, but I have always loved dinner theater." His laugh is sweet and deep and rolls through you like a wave of joy. "This club is such a great gig for people like us."
“Yes it is, but imagine….” He sighs softly. “Creating a headliner show like you would see in Vegas, right in New York and pairing it with a daily changing menu like we do here.”
"New York would love a show like that." It sounds so doable when he says it. Like a dream you could reach for and pluck out of the sky.
“It would be sold out.” He agrees, flashing a hopeful smile. “One day, maybe if I had the right singer to run the show side of things.”
"I guess you're going to have to get to know some singers then, aren't you?" His bright smile is reflected right back at him, teasing as always but it's because part of you can't dare to dream this big for yourself. Only for him.
“I will.” He nods and shrugs. “Maybe hold auditions or something. Singing for your supper?”
"That's what most of us do." You agree, not wanting your smile to flicker at all even if the memories sting. "Sometimes literally."
Zach catches the change, the dimming of the light in your eyes and he knows that he’s touched on a sensitive topic for you. “I get it.” He promises quietly. “I think I gravitated towards cooking because I knew if I was making food for others, I would not have that gnawing ache of hunger ever again.” He licks his lips. “Food insecurity, the therapist called it.”
Your heart sinks, chest tightening, and you nod as you slip your hand back into his. "I wish I was more surprised to find out that more than a few of us have been there. But a job like ours...with guaranteed housing and meals and a way to save money for months at a time? It makes sense that it would attract people who have had it hard."
Of course you would be understanding. His eyes close as he nods, feeling a little choked up by the compassion in your voice and the understanding in your touch. “Absolutely. And I hate that you’ve had a moments bad luck.” He murmurs. “You deserve so much.”
"So do you." You squeeze his hand gently. "Bad luck doesn't make us bad people."
“Not at all.” His hand slips from yours and his arm wraps around your shoulders protectively. “Now - before we start choking up, what do you want to try?” He wants this date to be nothing but a lovely moment for you and he tries to steer the conversation to more positive thoughts.
Without saying another word about it, you turn your head to kiss his cheek and refocus on the menu in his hands. They have enough tourists in town that the menu from this restaurant has one-sentence item descriptions in English that simply tell non-Greek speakers the main ingredients of each dish. A quick glance around you shows you that everything here seems to be served family style, and you settle in Zach's side again happily.
"How does this sound?" You ask, pointing out the special. Gamopilafo. The menu says, with Arnáki Stamnagathi. "Greek risotto with lamb and vegetables?"
“That sounds amazing.” Zach groans happily and nods. “Do you want to get that and something else?” He doesn’t want you to share with him if you are just trying to make the bill cheaper, he can afford paying for dinner.
"It looks like it's family style? Maybe we can get another side dish to go with it so we can try more?" You shrug slightly, knowing that food was just a topic of some stress for both of you. "Sharing sounds nice. But not if you don't want to."
“I’m not opposed to sharing at all.” He promises, leaning in and nudging his nose to yours. “I’ll share anything with you.”
"Promises, promises." It's too tempting to have him close and not indulge in another kiss, but you keep it short and chaste in case Zach isn't too into public displays of affection. The half dozen or so kisses that you have shared today have been relatively private so you want to respect that for him.
Zach smiles, beams really. “What else do you want, baby?” The term of endearment slips out, but he doesn’t try to take it back or apologize. Feeling like it’s just the natural next step of this amazing day.
While the honest answer is him, that isn't what he's asking so you pull yourself out of the dirty thoughts you've been having on and off all damn day and look back down at the menu. In the top section there is something that lists cheese, fruit, bread, and flavored local olive oil, so you point that out. "Cretan charcuterie plate to start?"
“I think that’s a good idea.” Zach agrees and smiles at you. “We can see if we can come up with our own ideas for a board.”
"We'll have enough menu ideas for three new restaurants if we let our imaginations wander." Which is not a bad thing at all, but it does have both of you grinning when the waitress comes over to take your order.
Zach orders for the both of you, checking in with his eyes to make sure that it’s everything you want and hands the menu over with a pleasant smile for the waitress. Enjoying the knowing glances she shoots between the two of you. “I think that she thinks we are newlyweds or something.” He confesses quietly when she walks away. “What do you think?”
“Maybe.” Don’t be so you, you remind yourself for the hundredth time in your head. “I don’t know how many people come around here being cuddly on a fantastic day-long first date.”
“It has been fantastic, hasn’t it?” He muses, reminding himself that neither one of you has walked away or even been upset today. Not really.
“I think so.” There are clearly more things to talk about in your future, but today has left you optimistic that that future could exist. “I’m glad you do, too.”
“So, what’s your favorite type of wine?” He asks. “With charcuterie? Are you a white wine or sangria girl?”
“I’m a whatever wine you serve me kind of girl,” you tell him with an amused laugh. “But I do love sangria. There are very few things that aren’t made better with a glass of sangria or a margarita.”
“A margarita; huh?” He smirks. “Salt on the rim or sugar?”
“Depends on the flavor.” After all, your palate isn’t nonexistent, it’s just uneducated. “But usually salt.”
“A watermelon margarita is my favorite.” He admits. “Salt and sugar on the rim.”
“Salt and sugar?” That has you raising an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued.”
“It’s delicious.” He chuckles. “Goes with a hamburger or ribs. Drinks just like water.”
“That sounds incredible.” It sounds absolutely mouthwatering, actually, and you crack a grin. “Maybe I’m just really hungry.”
“Next crew party why don’t we do sliders and margaritas?” He offers. “I think you’d love it.”
“It sounds amazing.” You can agree to that without hesitation. “But I would also eat an old sneaker if it came out of your kitchen, so just know I’m always here for your food.”
“So boil shoe leather.” He pretends to make a note and laughs when you shove him playfully.
“You boil shoe leather and I’ll sing scales off key. Our worst work night ever.”
Zach throws his head back and laughs. The deep, belly laugh of a man who is completely convinced that it possible could happen and finds it up-roaringly funny. “You’re perfect.”
“You’re perfect.” He doesn’t need to know that a musical lyric sprung to mind instantly. He doesn’t need to know that you’ve been thinking it for an hour or more now. But you do hope he knows that the absolute affection shining in your eyes is honest and real.
He hums, not exactly able to take a compliment as well as he can give one. Instead he clinks his wine glass against yours. “To being perfect together.” He offers with a smile.
Neither of you take compliments well, you note with a smile, but drink deeply from your glass and enjoy a private smile that he unknowingly completed the thought of the song lyric in your head. “I know you’re supposed to wait until the end of the date to say it,” you set down your glass, thank the waitress when she brings over the first course, and restart your thought after a few seconds. “But I really think we should do this again.”
Zach’s heart leaps at your comment, happy that you have said that. “Well, of course we should.” He agrees, winking at you as he starts to dip a crusty piece of bread into the seasoned olive oil. “But I was thinking maybe we spend a little more time together on the ship when we can?”
"We could always skip the crew parties now and then to have time to ourselves." Following suit, you dive into the cheese board along with him. The cured olives and soft cheese are calling your name. "I wouldn't mind that at all."
“I mainly go to the crew parties to see you.” Zach confesses with a shy smile, offering you the dipped bread after he’s spread a bit of goat’s cheese on top of it.
"I–" Your eyes drop, your whole face heats, and you clear your throat before offering him an olive that you have stuffed with a pinch of soft sheep's milk cheese. "I go to the crew parties to see you."
Zach snorts and shakes his head. “We are pathetic.” He teases. “Mooning over each other and not even aware of it until Shane makes you take me a drink.”
"He tried to tell me," you admit after trying the bite that Zach made for you. Like everything else he's ever fed you, it's perfect. "I just...didn't really think I had a shot."
“He would always talk about you.” He huffs. “Making that crush I was suffering under nearly unbearable.” He smirks. “I guess he was hoping to push me into making a move.”
“And when you didn’t, he pushed me instead.” Which is a very Shane thing to do, really. He’s always been a little bit too cocky for his own good. “He’s like my big brother. So it makes perfect sense that he would meddle endlessly.”
“He basically adopted me once we became roommates.” Zach agrees. “He’s a good guy with a surprisingly big heart.”
“It took him a while to get there,” you acknowledge, not quite knowing how much of Shane’s story he had shared with Zach. “But now that he has? He’ll be damned if he doesn’t help everyone that he can.”
“Yeah.” Zach nods. “From what he’s told me, he’s completely different than when he was first sent away.”
“He showed me a picture once. Oh how he dresses and everything back then.” Just keeping the topic about appearance is lighthearted. That way you don’t dip too far into past seriousness. “Even if that was the only thing that changed, he really is a completely different guy now.”
“Jet black hair.” Zach snorts, shaking his head. “Dude has amazing hair now. I’m a little jealous of it.” Shane still has earrings, but he’s no longer sporting the goth edge he had back in his younger years.
“Do you ever think about growing yours out?” Zach still has short-trimmed hair that is probably a cinch to take care of, but he might look great with it longer.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve worn it long.” He admits, rubbing his hand up the back of his head. “Since high school.” He snorts. “But I’ve not given it a lot of thought, honestly. Why? You think it would look good longer?” He asks, curious about your preferences. Everyone has them, it’s like preferring clean shaven over a beard.
“I caught myself wondering once if your hair was curly when it grows out,” you admit, clearing your throat a little from being flustered. Admitting that you’ve wondered and daydreamed about him is a big step to your mind.
“Yeah?” A slow, pleased grin starts to stretch across his face as he turns back towards you again. “Daydreaming about running your fingers through my hair?”
“Maybe.” The huff in your voice is pure embarrassment, though you’re glad that he seems to like the idea rather than being weirded out by it.
“Then I have to confess something…” he drops his voice down to a whisper like it’s a secret. “I really love when the hairdresser runs her fingers through my hair when cutting it.”
It feels like a far more visceral tease than you’ve been giving him, and you can practically feel how soft his shirt hair is when your eyes flick up to it. “Noted,” you manage to huff out a second later, banishing the mental image of Zach beneath you as you card your fingers through growing curls.
He smirks and winks at you when you manage to look at him again, finding it incredibly empowering to know that you are on the same level as he is. Both of you wanting so much, but being too shy to reach for it. Someone will have to make a move, but right now, he’s enjoying the flirting and bantering.
Neither of you seem to care much that it takes longer to make bites out of your appetizer if you hold hands, enjoying the small show of intimacy more than anything else. You're loathe to give up that connection now that you have it.
Zach enjoys sharing with you. Often making bites for you to try, and he smiles every time you groan in pleasure.
“Just because I have no idea how to cook anything doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it,” you insist, and you’re laughing together when your waitress brings out your shared entree. The large and shallow bowl is obviously meant to be shared but is beautifully arranged — vegetables bringing color with the creamy risotto-like grains and tantalizingly seared and roasted lamb.
“Many blessings.” She is smiling at both of you as she puts the food down between you. “Happy marriage to young love.”
“Thank you.” Zach doesn’t correct her, beaming instead and bringing up your hand and kissing the back of it. If they believe that you are newlyweds, who are you to disclaim it?
Seeing him go with the assumption instead of correcting the woman makes your heart swell. There is something deeply soft and intimate about the gesture and you’re sure you must look so deeply entranced by your date that protesting wouldn’t do any good anyway.
“Soulmates?” The older woman asks, looking at the two of you with the pride of a grandmother.
Zach bites his lip, unsure of how to answer that, so he just wings it. “What do you think?” He asks, reaching out and caressing your cheek. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”
"Very." The woman agrees, and with another proud smile she clasps both of your shoulders and heads off again to the kitchen with the purpose and speed of someone off to share vital gossip.
Zach smiles at you. “Well, I guess that makes us official.” He hums. “What do you think?” He asks, lifting a brow. “Want to be my girlfriend? Or should we jump straight to soulmate and wife?” He asks. “We’ve already gotten approval here.”
"It might be a little dramatic to show back up to the ship married." And yet you're grinning. You're absolutely beaming at him in a way that can't possibly be contained and for the first time today you don't want it to be. "But I love the sound of girlfriend."
“I’m sure we wouldn’t have been the first couple to have done that.” He doesn’t take offense to you ignoring the remark about soulmates. He’s seen you without sleeves enough to know that you don’t have his tattoo. You can’t be his soulmate, but he is drawn to you like he’s never been to another woman. “But girlfriend sounds perfect to me too.”
"I'm not one of those people that swears soulmates are the only possible relationship," you explain, as the two of you rearrange your little table to share your entree comfortably. The waitress had also brought you fresh drinks so the little table is loaded down with tantalizing options. "My parents aren't soulmates and they've been happily married for almost forty years. It's a great thing, but I always thought choosing your person yourself was more important than anything else."
“Interesting.” Zach is impressed and he nods. “I know that soulmates aren’t everything, but my parents were.” He tells you, smiling a little sadly. “They were probably the best relationship I’ve ever seen.”
"We both had good role models for healthy relationships. That's far more rare than it should be, I think." You note the past tense in his words but don't push, instead watching as he carefully serves the meal onto the two smaller plates you were given.
The lamb smells amazing and Zach is already drooling, imagining what he could make. “Are you ready to give me ideas?” He teases as he looks up from finishing plating.
"Dinner ideas?" You raise an eyebrow at him and pick up your fork, feeling bold with the help of the waitress who broke the ice and managed to make you Zach's girlfriend with a touch of cute teasing. "Or dirty ideas?"
“I accept all ideas.” Zach promises, his voice dipping down slightly, turning sensual.
"Fuck." Even just a quiet groan of frustration from you is enough to let him know exactly where you're at. Every single time he kisses you, you're convinced that you're going to soak through your shorts, and you no longer care if he knows it or not.
“I’ve been thinking about something.” Zach starts, forking up a bite of the risotto and trying it with a groan of approval.
"Tell me." There have been a few more serious topics touched on today without delving too deep, but you have faith that whatever it is that's on his mind won't be bad.
“We don’t have to be back on the ship until tomorrow morning.” The club is closed for the night while in port since the majority of the passengers are on shore. “What do you think about not going back tonight?”
"Like...find a little hotel?" Your fork is halfway to your mouth when you meet his eyes, seeing that there is the same spark of desire there as in your own. "That would certainly be more comfortable than using one of our bunks after we kick our roommate out," you agree, letting a grin crawl across your face.
“We don’t have to.” He stresses, not wanting you to feel like he expects to spend the night with you.
"I know." But you shrug with just a touch of guilt. "And if you want to wait that's totally fine. But...I definitely want to."
“I want to.” He is quick to reassure you of that. “I really want to. I just—” he bandied about for the right words. “Didn’t want to come off as pushy.”
"Pushy is normally my problem." you promise him. "The other part of Shane's whole 'be less you' advice was not rolling up to our first date and telling you we would make beautiful children." It's still of a hell of a way to come on strong so you laugh it off, but it's true all the same. "You've been anything but pushy, baby."
“You would have beautiful babies with Shrek.” He snorts, shaking his head. “My genes would have nothing to do with it.”
"Don't count yourself out." The grin on your face slides sideways and the two of you dig into your dinner in earnest. "Those curls of yours on a little baby? Cuties."
He blushes slightly, imagining how a baby with you would look. It’s a fantasy that he never even imagined being able to consider just a few years ago. “Only because of you. And most babies are cuties anyway.”
“They are.” That’s just a fact as far as you’re concerned. The two of you continue to eat for another minute or so before your mind catches up with all the possible consequences of that topic coming up and you almost stutter as you reach for your wine glass. “I’m—I’m on birth control, though,” you point out. Like he might think you’re trying to baby trap him on the first date just because you think babies are cute. “That’s…like I want kids eventually but I’m not crazy about it.”
This is happening. Zach swallows a bite of the deliciously fragrant and juicy lamb so he doesn’t choke. “Good. I mean, I would still want to wear a- birth control shouldn’t just be on you.” He tells you. “I’m clean, but I- it’s always good to- you know, uh, be safe.”
“I’m clean too, and if you feel more comfortable with a condom that’s totally fine, I just—” Who knows if more wine is actually a good idea at this point but you take about gulp out of nerves. “I didn’t want you to think I had any motivation for…you know…tonight, other than really liking you.”
He has to laugh at that, reaching for your hand and winking at you. “You’re focusing on your career. I don’t think that your grand plan is to be knocked up by the chef of the club you headline your first contract out.” He promises.
“Well when you say it like that it sounds silly.” And yet? A part of you is certain, beyond any doubt whatsoever, that if it happened you could be such a happy little family.
He smirks slightly and reaches over to brush off a tiny bit of sauce on the edge of your mouth. “So we both know where we stand.” He hums. “Let’s just relax and enjoy where our night takes us.”
******
With the sun set and your meal finished, an intimacy has settled over you and Zach as you sip your coffee together and listen to the busy streets of Knossos bustle with tourists and nightlife. Normally you would be part of that. You would be out with friends or searching out a feeling to get lost in — but today has been so thorough in proving that you can simply get lost in Zach that you don’t want to stray. Everything you could possibly want for your night is right here next to you. And it’s a type of calming feeling that you don’t know you’ve ever felt with another person before.
“That was probably the best meal I’ve ever eaten.” Zach rubs his stomach appreciatively and looks over at you. “Lamb on the menu for the club?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” You’ll eat anything he cooks anyway. But having it be a special memory between the two of you? That’s worth bragging about. “With those whipped carrots you made yesterday? Oh my god.”
“You liked those?” He grins, loving feedback as much as the next person and if it comes from you it makes it even sweeter. “I’ve been thinking about making it a soufflé and putting a topping on it. Similar to a sweet potato soufflé? What do you think? Too much?”
“I don’t know,” you admit with a grin spreading across your face. “I’ve never had a soufflé before.”
“You’ve never had a sweet potato casserole?” His eyes widen. “You’re shitting me?”
You shrug weakly, yet can’t help but laugh at how strong his reaction is. “My dad hates sweet potatoes,” you explain between giggles. “We basically ate like toddlers in my house forever, because he only liked four or five foods.”
“Wow.” He chuckles. “So I know what I’m making you tomorrow.” He grins. “Roasted chicken with sweet potato soufflé, creamed spinach and a fresh cranberry compote.”
“We just ate.” Sure, your tone is complaining, but the teasing is clear and sparkling in your eyes. “Why do you have to make me hungry all over again?”
Laughing, he leans over slightly to pull his wallet out to pay. Having cash is something of a safety net to him, although he’s proud of the shiny credit card with a low limit as he builds his credit back up. Offers have started coming for pre-approval of credit limits, but he’s resisted getting one so far. He pays this card off every month like clockwork. “I’ll let you sleep it off first.” He promises.
A different woman comes out with your check and a small folded bag. She smiles when she sees Zach ready to pay, and hands you the bag. “Congratulations,” she explains in a thick but clear accent. “From my grandparents. They’re very flattered you chose their restaurant for your honeymoon.”
Zach immediately feels guilty. “No— nothing is necessary.” He promises, shaking his head. “We are happy to be here. The food was amazing.”
"It's just a few cookies," she promises, apparently charmed by the display of manners. "And we're always glad to have kind guests."
“Everyone here has been wonderful.” Zach smiles as he hands over his card. “Now we just need to find a hotel with people as wonderful.”
"You don't have a place to stay already?" The bill is easily and silently settled with the exchange of a few bills between them and the woman points down the beach to a three-story white building on the edge of the beach. "Dite is a beautiful hotel. Small. But very nice. And you will see the perfect sunrise in your room."
“What do you think, sweetheart?” He asks, turning towards you. “I think it sounds just about perfect, if they have a room available.”
“Small sounds perfect.” In fact, after the bustle of the ship, it sounds like a small relief. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
“I will call for you.” She offers. “Family.”
“That would be wonderful.” You look to Zach for confirmation. “The hotel is my treat. I promise.”
He huffs, frowning slightly at the notion of you paying and there is a grin on the woman’s face as she nods in approval. “I will go call right now and let them know you are coming.” She beams before scampering off.
“It’s okay.” Sensing a bit of hurt pride that you dismiss as typically male, you lean over and kiss Zach’s cheek. “You can buy our breakfast.”
He can’t tell you that it’s because he somehow still looks at someone paying for something – even if it benefits them – as a handout. That is way too deep for this date and probably means he needs to schedule a visit with the VA therapist next time he’s in New York. “Sounds good, sweetheart.” He hums.
It only takes a few minutes for the younger waitress to return, and when she does she is smiling broadly. To Zach she hands a slip with the name and address of the hotel. “They’re getting your room ready now,” she tells you both gladly.
“Thank you.” He smiles. “For everything.”
“Our pleasure.” She assures him, and trots off again after saying good night.
He turns towards you and gives you a searching look. “Are you ready?”
"Absolutely." Considering you can see the hotel from here, you don't mind walking. A stroll through the streets of the ancient city, hand in hand with your newly minted boyfriend? It sounds perfect to you.
Zach scoots out of the seat and holds out his hand to you. “Then let’s walk off this amazing dinner.”
The roads and the beach stretch on longer than you anticipate but the walk is welcome. You're most quiet, enjoying each other's company without the need to fill the air with idle conversation. You take in the city around you and the overwhelming number of tourists. The hustle and the bustle is beautiful, but something about the fact that you can be comfortable in the quiet with Zach brings and unexpected extra layer of intimacy to the night.
Walking hand in hand is intimate, serene. He doesn’t feel the need to make excuses or fill the silence, he just enjoys the way the smiles seem to be just for you as a couple, coming from others who pass you on the streets.
The hotel is clean and bright, and the extended family of the folks who owned the restaurant are as sweet as can be when you check in. They’ve put you in a top floor room facing the ocean and promise you it’s their best, and you and Zach take the stairs up after thanking them once more.
“I feel bad.” Zach muses. “They think we are on our honeymoon.”
“First dates can be just as special as honeymoons, right?” You offer as you make your way down the hall to your room. “I checked their rates online and it was the same as what we paid. So they’re not giving us big discounts or anything. If they had, I would have said something.”
“Good.” He feels better about that and his stomach twists in nervous anticipation. You both had stopped in a little shop where he had purchased a small box of condoms. They feel heavy in his pocket.
“Hey.” The leaden heaviness sits between you as you unlock the door to your room and push it open. Before you even make a move to step inside, you settle your hand on Zach’s arm and offer him a soft, reassuring smile. “Just because we want to doesn’t mean we have to tonight, okay? We can decide to just hang out and cuddle and sleep beside each other and it will still be perfect.”
“Are you having second thoughts?” He asks seriously, trying not to look disappointed, because he doesn’t want that to pressure you.
“Not at all.” You’re quick to assure him of that, pushing open the door and stepping inside. “You just seem…nervous? I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong.”
“Afraid of disappointing you.” He admits with a small huff of amusement at himself as he flashes you a grin. “It’s been a while for me.”
"Then I'm flattered you would choose me to be the one to break that dry spell with." It really is a vote of confidence from him, and you won't take that for granted. Despite the fact that you don't understand how in the hell anyone has ever let him go, you're glad to be the person that is here and ready to see all of the potential he has as a partner.
“I would be fucking crazy not to.” Zach snorts, shaking his head. “Baby you are gorgeous and kind, and everything I don’t deserve.”
"Hey now." You shake your head as you shut the door behind the two of you, flipping the lock and feeling the shiver of anticipation roll through you. But still, hearing him put himself down is the last thing you're comfortable with and when you turn back to Zach you slide your hands up his arms gently. "I wouldn't let somebody else talk about you like that, what makes you think you get to?"
“Habit.” He admits, biting his lip and reaching for your waist to draw you closer. “I’m working on it.”
"I'm here to remind you how incredible you are anytime you need." A strong support system means everything, you learned that the hard way. And you're more than happy to be that for Zach.
“Thanks.” There’s a bit gratefulness and quite a bit of amazement in his eyes as he looks at you. “You are absolutely amazing, you know that?” He asks. “You take my breath away.”
Your hands creep up his arms, sliding around his neck so your fingers can sink into his short, soft hair. "I'd be happy to do that for you literally, if you'd like."
“How would you do that?” He has a pretty good idea, but he wants to hear what you have in mind.
The hum that leaves your lips as you press your body against his is full of promise. "I'd start at the top and work my way down, of course," you tell him, bringing Zach down to meet your lips for a searing kiss.
He can’t help but groan, a grown man melting against you, but he’s already weak in the knees from the passion in just this one kiss. The sense of complete rightness that washes over him as his own arms band around you tighter and he starts to give back to you.
None of the kisses you had shared yet today had been allowed to be this deep. You were in public. You were sharing space with other people. And this is so intensely intimate. It would have felt wrong just to let other people see your naked heart out there on your sleeve. But when it is just the two of you locked safely away in the privacy of a hotel room? You would be a puddle at his feet if it weren’t for the uncanny strength of him holding you tight against his chest.
It’s not hard for his body to respond instantly. He’s already lived most of the day in a state of arousal just being around you. But with the length of your body pressed against his and your tongue coaxing his further into your mouth? He is rock hard and aching. Groaning slightly as he turns both of you towards where the bed should be based on the split second examination of the room earlier.
And just like that you feel ignited. The press of his body against yours as he steers you blindly through around the room is an errant spark that seems to catch on every inch of you. With one hand your fingers card and tug in his hair, nails grazing over his scalp. With the other you pull his shoulders to keep him impossibly close — feeling like you’ll forget to breathe if you stop sharing gasps with him between kisses.
You taste like sweet wine and cream. A perfect combination when mixed with something that is just…you. He can’t describe it, but it’s warm and earthy.
The backs of your legs bump against the bed frame, almost toppling you over and making you hang onto Zach all the more tightly, giggling into the kiss. “Oops,” You can’t help but laugh at how deeply uncoordinated it was, even as out of breath as you are. “Weak knees aren’t very stable, apparently.”
“Then we should lay down.” Zach suggests, grinning against your lips and starting to crouch down.
It doesn’t exactly take convincing. Not when every single time he’s kissed you today has turned you a soaking wet, needy mess. The fact that you finally get to do something about it is exhilarating and relieving all at once. “Hell yes,” you agree, nearly hauling him into the bed with you when you try to kiss him and move at the same time.
He laughs when you both nearly topple over, flopping down on your sides in a move that is not nearly as graceful as he had planned in his mind. “Eager?” He asks. Sliding his hand down your side to your ass.
“Oh, absolutely.” You smirk, but shift your leg ever so slightly so your thigh presses against the front of his shorts. “Just as much as you are.”
“Baby, have you looked in the mirror?” Zach groans, twitching under the pressure. “You’re a complete knockout and fucking sweet as pie.”
“As long as you like what you see, the mirror doesn’t matter.” What you see and what he sees looking at you will never be quite the same, so as long as he likes the version of you that he sees, you’re fine with it.
Zach doesn’t say anything else, he just slowly leans in and presses his lips to yours softly.
It’s such a sweet, gentle gesture that you melt deeper into the mattress. For that one moment there are no thoughts at all left in your head. It’s just Zach and the possibilities.
He follows you, body half covering yours as he lets the kiss deepen slightly. Not too much, but he squeezes your ass gently as he grinds into you.
The roll of his hips earns him a moan, and he swallows it up eagerly so you give him another and hitch one leg up to let him get closer.
He presses deeper into you, slotting his hips between yours as you open up and he gasps into your mouth when his hard cock presses against the heat of your core.
The heat in your belly flares hotter, wicking all the way Down your limbs, and you whimper again because you have no prayer of a coherent sentence or even word in that moment. There’s horny and eager then there’s whatever the hell you are as you grind your hips against his to beg for more.
It’s juvenile, but grinding against you over clothes while he kisses you is the height of eroticism right now. He groans into your mouth before breaking away, wanting to taste every inch of your skin.
He trails kisses along your jaw and throat, making your back arch and stealing your breath all over again. While he begins to travel south you tug at his shirt, trying to tear the damn thing off while your whole body aches for him.
Zach smiles against your skin, cutting his eyes up at you playfully. “You’re too impatient” he teases, pulling away. “Think I’ll blindfold you.”
You pout instantly, but the idea is intriguing enough that you raise an eyebrow at him. “Do I get to see you eventually?”
“Eventually.” He smirks, loving that you are going along with his little idea. “That way you can accurately judge how good I am.”
“I can’t judge your skills with my eyes open?” Delighted to have found him not so very vanilla after all, you let the hand you still have in his hair tug in his curls and grin when he moans.
“You might be overwhelmed by my good looks.” He chuckles and shakes his head. One of the things that made him suggest this is his tattoo. He didn’t want to have a ton of questions about it right now. This wasn’t the time for remembering the past, but enjoying the present.
“Is this a ‘hands off’ situation, too? Or can I at least still touch you?” There are plenty of things you’re willing to try out that you already know you enjoy that people might consider out of the ordinary, but the first time with a new partner you want to feel them in every way.
“You can touch me.” He promises. “I’m just feeling a little shy right now.” He jokes playfully, winking at you. “Don’t want you to get too scared.”
“You have nothing you need to be shy about, but I fully respect having a few hang ups. I’ve got plenty, too.” Reluctantly as you are to take your hands off of him, you reach for your belt instead — or rather, the long sash of fabric that you tied through your belt loops today because you thought it looked a little cuter than a standard belt. “Use this.”
“Are you sure?” He takes the fabric from your hands and holds it up to his eyes playfully.
“I trust you.” You trust him somehow inherently. As though it were as simple as trusting yourself. In a way that sticks in your chest and warms through you like hot cocoa in winter.
He watches you for a moment after pulling the scarf down from his face, “Okay.” He agrees. “I just want this to be something we never forget.”
“I can already guarantee I will never forget any part of today,” you promise him, shivering slightly with anticipation as he settles your former belt gently over your eyes.
He ties it firmly, but not too tight. If you need it off, all you need to do is slip it up your forehead or pull it down. The point of this is to be fun, to explore without judgement and he can’t do that if you are uncomfortable. “Hopefully that’s a good thing and it doesn’t go into your ‘worst dates’ catalog.” He jokes before he slides his hands down to the edge of your shirt to push it up your stomach and drop a kiss right above your belly button.
With every small touch now heightened, your skin tingles with the scrap of his calloused fingers and press of the feather-light kiss. “I don’t fuck on the first date unless it’s a really fucking good date.”
“Me either.” Zach smirks against your skin before he decides to nip your side slightly, laughing quietly when you jump and gasp at the grazing of his teeth. Instead of working down, he decides to work up and nuzzles just under the band of your bra.
One hand blindly makes its way to his shoulder again, grasping the thick cords of muscle there and reminding you just how powerful this broad man is that is being so tender and playful with you. At this point it’s Zach’s game — to explore and to pleasure and to discover — and every point of contact between you is a spark catching fire.
It takes just a second to discover that your bra hooks in the front, to Zach's utter delight, making it easy to unbind your breasts and capture a nipple in his mouth before your shirt is even off or your straps slid down your arms.
The heat and pressure of Zach’s mouth feels boiling even on this warm night, sending you gasping and cursing as you grip his shoulder tighter. If you get any wetter your shorts might outright dissolve, but he would probably consider that a bragging right.
Zach groans against your nipple, loving the little arch to your back, pushing your breast to his mouth more. Offering yourself up.
There is no steady rhythm to any of it as Zach works to take you apart piece by piece. He has a method in his madness, surely, but you are breathless and moaning as he reduces you to a human puddle on the bedsheets. While you can’t see him like this you can definitely feel him, and your hands tug at his shirt again to get that luscious skin-on-skin sensation as he starts to travel down your body.
He takes his time, learning the sensitive spots on your body and enjoying every soft sound he pulls out of your mouth. Until he is dragging your shorts down your legs.
It’s about fucking time says the impatient voice in your head as you squirm in the bed and lift your hips to help him move things along. He’s consented to take his shirt off, at least, so that warmth that rolls off of him in waves can seep directly into your bones. You whimper as the cool breeze of exposure hits your overheated cunt, dripping with need and aching for attention.
“Fuck, you look so pretty right now.” Zach groans at the sight of your wet lips, hair trimmed and manicured. You either were hoping that the night would end this way, or you were very meticulous about your grooming. He’s kind of hoping for the former even though he wouldn’t care if you had done anything. “Baby, you look good enough to eat.”
“Tease.” You whine, trying to sound huffy but only succeeding in strangling another moan when his breath ghosts over your swollen pussy. Even with his hands caressing your thighs, you’re squirming.
It’s been a long goddamn time since Zach has had a pussy in his face, but he loves the musky scent of your wet sex. Making him twitch and groan as he slowly spreads your lips wide for him to drag his tongue up your folds for that first, tantalizing lick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” With your back arching and your fingers tight in his hair, it’s so easy to lose yourself to one little taste.
He makes a sound of pleasure as he flicks his tongue over your clit and comes back for another pass. This time starting lower and letting his tongue tease your entrance before sliding higher.
If you weren’t blindfolded already you might have cum just from the sight of him. His lips and tongue explore while his hands keep you steady, holding you in place so the buck of your hips doesn’t unseat him before he can really get going.
He absorbs your sound, your taste. The very essence of your being, feasted on as he slowly and thoroughly licks through you like a meal he is savoring.
It’s a stunning combination of thorough exploration and eager enthusiasm that has you writing and moaning his name so quickly. You could have had a date yesterday and everything about tonight would already be better. Zach seems somehow to know exactly what you like without asking, reading your signals perfectly air pushing you higher and higher until his name is the only word on your lips.
Zach is completely entranced by the way you respond to his touch, never having a lover he feels so in-sync with. It’s like he’s touched you a million times before rather than just these last few minutes.
The whole world has stopped existing around you. It's just you and Zach and this bed and every new height of pleasure that he keeps building you to. The press of his hands on your hips, the deep push of his tongue, the sharp half-scrape of his teeth near your clit that he's discovered makes you gasp and moan.
“Cum for me baby.” He pulls away to gasp his plea, the need to see you fall apart about to rupture in his veins and make him go mad. His grip tightening on your hips and he dives back into your cunt with the desperation of a man starved that’s reached his oasis.
You don't have to tell me twice, you would say if you could swim through the thick mire of bliss to tease him. Instead, and much more true to the moment, you let out a sobbing moan and beg for just a little bit more to send you over the edge.
He hears the unspoken plea in your whimpers and opens his mouth wider to just devour you. Burying himself into your pussy where his nose is blocked by your mound as he pushes you over the edge and if he died in this moment, he would die blissfully happy.
Your back arches fiercely one more time, lifting your shoulders off the bed as you hit that sharp crest that explodes into your climax. All of your muscles tense and curses spill freely, interspersed with his name and moans entirely without words – until that crest becomes altogether too much, the thread mercifully snaps, and you fall back on the mattress an utterly satisfied puddle.
Zach is slow to pull his mouth away. Savoring the little tremors that race through your thighs and makes your pussy clench against his chin as he laps at your juices one last time before he lifts his head with a groan of satisfaction. “And just think, we’ve only started.” He hums playfully, knowing that the night has just begun.
------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer
ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76
#Pedro Pascal#Pedro Pascal character fanfiction#Pedro Pascal fanfic#Zach Wellison#Zach Wellison x female reader#Zach Wellison x you#Zach Wellison x f!reader#Brothers & Sisters#Shane Dio Morrissey#Shane Dio Morrissey x female OC#NYPD Blue#soulmate au#Soulmate Sunday#cruise ship au#first date
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MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE END OF ARCANE SEASON 2
So uh…. the end of Arcane tore my heart out and shattered it into a million pieces. I may have blacked out and written a short, post-canon fic of Vi mourning for Jinx. Fic under the cut, or you can read it on ao3 here:
The dust from the war on Piltover had settled. Fires were extinguished, and bodies were buried. A worn hopefulness had spread over the city, broken bones held perfectly still with the slim chance they might mend. Everyone had lost something, and now only the question of what came next remained.
It was late at night, but Vi couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t been able to rest for more than a few hours at a time in the past few days. Most nights, she laid in bed besides Caitlyn, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, clinging to the reassurance that at least one person she loved was still here.
Silent feet hit carpet as Vi slipped out of bed. She let herself wander the Kiramman estate in silence. A ghost echoing through the hallway, haunted by the weight of all she’d lost.
At some point she found herself in the garden. The moonlight illuminated the array of flowers and trees that surrounded a marble water fountain. Vi settled herself at its edge, staring into the water. It shimmered blue, like the hextech crystals her sister had loved. Gentle ripples fanned out from its center with soft splashes, a mimicry of Jinx’s hair, loose and wild as it had been in the cell.
You’re never going to give up on me, are you? Another broken promise, another betrayal, another failure. It wasn’t fair. Vi had only ever asked for one thing. For her little sister to be safe right beside her. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things and rage against the entire fucking world until there was nothing left but ashes, because what was even the point if her sister wasn't-
“Vi?” A soft voice broke her from her thoughts. Caitlyn crouched down next to her, wearing a blue robe and a concerned expression. “Are you alright?”
Vi looked away. “I just needed to think.”
“You miss your sister, don’t you?” she asked as she sat beside Vi.
“She can’t just be gone, Cait.” Her voice cracked around the plea. “Not after all this.”
“What happened to her… I know it was unfair,” Caitlyn said softly, “but you can’t blame yourself. Jinx made her choice.”
“Well she chose wrong!” Vi snapped.
“Maybe. But it was still her choice. Don’t take that away from her.”
“She never really listened to me,” Vi said with a wet laugh, “not when it really mattered. No one could tell her what to do.”
Caitlyn smiled sadly. “Your sister had so much spirit. So much energy.”
“You don’t have to…” Vi sighed. “She killed your mom. You don’t have to pretend for me.”
“I think we’re all more than our worst actions. Your sister included.” Caitlyn reached down and took her hand. “I only wish I’d had the chance to know the side of her you saw.”
“She was so smart. Even when we were little kids. She was always screwing around with some gadget or other.” Vi shook her head with a fond smile. “It drove Milo crazy sometimes. And she was so… good. I know how that sounds now, with everything she did, but…”
“I understand. I saw how much she loved you, Vi,” Caitlyn murmured.
“She just wanted to help,” Vi said despairingly, “even when everything was falling apart, even after I abandoned her… all she wanted was family. That’s why Silco got to her. That's why she died. Because I failed.”
“You were just a child,” Caitlyn reminded her gently.
“So was she!” Vi’s shouting gave way to sobs. “She was just a kid. And now she- she won’t get the chance to be anything else.”
Caitlyn pulled her into a tight hug, and she collapsed into her girlfriend’s arms. Vi wept bitter tears for her parents, their broken dreams for a better world, for Mylo and Claggor, two street kids who could have been so much more than were allowed to be, for Vander, his undying devotion to them all. She wept for Powder, that earnest little girl, and for Jinx, that wild fighter, and for every person her sister ever had been and would never be. And Vi cried for herself- for a family that had gone up in flames twice, for the miserable years she’d spent alone, for the hope she’d stubbornly hung onto all these years that had plummeted into the abyss with her sister. Vi wept and shook and sobbed, letting out all her anguish, all her pain, until she finally reached a point where she had no tears left inside her. Nothing left to give.
“I’m sorry for making you deal with this,” she whispered into Caitlyn’s chest.
“It’s alright.” Her girlfriend pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got you. Always.”
#arcane spoilers#arcane season 2 spoilers#arcane season two spoilers#arcane#arcane season 2#vi#jinx#vi arcane#jinx arcane#caitlyn kiramman#caitvi#caitlyn arcane#vi x caitlyn#my writing#lich saves this#for later
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Me: posts something from Midnight Mass
Mutuals: Ok, HEAR ME OUT
#BUT I LOVE IT#i love feeling like i have impact on the world even on such a small fairly insignificant scale#and i love you guys#anyway my opinion is:#flanagan is still better in his og stuff than doing adaptations#he has a fairly good grasp of building relationships between characters BUT he seems to struggle with the stories themselves.#he builds and builds this grand idea but then his endings go out with a fizzle not a boom#don't get me wrong the series was entertaining but the actors were a huge part of it they really worked their asses off#if not the charm of hamish linklater and the charisma of everyone else it would fall a bit flat#and of course you gotta let your actors do their thing but the story shouldn't rely on them to be good#i feel like flanagan loves references and patterns too much to the point where he becomes drunk on the concepts and the plot suffers.#which i can understand bc i also love patterns BUT#when you're creating a tv series you can't lose the forest for the trees#(i didn't mind the monologues tho! that's not where the problem lies surprisingly.#it's more the way they're written and how the story is - it's supposed to be deep and it is but it loses the depth when it's overexplained.#sometimes you wish something was withheld from you as the viewer.#like the moment of silence when riley goes out at night and sees the world differently. i really like that moment of stillness#where everything he could have said was felt rather than explained.#so there's that)#i also wish he was more daring#because in the end everything was very simple and explainable. all the reasons all the relationship dynamics.#i personally would push for more ambiguity. more moments of uncertainty and madness#it was all very constrainted. despite there being a literal winged vampiric creature hanging around.#which btw was underutilized. OR could have been eliminated altogether. that would have been interesting.
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Everything has changed | H.J.
Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader
Summary: in a game party you find out that your friend, Jisung, might have a crush on you and after that night you might have developed a crush on him too.
Warnings: Han is a loser, awkwardness, jealousy, pool sex 💅🏻, pussy eating, unprotected piv(don't do this at home), a bit of handjob.
Words count: ±3,400
THIS CONTENT IS FOR +18 PEOPLE ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!!!!!!
A/N: I have some weird ass writers block right now(have been like this for months 😭) but I'm not dead, I'm still alive and thinking about a hundred fics a day, I just don't seem to manage to write them 🤓☝🏻 anyways, this fic was inspired in this post because Han Jisung got some crazy biceps going on here and I'm on my biceps biting era soooo 💅🏻(don't come for me if it's trashy, I haven't written in a hundred years)
If you like my writing don't forget to reblog, comment and like too. xoxo love yall
“What do you think about Jisung?” Was the question Changbin asked when you chose truth in the game of truth or dare you were playing.
You smile sheepishly as all the boys stare at you excitedly and the girls have a little smirk on their lips, as if everyone knows something you don't.
“Hm, he's nice”, you shrug.
“You know that's not what he meant”, Ryujin says, raising a brow.
“Well, then be more specific”, you roll your eyes.
“Would you fuck him?” Karina asks, making the whole group gasp with her bluntness. Your eyes dart to Jisung, who's as red as a tomato, his bottom lips are stuck between his teeth while he stares at you anxiously.
“That's- I never thought about that, so I'm not sure”, you answer nervously. Seeing Jisung’s shoulders go down and a pout form in his lips.
“Then, there's your answer”, Karina shrugs, turning the bottle so someone else can go.
You were being truthful, you never thought about your friend in that way. You know he's handsome but you always avoid having second intentions with someone so close to you because you don't want to lose a friendship.
However, after that day and after seeing Jisung's reaction to your answer, you can't shake the feeling that maybe he's into you. You constantly catch his gaze lingering on you, when you guys are alone he keeps stuttering and even when your other friends are around, he treats you differently from them.
A few weekends after that night, Chan invites everyone to a get together in his house so everyone's going to sleep there after. Karina, Ryujin and Lia stop by your house in the early afternoon to get you so you can all go to Chan's together. When you get there, the guys are in the pool playing some sort of game, Felix and Changbin are on top of two floats, fighting while Minho is attacking Changbin with his water gun and Jisung is in the middle of both.
You stop in your tracks, watching as Jisung holds Changbins thighs, his biceps are deliciously showing and flexing as the older man falls out of the float and the younger one catches him, grabbing his bottom slightly but you can't help but wish you could be the one being grabbed by him like that.
Yes, you weren't lying that night when you said you had never thought about Jisung in that way. The problem is, that after you did, you couldn't stop. Everything he did from that night onwards caught your attention. His eyes on you, his lips, the way he smirks when someone says something dirty and he thinks no one's paying attention. The way every piece of fabric he wears hugs his body like it was made just for him. Your girlfriends are already onto you, they know something is off and they have the feeling that you finally opened your eyes to the puppy in love in your group of friends, but they decided not to say anything for now, afraid that they are going to scare you off and make you bury your new found attraction for Jisung deep in your heart, afraid to ruin your friendship.
You shake your head, listening to what the others are talking while you go inside to put your things in the guestroom Chan has prepared for you.
You spend the afternoon mostly just sunbathing while observing the guys joking around and other people arrive little by little taking your attention away from the pool.
While you eat, you can't help but notice a blonde laughing too loudly, catching your attention. She pushes Jisung playfully, throwing her head back, making you huff annoyed, you're sure what he said isn't even that funny.
“I'm gonna get some more beer, does anyone want something from the kitchen?” Jisung gets up, asking around.
“I'll help”, the blonde smiles, following him after some people ask for their beverage of choice and your eyes linger on his figure, as he walks away with the beautiful girl.
“Oh, y/n, can you get some more napkins for us?” Ryujin asks. You frown, you're sure you just saw a mountain of napkins somewhere but you have no idea where it went as you look around and can't find it.
“Sure”, you nod, getting up to go to the kitchen.
As soon as you enter the house you can hear the giggles coming from the kitchen. You take a deep breath trying to gather the courage to go inside and see something you're not sure you want to.
The girl is close to Jisung, too close for her own good, attached to his arm, practically hanging on to him. You scowl, feeling the blood in your body boiling, if you weren't sure about your feelings for your friend, you are damn sure now seeing as you're basically foaming at the mouth with the view right in front of you.
Jisungs gaze lands on you immediately when you enter the kitchen, his eyes grow wide and he takes a step back, detaching himself from the girl.
“Am I interrupting?” You ask, knowing well that you are and ignoring the glare the blonde gives you.
“Ye-” she tries to say, but is cut off by the man whose gaze hasn't left your figure since the moment you arrived.
“No”, he gulps, “what are you looking for?” Jisung asks.
“Napkins”, you say, tilting your head and leaning over the counter. Your elbows rest on the surface, purposely bringing attention to your chest.
“Just a minute”, Jisung gulps, turning around and opening the fridge. He takes out four cans of beer and gives it to the blonde. “You can go back first, I'll bring the rest in a minute”
She looks at him for a whole 10 seconds, stunned and then huffs, marching out of there.
“Your girlfriend is lovely”, you tease him, walking around the counter to get closer to him.
“She's not my girlfriend”, he laughs sheepishly, “we were just talking”
“I'm sure you were”, you say sarcastically and stare at him for a moment. “So? The napkins?” You ask.
“Oh, yeah! Yeah! Here”, he says, turning around to open the door to the cabinet on top of the sink.
Jisung’s arms look especially strong when he's flexing like that to pull the packages, it's something so mundane but it makes you blush the same way. He closes the door after and hands the products to you. “I'm going to get the beer for the others and follow you in a moment”
You nod, realizing that everything is different now that you know that you like your friend. You like Han Jisung.
You wake up the next morning feeling like shit, you tossed and turned in your bed until you finally fell asleep. You thought about all the things that could go wrong now that you liked one of your friends. What if things didn't work out between you two, you're sure it would cause a rift on your friend group.
Most people went home after midnight, Chan lets only his close friends crash in his house so you know everyone that stayed the night. Lia is by your side, yapping about what you're planning to do in the afternoon while you bite into your bread and try to not freak out when Jisung shows up in the living room. You keep avoiding his eyes, like you're guilty of something, and you definitely are, guilty of liking one of your friends.
In the afternoon you go out with Ryujin, Felix and Hyunjin, you all wanna walk around in the city and buy some clothes you definitely don't need. In the car you stare outside, your friends notice you're dozing around but prefer to wait for you to tell them if something is wrong.
After buying a new bikini, you just accompany your friends in their shopping spree. When you have no more room in the car for any more bags, you finally sit to get something to eat and while you wait for your order, you seize the opportunity to ask what's been on your mind in the last hour.
“Does Jisung like me?” You ask, you want to be sure that he doesn't want to just sleep with you.
“Where did that come from?” Felix frowns.
“That night I was asked if I would sleep with him”, you blush, “I was just wondering if he likes me or just finds me attractive”
Below the table, your fingers are pressing and scratching one another, you're nervous.
“I thought it was pretty obvious”, Hyunjin says, shrugging and getting elbowed by Felix.
“I don't think we are supposed to talk about that”, the younger one smiles awkwardly.
“Oh, please. It's not like the guy has made any effort to keep it a secret”, Ryujin rolls her eyes. “Clearly y/n likes him, that's why she wants to know”, your friend completes, laughing as your eyes grow wide. “It's not like you are making any effort to hide it either”
“Yes, he likes you”, Hyunjin says, ignoring Felix’s worries, “but he was very disheartened after that night when you said you never thought about him in that way”
‘It's a lie, but you don't need to know that’, he thinks to himself. Hyunjin is much more experienced in the love field, opposite to you and Jisung, so he knows you just need a little push for things to start working out and he doesn't mind being the one shoving you to each other.
“Oh”, that's all you can say.
That means maybe he doesn't like you anymore, right? That girl from the other night was very pretty, maybe she's his new type. She looked very girly and soft, you don't know if you would be considered any of that. Most importantly, she was clearly interested in him, maybe he wants to go after someone who doesn't reject him in front of everyone he knows.
You toss and turn once more in bed, Ryujin is sleeping right next to you and you're afraid of waking her up because you can't sleep. Your mind is so full of thoughts, a million per hour and you just can't stop thinking about how you ruined everything with the guy you like.
Even with the AC turned on, you're still hot and since you don't want to wake up anyone, you silently grab your bikini, putting it on before going to the pool.
You didn't expect to find Jisung there, he's just floating in the water with a pout on his lips and eyes closed, maybe he fell asleep?
You sit comfortably on the edge of the pool, putting only your feet in the water and watching Jisung. After a few minutes of complete stillness, the man opens his eyes, taking a deep breath and sinking into the water.
He comes back a few seconds later, back turned to you and you can't help but watch him. His back is muscular, broad shoulders with a tiny waist. When he turns around, he flinches, seeing you there, staring at him.
“I didn't mean to scare you”, you chuckle.
“It's fine”, he scratches the back of his head, “I thought I was the only one still awake”
“It's really hot, I couldn't sleep”, you say, it's not the whole truth but you're not sure if you want him to know that he's the reason you're still wide awake.
He nods, awkwardly looking around while his hands play with the water. Since that game, you both have been feeling weird near each other, you for discovering these new emotions towards your friend and him for being embarrassed that you knew about his one sided crush.
‘Maybe it's worth it’, you think to yourself. He already risked it all when he let you know about his crush, it's not the end of the world if he doesn't like you anymore, you just have to ask.
“About that night…”, you ask out of nowhere with a courage you have no idea where it came from. “Do you still like me?”
Jisung opens his mouth a few times, closing it right after, not knowing what to say. He takes a deep breath before answering.
“I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything”, he sighs.
“Do you still like me?” You frown, repeating your question.
“Yeah, I do”, he shrugs, embarrassed.
“I never thought about you that way before”, you say, seeing the pout growing in his lips, “but after that night I kinda did”
Jisung stares at you for a minute before speaking again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I like you back”, you feel your whole face heating while you wait for him to react. You both are still far from each other, Jisung in the middle of the pool while you're at the edge. His eyes grow wide and his lips open like he has something to say but doesn't know how.
He starts coming close to you, your heart beating faster as the distance between you both lessens, until the man stops in front of you, his hands landing on each side of your thighs but still not touching.
“Can you repeat that?” He blushes, “I don't want you to say you like me back just because you pity me”, he bites on his bottom lip and you smile. You cup his face with your hands, bending down so you can kiss him. His lips are soft and he tastes good, sweet, like something you would never get tired of. His hands finally touch your skin, sliding to your thighs and squeezing the plushy flesh.
“If you knew me at all, you'd know I would never lie about liking someone”, you let go of him, smiling and giving him a peck before growing the distance between your faces.
“I just really like you”, he blushes, biting his bottom lip, finally letting his gaze travel down your body, going through your tits pushed up by the bikini top and going down your stomach, until it reaches your bikini bottom, his hands squeezing your thighs even more to the view of your body in front of him.
“Is that so?” You smirk, “show me then”, you smile, bending down to whisper in his ear. “Show me how much you like me”
Jisung doesn't waste any time, grabbing your face with only one hand and squeezing your cheeks, kissing you harshly. His other hand slides up, pulling the strings of your bikini bottom so he can untie the bow. He pulls away from you, leaving kisses down your neck, he has his hand down on your pussy, putting on a finger and watching your reaction to it.
You moan, grinding your hips against his hand so you can feel him deeper. Jisung has his mouth slightly opened, dazed with the little whimpers you let out when he adds another finger inside you. Your hands go instantly to his shoulders, nails burying in his skin while his other hand unties the top of your bikini, freeing your tits. Jisung watches them bounce with his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. He can't help himself, coming closer, his mouth closing on your left breast, his tongue playing with your nipple, making you moan.
His thumb slides to your clit and you bite on your bottom lip, trying not to make too much noise — at least not more than you're already making.
The man smiles, kissing down your stomach, getting closer to your pussy and you can feel his breath hitting the skin, making you tremble.
He licks a stripe between your folds, your hands fly to his hair pulling the locks. Jisung's hands slide to your thighs, pulling you more to the edge of the pool. Putting your legs over his shoulders and grabbing your ass so he can eat you out more intensely.
He looks like a man starved, the way he groans and moans just by feeling your taste. Jisung is so turned on he could come just by feeling your tight pussy in his mouth. The sounds you make are divine, he can't believe he gets to hear you like this, because of him, just for him.
“I- I'm gonna-”, you can't even finish your sentence, moaning the moment you try to say more than three words.
“Come for me, baby”, he stops eating you out just to say it, going back to work as soon as the words leave his mouth, he stares at you intensely from down there, working even harder and making you come undone in his mouth.
You take a few deep breaths, eyes closed. You can't believe how good he's at this and it also makes you a bit jealous, how did he get so good?
You watch as the man cleans around his mouth with his thumb, immediately taking the finger to his mouth to lick it clean and you hold the moan that wants to escape your mouth.
“Do you want to keep going?” He asks, not expecting you to but hoping that you do.
You nod, untying the other side of your bikini bottom, throwing the piece of fabric behind you.
You take Jisung's hands in yours, guiding them to your waist as you push yourself into the water. The man holds you, kissing your lips as soon as you are close enough to him. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your thighs when he pulls you towards him, wanting to feel your body on his and you can feel the heat growing all over your body again.
You slide your hand inside his shorts, grabbing his dick and making him whimper in your mouth. You bite on his bottom lip, your hand makes movements of back and forth, making Jisung bend down and bite your shoulder, trying to suppress his moan. You groan, it feels good having him so close to you, marking you as his.
You pull his shorts down all the way down, pushing yourself up and wrapping your legs around his hips. Jisung grabs his cock, rubbing his tip on your entrance, slightly teasing your clit.
“Are you sure about this?” He groans, trying to control himself, “after this I won't let you go”
You nod, closing your eyes in anticipation.
“Words”, he whispers, barely being able to hold himself back.
“Fuck.me.now”, you say with gritted teeth, opening your eyes to stare at him, holding onto his shoulders when he finally enters you.
You feel like heaven when he's inside you, your velvet walls tightening around him make him groan.
“Shit”, he cusses, biting on his bottom lip. “You're so hot”, he gets closer, kissing you deeply. His lips are so soft, you could never get over it.
Jisung starts thrusting, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer, fucking you deeper.
Your hands slide to his hair, pulling the locks while his lips go down your neck. He bites on your skin, sucking the area until it's red and you're sure it's gonna leave a mark. One of his hands goes to your clit, rubbing the bud, making you get closer to your climax.
“I'm close”, he says, his thrusts faster and his fingers working diligently.
“I'm close too”, you say, kissing him, feeling his thrusts getting sloppier. You feel the hot liquid being spilled inside you, but he doesn't stop. Jisung keeps going, putting more pressure into your clit until you're trembling around him. He whimpers in your mouth, his hips faltering and both of your breaths growing tired.
He rests his head on your shoulder for a few seconds, before moving away from you, staring at you like you're going to fight him and run off.
“I guess you like me a lot”, you smirk, watching him blush and smile.
“Do you wanna go out with me?” He asks, biting on his bottom lip.
“I thought you'd never ask”, you smile, giving him a peck on the lips. “I even already have the reason for our first fight”, you raise one brow, laughing as his eyes grow wide.
“What?”
“You are going to have to explain to me how you got so good at eating pussy”, you tease and he smiles.
“I guess I'm just a natural”, he shrugs, making you shake your head in amusement and kiss him.
You could get used to this, you definitely can.
#skz#stray kids#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#han jisung x you#han jisung x reader#han x reader#han x you#skz x you#skz x reader#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader#skz smut#stray kids smut#skz scenarios#han scenarios#han jisung scenarios#han smut#han jisung smut#stray kids scenarios
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Why isn't Bucky waking me up to have his way with me?
I wish I had the answer, nonnie!
Slip Inside
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky can't resist having you when he comes home.
Word Count: Over 1.5k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, somnophilia (at first), established relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, slight feels (it's me, okay?), lovesick and needy Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I can't send Bucky, but here you lovelies go! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Bucky wasn't meant to be home until tomorrow. He almost called to let you know he’d be back a day early, but it was late and he didn't want to disturb your slumber. Imagining the happy look in your eyes when you woke up beside him brought a smile to his face. Being loved by you was something he still couldn't believe was real some days, but he knew in the depths of his soul that you would always be his girl.
“Welcome home,” he whispered to himself when he saw you in bed, a sight for sore eyes.
He kept his gaze on you as he undressed, careful not to make any noise. You had an arm draped over the pillow next to you, the one he usually rested his head on. His heart raced as he took a step closer and gently pulled the blanket away, your body barely covered by the shirt he recently bought for you. Shivering slightly, you tried to curl in on yourself, but stilled quickly.
Like you knew he was watching you.
“I love you,” he breathed into the room.
You replied with a moan and rubbed your hand against the pillow.
You were beautiful when you slept. If you asked him, you were gorgeous all the time. A breathless kind of vision that he grew to appreciate more and more each day. But you weren't like a piece of art for him to just admire. You were the type of beauty meant to be appreciated.
And he gladly did so with his hands, mouth, and cock.
Oh, he loved you. Fuck, he needed you, too. It was an ache. A hunger. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter as long as he had you. And you were understanding enough to let him take what he needed.
“Mine,” he whispered.
Bucky quickly took the opportunity to slip into the bed and spoon you from behind. Your steady breathing grounded him in a sense while awakening the beast he kept at bay. The one that wanted to come out and play. One that needed to bury himself deep and keep you full.
If you were awake, he would've turned your head to kiss you nice and slow, unrushed even with the mounting desperation. Instead he rubbed his nose and scruffy chin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, breathing in the distinctly sweet scent of you while wanting to leave his claim. That no one else could touch or have you. That you were his.
“You're mine,” he growled lowly.
Rubbing the inside of your thigh once he pushed your shirt up enough, he heard your breathing hitch. He wasn't ready for you to wake up just yet, but it didn't keep him moving his hand higher and grasping the elastic of your underwear. He debated tearing the offending fabric off, but he couldn't fault you for wearing them.
You didn't know he'd come home tonight.
He also thought about touching you through your panties to feel you squirm under his touch. Your whines and whimpers always made his cock twitch, especially when you soaked the fabric. Sometimes he liked to shove them in your mouth so you could taste yourself and know he was the one who did that to you.
Only him.
He brushed his lips along your skin as he pulled it down, almost wishing he was in front of you so he could look down and see your exposed pussy. “Mine,” he whispered again as his fingers parted your folds and skimmed over your clit.
You moved back against him with a sigh, enticing him without even trying. Alternating between teasing the bundle of nerves and your slit, he felt his own breathing get heavier and harsh with each passing second. By the time he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices away, his cock was hard and heavy with the need to sink into your dripping cunt. He grunted as your flavor exploded on his tongue. He was done with foreplay.
And with how you panted and writhed, you were ready for him.
He hooked your leg over his thick thigh to open you up, hoping it wouldn't hurt when you stretched around him. “I love you,” he said once more as he brushed the tip of his cock against your hole, sighing as he slowly filled you up.
He had to close his eyes and hide his face in your neck to keep from losing it. He could go for hours when he wanted to, but the feel of your warm wetness gripping him like a vice was almost too much. Finishing quickly or not didn't matter. You’d take it as a compliment if your sweet cunt made him empty himself inside you so fast.
But he had to make it last and make you come first.
With a deep breath, he got himself under control. You let out the sweetest whine when he almost pulled out completely and shoved himself back in. Curled around you, all you could do was take his deep thrusts. He could've breathed through his nose and tried to stay quiet. He could’ve gone slow and steady. But he moaned and nipped at your skin, not wanting to hide his desire for you.
He couldn't see your face, but he felt you roll your hips back as you began to stir and heard another whine escape. You weren't completely awake, but your body craved what he was doing to you. It was enough for him to roll you on your stomach and quicken his pace.
“Bucky?” You mumbled.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't resist. Your pussy’s too good,” he groaned, putting a hand to the back of your neck to hold you still. “I need you. Need to feel you come on my cock.”
You fluttered around him as he stretched over your back, forcing you to take every inch of him. Your body went pliant as you let out a tired and needy moan. If you wanted him to stop, you would’ve told him to do so. “Please,” you whined as he practically rutted into you.
“I got you,” he grunted, driving harder into you as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Missed you. Missed you so fucking much. Might need to keep my cock in you all night.”
You trembled, both of you knowing you’d lay there and let him fuck you all night if he asked. You were so good for him. And greedy. It would be wrong of him not to give you what you longed for.
“And you'll let me fill you up, won't you? Of course, you will,” he panted against your ear. You tried to arch your back, but his massive frame overpowered you. “It’s okay. Just take it. Let me have you.”
Fucking you raw was a gift he’d selfishly continue to ask for and take. But how could he not? You always let out the prettiest sounds when he flooded your holes.
He couldn't stop himself from shoving his hand between the mattress and your body, seeking out your clit to tip you over the edge. Moans poured from you as he lightly pinched it, giving you the push you needed. “That’s it. Come on my cock. My cock. My good girl,” he encouraged as you clamped around him hard enough for him to lose his breath.
You nearly cried as he took you apart. “Bu… Bucky…”
“Trembling around my cock. Greedy girl,” he moaned, his hips snapping faster as he brought his mouth back to your ear. “My turn.”
He let out a deep groan as he stilled, filling you. His release hit him so hard his head spun, muttering his love for and possession of you as his eyes fluttered. You let out a broken moan as you clenched around him again and he had to keep from collapsing against you, both of you fighting for air.
“Love you,” he mumbled, wanting you to hear it now that you were awake.
He only pulled out so he could move you to your back and desperately kiss your lips the way he needed to, pushing himself back inside your leaking hole with a hum. Your eyes were half-lidded when he broke the kiss. Your gaze made him want to ruin you all over again.
“Love you, too,” you croaked, your back bowing when he groped your breast through the shirt. “Welcome home.”
Bucky’s heart pounded as he leaned down to kiss you again. It was a dance of tongue and teeth, dizzying and passionate. Some days you were the fire and others you were the fuel. You accepted the entirety of him and he welcomed everything you selflessly gave him in return.
“Good to be home, baby,” he smirked, brushing his thumb along your covered nipple. “Now stay awake. I need to fill you up at least two more times before the sun comes up.”
Even after that, he wasn't close to being done with you. But he was whole because he was home with you. And that would always be enough.
We deserve this, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x female!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fan fic#bucky barnes smut#bucky fic#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes x reader#james bucky barnes x reader#james barnes x reader#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan x female reader#sebastian stan
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Crybaby (Logan x Reader)
warnings: AFAB!reader, age gap, mean!logan, yelling, dacraphyillia, slightly dark, vaginal fingering, 18+ minors dni, divider from @strangergraphics
You can feel Logan’s eyes staring holes into the back of your head on the jet. You fucked up on this mission and he made sure you knew it. Loudly. In front of the rest of the team. He practically ripped you a new one with his harsh words, insulting your intelligence, strength, and ability to use your powers. Jean, the sweet angel she is, gently talked Logan down and saved you from facing more of his anger. Unfortunately, no one will be able to stop him once you get back to the mansion.
When you land, you hurry off the jet so Logan isn’t able to catch up with you. He made his point perfectly clear earlier, and you don’t need to hear any more of his yelling. You gather your things and make it back to your room without interruption, leaving you alone to clean up from the mission and deal with the day’s events.
Earth-wielding powers aren’t something to use when distracted, but so many things were happening at once that you slipped up. Storm got caught between two large rocks that you had moved and she was almost seriously hurt. Luckily you caught your mistake before any damage was done, but Logan still found your actions unacceptable. Guilt stews in your stomach as you think about what could’ve happened to Storm. You never would have forgiven yourself if a mistake you made got one of your teammates killed.
By the time you’re fresh from the shower and dressed, it’s late. You should head to bed and forget this mess of a day, but you can’t let yourself. You decide to go to the library, a place you usually go for privacy away from those with enhanced hearing. You sit in one of the armchairs with your legs tucked under you. The fireplace in the room is always lit and it give an orange glow to the cozy room.
As you sit, you remember all of the things Logan had said to you. It was as if he knew exactly how to get under your skin, targeting all of your insecurities like they were written on your face. Those insults from anyone else may not have hurt as much as they did coming from Logan, the man you’ve been in a relationship with for weeks now. You can’t stop the tears leaking from your eyes, and your stomach burns with shame as you recall what Logan had called you earlier. A crybaby.
“You’re a pathetic little crybaby who doesn’t deserve a spot on this fuckin’ team.”
He spit the mean words at you like he has been waiting to say them for a while. You thought you were getting closer with Logan, perhaps making a romantic connection. Your relationship with him started as something purely physical, but you felt like you were growing closer to him. Perhaps that was wishful thinking. You’re surprised you held back tears then, but now, away from prying eyes, you let them fall. You muffle your sobs in your shirt sleeves, but you’re obviously not quiet enough. Your attention is grabbed by a figure standing in the doorway.
Logan’s shadowed figure blocks the dim light from the hall as he looks in on you, sobbing in the dark like the crybaby he knew you were. He looks uncomfortable like he’s trying to find something to make this awkward encounter better, but he comes up short. Instead, he walks into the room and behind your chair. He places a heavy hand on your shoulder and squeezes it slightly.
“I’m sorry about today,” he says after some time. “I… didn’t mean to yell at you like that.” You don’t respond because, honestly, what could you say to that? He humiliated you in front of everyone. Logan says your name gently, wanting you to respond, but you stay quiet.
With a sigh, he steps around the chair and squats down in front of it so he can be at eye level with you. “Please say something,” he urges.
You look up from your lap at him, and you can’t help the butterflies in your stomach. He looks beautiful in the glow from the fireplace, but his features are blurred a bit by the tears in your eyes. His expression grows even more guilty when he sees your tear-stained cheeks and glassy eyes.
“Aren’t you gonna make fun of me?” you ask, voice thick.
Logan’s eyes furrow. “What are you talking about?”
“You were right. I am a crybaby,” you mumble.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean that, I just… I got carried away.” Logan pauses for a moment. “Let me make you feel better. Please.”
Hearing The Wolverine plead for permission to console you is unexpected, but not unwelcome. You nod and he gently scoops you into his arms before sitting down in the place you just were. He settles you on his lap and he wraps his arms around you. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the musky smell that you’ve come to love. You let yourself cry into his shirt, making the fabric damp with your tears.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
He lets you cry for a little while longer before the guilt catches up to him again. “Sweetheart?”
You look up at him with your glassy doe eyes and he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re so sweet, so innocent, so naive, and sometimes it gets the better of you. Logan looks at your red-rimmed eyes and your swollen lips and he thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to kiss those tears away and he feels like a monster for it. He’s the reason you’re crying, for fuck’s sake.
“Yeah?” you ask.
Whatever he was going to say went out the window. Sometimes Logan feels like he is no better than an animal, especially during moments like these. The girl he cares most about is in his lap, shaking like a leaf because of what he said to her, and the only thing the feral part of his brain can think about is how badly he wants her. It’s the predator instinct, to want to pounce on the helpless little lamb. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he hurt her and this is no way to make up for it. But sometimes he just can’t help himself.
“You’re my little crybaby, ain’t ya?” he asks. The question is condescending, but he keeps that same sympathetic tone.
Your brows furrow. “What?”
“I’m sorry about before, baby, I really am. But you cryin’ like this in my lap… you’re so goddamn sweet.”
Logan brushes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and you instinctively open your mouth and let him in. You suck on his thumb gently as fat tears fall down your cheeks again. He watches with half-lidded eyes as you take more of his thumb into your mouth like you’re greedy for more, despite being so upset.
“You cry so fuckin’ pretty,” he praises, and just to be an asshole, he adds, “I should make you do it more often.”
You pout around his finger, which makes him grin down at you. “Let me make it up to you, baby. Would my dick make you feel better?”
You should tell him to fuck off. How dare he berate you and then expect to fuck you a few hours later. You should tell him that your relationship is done. You shouldn’t want him to fuck you senseless right now.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you nod. Gently, Logan adjusts you in his lap so your straddling his thighs. Only the small pair of cotton panties that you were wearing under your sweatshirt and his jeans separate you. He undones the fly of his pants and frees his cock easily, the weight of you on top of him not hindering him any. His fingers find the elastic band of your panties and he pulls them to the side easily, exposing your wet pussy.
When he feels your slick on his finger, he gives you a questioning look. You feel like explaining that it turns you on when a man comforts you is a conversation for another day, so you just shrug innocently.
Logan works his fingers inside of you to prep him for his cock. He’s big, but thankfully it doesn’t take too much work to get you ready for him. Both of you are impatient by nature, and right now especially, you’re not in the mood for much foreplay.
Once Logan deems you ready, he positions you and sinks you down on his cock. Your greedy cunt swallows every inch like the good girl you are and he praises you for it. Once you’re fully seated, you try to ride him but he stops you.
“I’ve got you, doll. I’ll do the work and you can keep crying it out. How’s that sound?” he asks in that infuriatingly hot voice he only uses when he fucks you. Leaning forward, you hide your face in the crook of his neck and you nod. “Yeah, that’s my good little crybaby.”
reblogs are always appreciated and my inbox is open for logan thoughts!
#wolverine#wolverine smut#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#wolverine x reader#logan howlett fanfiction#x men#x men fanfiction#x men x reader
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college bf! f1 drivers pt 1 ☆
summary: college bf! f1 drivers text messages with small written snippets based on the texts :)
warnings: fem pronouns, kys jokes, cursing, mentions of kissing, kissing, slightly suggestive, nicknames (baby, babe, love), typos (?)
read more below the cut !
charles leclerc
you grab a can of grape soda and search for a place to sit. you find a corner near the window, the fresh spring breeze rustling your hair. you sit down and wait patiently for charles. a few minutes later he's walking inside the canteen, towards you. he's smiling big and as soon as he reaches you, he grabs your face, placing chaste kisses on your cheek and lips.
"hey, baby" he greets you. you smile and reply "hi"
he takes a seat beside you and raises his eyebrows, like he's waiting for you to do something. you raise your eyebrows in return. he grumbles out a few words which you cannot decipher. you nudge him softly as you ask him to repeat. "i didn't get my kiss!" he says, rolling his eyes playfully.
"oh you big baby" you say as you grab his face a drop a few kisses on his cheek. your lipstick staining his cheek. you caress his cheek to wipe it away. "happy?" you question him. he nods, "very. afterall, i ditched my class to be here with you."
your smile fades a bit, feeling a little guilty as you had called him so abruptly. you shove him playfully, making him stand up "go back, the class would've just started. you can still make it"
he frowns. he shakes his head, "its not an important class, he's just doing some revision."
"revision is important! i just needed to see my boyfriend for a little boost. i'm good now. go!"
he reluctantly lets go. he places a kiss on your forehead and promises to come visit your dorm later in the evening. you smile up at him and reach for your soda, only to see it in charles' hand. he gives you a wink as he leaves, taking a sip from the can.
carlos sainz
the game had just ended, and you were so incredibly proud of your boyfriend. he had scored a goal for the team. the winning goal. you smiled in excitement, waiting for the team to let go of your boyfriend so you can congratulate him. he spots you standing nearby and excuses himself from his team mates. he walks over to you, picking you up as he reaches you.
you yelp in surprise and hold onto him tight. wrapping your arms around his neck, laughing. "congrats, baby. that was amazing!" he smiles brightly, kissing your cheek. "thank you, mia cara" he says. he puts you down gently and wraps his arms around you.
"you came" he says, kissing the side of your forehead.
"i wouldn't be anywhere else"
after a few seconds, you swat him away. "look at all that sweat. ugh get away from me" you complain, rolling your eyes playfully
he picks you up again, walking towards his car. "put me down, you sick fuck" you wrap your arms around him as he fastens his pace, making you laugh. "now i'm all sweat"
"gives us another reason to shower together" he says, a slight smirk making its way onto his face.
lewis hamilton
you pick your phone up as soon as you're done showering and putting on some comfortable clothes. you click on the face time button and set your phone up on the bed, pillows as the support. you wait for lewis to pick, which doesn't take long as he picks up in a couple of rings.
you smile at him "what's up, princess?" the words slip past you automatically, like you've said this to him a thousand times. which you have.
he grunts in mock annoyance. "come save me, i'm stuck here" he says, his face showing how he hated being in that party. you could hear loud snarky music in the background.
"i wish i could, i left my car for service" you smile at him apologetically. he groans and starts walking towards a balcony of some sort, or an open space. it was much more peaceful. you could hear him more clearly now.
"will you please stay with me on ft for a while? until my room mate decides to leave. which will be soon because he's drunk out of his mind." he says, sitting down on a stool. the night breeze making him shiver.
you spoke for a few minutes until his friend decided to leave. lewis said he'd be near your dorm after dropping his mate in the room. he said he desperately needed your hug.
george russell
you shared your live location with george. you were currently walking towards your dorm. you felt his strong cologne engulf you before his arms did. you smile as you walk with george, his arm draped around your waist. "well, hello there" you amuse.
"don't you ever scare me like that. do you know how much i died on the inside?" he questions you, giving your waist a squeeze. you kiss his cheek, hoping to calm his nerves. "i told you, baby! i fell asleep in the library. ms sanders woke me up. i was exhausted after that 12 page essay"
"its okay, i know. you need to rest, love. did you eat yet?" he questions, as you both enter your dorm.
you shake your head, "i had breakfast, slept through lunch"
he looks at you like you've grown two heads. he grabs your hand and starts walking towards the exit. you let out a chuckle "now where are we headed to, girl?"
he looks at you, giving you a mock glare. "girl? what happened to bf, love, baby, cutie?"
he tells you to wait near the exit. a few minutes later, he's there with his bike. he motions for you to hop on. you smile as you get on, getting comfortable behind him. "we are getting some food into that stomach of yours" he says, handing you your helmet.
you wrap your arms around his torso. you knew. you knew, even if he had the most important thing to do, he would drop it to look after you. not because you were his girlfriend. but because you were his priority. because you were important. and he was deeply, madly, desperately, messily in love with you.
max verstappen
you were in your university park, sitting under a tree. the guy you were supposed to be doing your political science project was doing anything but the project. you were not a patient person, and it was getting harder as the guy even kept touching your shoulder now and then.
to your rescue, your boyfriend was right there. he walked towards the both of you. he took his seat next to you, giving the guy a timid 'pls fuck of soon' smile. he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. he sat there as you guys actually started to discuss your project.
the guy clearly didn't get the hint as he still tried to make contact with you now and then. the third time, max was done with all the utter bullshit that he was witnessing. he pulled you closer to him
"you know, i would really like it if you got your stupid ass hand off my girl" he says, making the guy frown in annoyance. within seconds, the guy is scurrying off.
you let out a delayed laugh. you look up at max. he shrugs, giving you an innocent smile. "you can't actually say that, max!"
he kisses your forehead, whispering "i just did, baby."
he brushes your arm near the place where the guy touched you. "what are you doing?" you question.
"dusting off his filthiness from you. maybe we should get back to my dorm. shower the filthiness off after i watch you finish on my face." he offers his reply. you shove him playfully. "you're the filthy one"
he stares, kissing your lips softly, mumbling, "you make me."
the end
an: had so much fun making these. hope u enjoy!
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#f1 instagram au#fanfiction#carlos sainz x reader#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#carlos sainz fluff#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz smut#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton fanfic#george russel x reader#george russell#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen f1#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen smut#max verstappen#carlos sainz f1#f1 smau#f1 one shot
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before you read ▪︎ loose continuation to THIS
ultra loser!ellie x teasing(slightly sadistic tbh)!reader. reads fine as a standalone!! no fr sex, but still nsfw!!! loads of teasing, ellie's shy and flustered (also gave her glasses and piercings muahahah AND HAPPY TRAIL MENTION YAYYY), reader's a little insistent (but it's ok), mentions of masturbation, discussion of sex, REALLY horny making out at the end lol, heavy petting, they almost do it, tiny abby cameo, buildup AS PER USUAL YALL KNOW THE DRILL, kinda cliffhanger ending (its on purpose HAHA), different layout bc i cheated n looked at the poll oops...NGL TS HAD ME SWEATINGGG WRITING IT LMFAO don't think i have ever written something more horny....ok enjoy! + 2.2k wc
apparently both of you missed the professor's class cancellation email on this fateful day… other students showed up too, but they left quickly after seeing it was empty. ellie stayed to catch up on some work, enjoying the silence and typing away on her laptop, which looked like one of those beefy gaming computers.
covered in stickers and the keys changing color, you thought it was interesting she'd lug that thing around campus with her, instead of opting for something light and sleek. and now that leaves you. you had no other plans for the day, and had already mentally prepared yourself for this class, totally unaware it was canceled.
you realized it wasn't a bad idea to copy ellie, and catch up on some of your own work. however you were more intrigued by her, to be totally honest with yourself.
watching her from a distance, she captivated you. she never seemed to notice your stares, too absorbed in her thoughts. you watched her type, efficiently and quickly, pausing only to push her glasses further up her nose with her slim fingers.
the truth is, she's hot. but no one was hearing you out on that, unfortunately. they'd say to you, “what a loser! i don't think i've ever heard her talk.”
you felt overwhelmed by the urge to strike up a real conversation with her—more that simple greetings or coursework questions— and it was the perfect opportunity to do just that. so you got up, sat yourself down in the empty spot right next to her, and put on the most charming grin you could muster up. she abruptly snapped out of her focus, almost flinching at your presence.
“hey! you're ellie, right? whatcha working on?” you got close to her to see, being met with a bunch of hieroglyphic-looking strings of symbols on the screen. woah, smarty-pants. “um, it's just…some project, i dunno. how d’you know my name?”
she finally looked at you, her eyes round, wider than the ufo saucer stickers on the back of her computer. they were so green, the hazel ring reminded you of a polished agate stone. the scattered freckles on her face were so pretty too, you'd never been close enough to her to really take notice. she nervously scanned your features, blotches of pink blush decorating the apples of her plump cheeks.
she was so cute, and noticing her evident shyness flipped a switch inside you, what if you messed with her a little?
you shrugged at her, “just seen you around. you're so mysterious.” you lilt, manipulating your tone to make it smoother on the ears, even containing hints of seduction if you dared.
she blushed a deeper raspberry shade and looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her rings. she was somehow getting more attractive by the second, your heart felt like it was about to burst.
“am i? never thought of it that way, you're funny.” she mumbles, her antsiness obvious. but you didn't wish to let up so soon, you were having a lot more fun flustering her than you'd ever care to admit, even wanting to see just how far you could push her.
“ooh, i love your rings. where did you get em?” “just…places. why are you asking me so many questions?” you sighed and rolled your eyes, “well, ellie. we both don't have anything else to do, gotta pass the time somehow. i wanna talk with you, is that okay?” she took a deep breath and nodded, visibly relaxing. she stretched out her arm to get rid of the tabs on her computer, close it, and put it in her bag, which is when you got a look at her forearm tattoo.
“also i'm obsessed with your tattoo, you have no idea how cool you are, how are girls not all over you?” you question, taking her wrist in your hands and examining the tattoo's intricate line work, tracing your fingertips over the pigment in her skin.
you heard her breathing change in tempo, quickening ever so slightly. but she didn't move her arm away, and let you continue. she took a second to respond. “um. thanks, i guess. i don't really know what you mean.” her voice cracked when she said the last part, igniting a flame inside you, one that you didn't know existed.
your mind wandered, you began wondering what she sounds like when she whimpers. was she really so starved of human contact you could mold her like putty, just with your fingers and tongue? you wanted to find out so badly, wanted to hear how she'd cry your name out if you fucked her into oblivion. was she a squirter or a creamer? you hoped to the heavens above you'd get to find out someday. maybe it was too much to fantasize like this, considering you formally met just now, but you weren't hurting anyone if it all never left the confines of your mind.
you were lucky you hid your own arousal well, nothing out of the ordinary showed on your face whatsoever. ellie wasn't so lucky—to her dismay, but to your delight—everything played out on her delicate features so clearly, it was nothing short of delectable.
your eyes bore into hers, the intensity of the eye contact making her shiver, and attempt to break it. “ellie, ellie, ellie, may i call you els?” you didn't wait for an answer, and continued, “do you have a girlfriend?” you pouted your lips at her, feigning sadness as if her response was something you didn't already infer.
she was stuttering now, stumbling over her words, making less and less sense as the conversation went on. she was anxiously bouncing her leg, you could see her chest rising and falling, and her face had turned a lovely crimson color, it was so strong, the flush had spread down her neck and reached her ears, making her piercings stand out. good lord.
“ahem- no, i don't have a girlfriend. actually never have, shocking i know.” she chuckles at her self-deprecating joke, and while her smile was enough to light up a room, you wanted to slap the doubt out of her. or rather, fuck it out of her.
you exhaled loudly, “hahh, well isn't that a shame. you're so pretty, i'll just have to snatch you up for myself then.” she swallowed audibly, greatly taken aback. “sorry, what?” “oh, don't you know how much people love losers like you? tsk tsk tsk, you're so much hotter than you realize, i mean it, els. look at you! you've got these piercings, this tattoo, you're smarter than this whole class combined, seriously.”
she just gaped at you, unable to process what she was hearing. no one had ever talked to her like this, it was only something she read about. and coming from you? this ethereal person who starred in all of her most intimate fantasies? she rubbed her eyes roughly, convinced she was hallucinating. her mouth opened and closed dumbly, her voice box failing to produce any sound. but you were affecting her so much, especially because she lusted after you to an extent she could only take to the grave.
flashes of her midnight escapades flickered in her mind, of her shoving her hand down her pants like an animal in heat, orgasming so intensely she'd black out, abusing her hole with nothing but images of you playing in her mind, and your name on her tongue. her cheeks burned with the embarrassment of her wild actions, and she shook her head to clear the thoughts away.
you groaned and leaned back in your own seat, exclaiming, “god i'm so bored. and pent up, fuck. it's been so long since i had sex…” that was true. in any other situation you'd never say something like that aloud, but because you were alone with the clueless idiot you wanted so carnally, you let it slip.
“...maybe you should take care of that.” you heard her cough out, her voice coming out strangled. “i could. but that's boring.” you opened your eyes again and smirked devilishly her way, poor girl looked like she was about to go on a trip with the ferryman.
you grabbed her hand, examining it some more, commenting, “you play guitar, don't you? guitarists are very good with their hands, i will say.” you played with her hand, pressing it into a fist, then extending her middle and ring finger. gosh, what's gotten into you? “i bet you're sooo good.”
you've never seen a person look more flustered than she did right now in this moment. her voice was impossibly quiet, barely above a whisper, “cut it out.” “okay, fine.”
some beats of silence passed, but a thought crossed your mind. if she really hated this interaction that much, she could have got up and left eons ago, yet she stayed here and endured it all. hmm. you blurted out, “els, have you kissed anyone before?”
and again she stayed silent, even after you waited patiently for an answer. she kept looking away, her jaw tense.
you decided to quit the teasing just for a moment, and speak to her gently, genuinely. you shifted to sit a little closer to her and asked, “do you want to?” her gaze locked onto your mouth, she licked her lips, then muttered, “if you're really offering and not just fucking with me, sure-”
your patience broke and you didn't wait for her to finish her sentence before swiftly leaning forward and connecting your lips with hers, relishing the tiny gasp she made as soon as you did it. she tasted like a dream.
after a split second she kissed you back, it was inexperienced and clumsy, fueled by adrenaline, but she got into a rhythm soon enough. you took the lead and deepened the kiss, absent-mindedly tugging on her bottom lip with your teeth, coaxing eager whimpers out of her, pure music to your ears.
you succumbed to the sensations and increased the pace, your tongue dancing against hers. you felt her hands fumble by your waist, and she pulled you closer to her. your hands clawed at her chest, the beautiful symphony of panting, the wet smacking of your lips colliding, and her uncontrolled moans filled the empty room.
she gripped your waist so tightly, fingertips surely leaving small marks in their wake, you couldn't wait to find them later, and you shamelessly felt up her chest, your thumbs finding her nipples—perky, hard, and poking out through her thin shirt. you caressed and rubbed and squeezed, feeling her jolt under your magical touch.
she was fully whining now. spilling needy, high-pitched sounds, this was better than you could've ever imagined. neither one of you breaking the kiss for even a second, your hand trailed lower and landed on her stomach, slipping under the bottom of her shirt. you felt her defined abs tensing, and the whisper of a happy trail—now it was your turn to moan.
she got even louder and her kisses got sloppier, and you were about to venture inside her waistband before a sudden sound startled you both.
your phone vibrated aggressively, and with great effort you separated yourself from ellie, long strings of spit connecting you to her still.
she whimpered from the loss of contact, chasing your lips, then huffing and quietly groaning while you took out your phone, her hands not letting go of your waist. when you checked it, it was a message from your friend, abby, just saying: URGENT. COME HERE NOW. ASAP.
fuck her. fuck her and her timing, was all you could think. really, now? you wanted to kill her.
trying to slow your breathing and racing heart, you explained apologetically, “ugh, it's urgent. im so, so sorry ellie, i gotta go.” she stared at you, speechless, but nodded meekly, reluctantly retracting her arms. you didn't want to leave, and stayed gazing at her for a little longer, and brushed a loose strand of soft hair out of her face. what a cutie, she looked all disheveled and dazed. you were about to look for a paper to scribble down your number to keep in touch, until your phone buzzed again, and started ringing with abby's repeated attempts to get ahold of you. couldn't she wait a minute?
you gave ellie one last devastated look, getting up and rushing out of the classroom before abby called you another seventeen times.
ellie was left in the classroom, reeling from the encounter and what it had turned into. she was utterly bewildered at the events that transpired, her blood rushing in her ears, mind spinning, lips still puffy, glasses fogged over, hands trembling, and of course a sticky, uncomfortable damp spot in her boxers. she leaned forward to rest her head on the desk in front of her on top of crossed arms, to take a moment to cool down before escaping back to her place.
“holy shit.”
im horny🧍♂️just like ellie after that. as soon as she got home, u best believe she came so hard she saw literal angels and deities LMFAOO (this is my favorite thing ive ever written gawdDAYUM)
yall who wanted more, hope this suffices as a continuation! @stonerzdaze420692 @womenlvrrr
#pluto + their pen ☆#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader#ellie tlou#the last of us 2#lesbian#ellie the last of us 2#tlou#ellie williams smut#ellie smut#ellie williams x reader smut#tlou ellie#ellie fanfic#ellie the last of us#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams x fem reader#ellie williams headcanons#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x you#modern!ellie#loser!ellie#the last of us#the last of us part 2#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us smut#tlou smut#ellie williams x female reader#tlou fanfiction#ellie williams imagine
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a small request
max verstappen x reader | 2k
even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note.
cw: fem!reader, being in love, softness, a track-side kiss, love letters. and google translate, sorry to any dutch speakers.
a/n: was this inspired by that video from austin? yeah, it was! sue me! also, written/posted before the gp, so. no race details <3 xx
__
You miss race weekend in Mexico. It happens. You can't be there every weekend, much as you'd like to be. You're even more peeved about it after, considering you quite like Carlos and wish you had seen him earn what very well might be his last win with Ferrari. But you're mostly upset because Max, though he won't say so, could probably have used your support.
Years of experience have him calm, cool, and collected despite the team troubles. Flippant, some headlines say. Mad Max, others. But you know he's probably just tired. Tired of the media, of the FIA, of the churning conflict between him and Lando -- something you all knew was coming someday, but maybe not so suddenly. The longest season ever continues to drag and drag and drag.
"Twenty seconds was...Christ, Max," you say. You know what happened, of course. You watched what you could, saw the sharp moves around the corner and heard the radios. It never gets easier, watching him take risks like that. Usually, everyone else backs off, but McLaren can see victory on the horizon and won't let it go. You can't blame them, either of them, you just wish it was all a bit less tense.
"I know," he says, voice raspy over the connection. "I -- well, you know how I feel about it. Don't want to say anything in case the FIA is tapping my phone."
You laugh into your hand so you don't disturb the other people in the airline lounge, not entirely used to places like this, still. Max has told you over and over that it's absurd for you to spend your own money when you're coming to see him all over the world. When you told him you moved things around so you could come to Brazil, he booked you the nicest ticket, per usual.
"Oh, ha, ha," you say. "Don't give them any ideas, Mr. Community Service." You sigh. "Do you need anything? Be honest."
"Aren't you at the airport already? Your flight should be leaving in --" A pause, like he's checking his watch -- "forty minutes."
You glance up at the departures screen. He's right, but you don't give it to him so easily. "Know my schedule, do you?"
"Well, I booked your ticket, so I should think so."
"Your assistant booked it, you mean."
He hums and you picture him in his hotel room, maybe at the window, looking over the city. "I know your flight information. Don't be silly."
"I mean it, Max," you say again. "Is there anything I can do to make the weekend better?" It's a bit of a useless question and you expect him to answer with a snarky get me a new car or apply for the position of steward.
But he doesn't. He clears his throat.
"I'm just glad you're coming," he says, softly. "I've missed you."
You never doubt how Max feels about you, but he must be pretty tired to admit it like this. He's all about actions, this man. Making sure you have what you need when you're at the track, arranging your travel, remembering your schedule. He shows you how much you matter, and that's more than enough. He never wants to make you feel bad for having a life beyond being his girlfriend. And this doesn't, not really. It just makes you ache, fills your chest with the hopeless affection you've felt for him for so long.
"I've missed you, too," you reply. "But I'd like to be useful."
"Oh, I can think of a few things, then," Max says, all of a sudden all cheek. Such a boy, sometimes. A boy in love.
You can't help but laugh, face hot. "Hush, you!"
He huffs. A few beats of silence, the comfortable, well-worn kind. Sometimes, when he's halfway across the world and up late on the sim, he'll call you just to hear you breathe.
"Max?"
"I -- do you remember what you did for my birthday?"
He'd wanted something small, quiet. There was a lot of work to be done with the team but three weekends off meant you had a little time to yourselves. A few days hardly leaving his place, a dinner with some of the guys, a cake you made yourself, hand-delivered in bed. Gifts for a very wealthy man are difficult, especially since Max doesn't seem to want much.
"Oh, the pillow with my face on it?"
Max laughs. The lounge loudspeaker announces that your flight is going to board soon, so you gather your things but keep your phone wedged next to your ear.
"No, the other thing," he says. He clears his throat and summons some of that World Champion courage. "The letter."
You'd written him a fairly long love letter, thinking it would be a nice thing to carry to the races you couldn't be at this fall. It was tempting to be embarrassed about it when you gave it to him the morning of his birthday, but his cheeks had gone pink and he'd buried his face in your neck.
"Oh, that," you say. The airport is busier outside the lounge and you push your case in the direction of your gate weaving between. people.
"You could write me another, maybe."
Max is direct. He is honest, at work and at home, but this surprises you a little.
"You do know I'm about to get on a plane to see you, right?"
He huffs, and you imagine his cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You asked!"
"I'll write you another love letter, Max Verstappen," you assure him. "I'll write you a hundred."
"One is a fine start," he says firmly. "You should be boarding soon, and I've got to go to the press conference. Text me when you've landed?"
"Of course," you reply, eyes rolling though he can't see. "I'll see you soon, okay? Love you."
"Love you, liefje."
On the plane, you tear out some pages from your journal. You'd prefer to have some nice stationery like what you wrote on for his birthday, but maybe this is more romantic, more real. Making do with that you've got because he asked.
In the last one, you told him your memories of when you first met. How your stomach swooped when you made him laugh, how his blue eyes wouldn't leave your dreams. In this one you tell him about when you first realized you loved him. How absurdly early you were sure, how badly you wanted to tell him for weeks. The way you remember every second of when you blurted it out -- his face, his smile. His voice in your ear, telling you over and over, geliefde, ik houd van je, zo veel. I love you, so much.
"You're working hard on that," someone says. You look up at your seatmate, a woman a few decades older than you with a heavy accent.
You feel a little like you've been caught doing something illicit, but you just smile at her. "For my boyfriend," you tell her. "A love letter."
She flattens her palm over heart and sighs. "How lovely," she coos. "I hope he takes care of you, too."
We take care of each other, you want to say. You could tell her about how he sends you postcards from every country he goes to after you told him you like to put them on your fridge. You could tell her how sometimes you text him during his streams to make him laugh on camera. How he remembers your favorites, how he saves you his special team gear, how he sends you flowers all the time. How he likes to sit on the couch, your toes under his thigh, fingers around your ankle. How you've been learning Dutch and how he patiently corrects your pronunciation. You could go on and on and on.
"He does," you say instead.
__
The plane lands safely in Brazil, but the pilot tells you that there is no open gate and that you'll be sitting for a while. You text Max.
stuck on tarmac, will be later than expected! :(
He must be in media responsibilities still because he doesn't reply until you finally get off the plane.
go relax at the hotel. i'll see you for dinner!
You find your ride easy enough and take a deep breath. The letter you wrote on the plane feels heavy in your pocket, and you just want to see Max. To be near him again. To give him this small thing he asked for.
"Excuse me," you say to the driver. "Do you think we could go to the track, instead?"
You text Max's assistant to say you're headed there, hoping it's not too much of an inconvenience. You're told he's almost done, maybe an hour left, and when you arrive you're led to his driver rooms. His shit is everywhere, per usual. Max is quite neat except in here -- Carmen once told you that George is the same. Clothes strewn about, his race boots unlaced and left in the way, warm-up equipment in a pile. On the table are a few of his things -- his wallet, a notebook, some papers.
Wait a second. One of those papers looks...familiar. It's been folded in three, the envelope it came in nowhere to be seen. His name is scrawled on the blank side in your hand and when you tug it from the pile you can see that it's creased, the edges a little more worn than when you gave it to him a few months ago. Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, actually carries around the love letter you wrote him. Brings it to the track. It's darling. You love him so much. You pull the new one from your pocket and set them side-by-side on the table where he'll find them.
You ask to be taken to the pit wall, please, so you can see whatever the drivers are doing on track. Some dedication, you're told. The timing ends up being perfect and you get there just as they're finishing. You lean on a gap in the barrier where, on Sunday, crew members will be holding timing signs as the drivers zip around the hot pavement. The crowd in the stands is loud, as always, and maybe you imagine it but it seems to get a little louder when you look out.
The guys are talking amongst themselves and a few of them wave at you. You spot Max as he turns away from Charles and you can't help but grin. His eyes meet yours under his cap and his entire face chances, softens, and he breaks into a jog. You lean out over the concrete ledge and meet him in a kiss that's more two smiles pressed together than anything else.
"This is a surprise," he says when he pulls away. Eyes sparkling, he shows no signs of rejoining the other drivers as they head to whatever their next thing is. Photos, probably.
"I missed you," you tell him. "I've left you something in your room."
"Oh?" He straightens the lanyard of your credentials with careful fingers.
You reach for him, palm on his cheek. His stubble tickles and he leans into it ever so slightly. It doesn't feel like there are thousands of eyes on you, not even a little.
"Yeah," you say. "As promised." Someone calls his name. "Go on, then. I'll be waiting."
He kisses you again, a quick brush of his lips on the corner of your mouth.
Later, you'll wake from your nap in the hotel room to those same kisses on your cheeks, your forehead. Max will gather you in his arms and tell you all the moments he almost told you he loved you, how he could hardly believe when you said it first. You'll tease him for how many times he's read that first letter and he'll cheekily say that's why he needs more. And you will write him more, you'll write him as many as he wants. As many as you can, for the rest of your lives.
But now, in front of thousands of screaming fans, he smiles at only you, boyish and pleased.
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#max verstappen fanfic#mv33 x reader#f1 fanfic#my writing#mv33#fic: a small request#beep boop
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FUCK IT
SUMMERY : Reader gets her date interrupted when Hotch calls up asking for her to get to the BAU. Reader rushes over still dressed up and a certain dr can’t keep her eyes off her teehee.
Tags:fem reader , a huge amount of awkwardness, reader is over her love life
A/N: I WANTED AWKWARD SPENCER REID, bare with me tho cuz I haven’t written a fanfic since I was 13 and it was horrible so please be kind and let me know your thoughts :))) enjoyyy.
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You were used to your phone ringing at the WORST possible times, I mean with your job that was something you just had to prepare yourself for. Serial killers don’t take a break just so you can have a girls night out or take a nice relaxing bath after a long day. Although never in your life did you imagine the wave of relief that would wash over you as the all too familiar ringtone blared from your phone. Normally you would groan and feel your body grow more exhausted whilst hesitantly picking up the phone, but not tonight. Nope. Fortunately for hotch, you couldn’t have answered the phone faster. “what’s up” low and behold hotch was on the other end requesting your presence ASAP!
You tried to hide your glee as you glanced over at the douche-ist blind date that the great quote on quote “matchmaker” of the century Garcia, had raved on about the week before. To be fair the date didn’t start off bad, it was actually the most decent one you’ve had yet. Honestly you were ready to finally praise Penelope for actually finding you a decent man to take your mind off the unrequited school girl crush that you had on a certain “kid” genius. somehow you escaped the dude who clearly was stuck in some frat boy mindset, well not without some snarky comment made towards you which you shut down a little harsher then needed but seriously you couldn’t hold back anymore, you had no idea what possessed Penelope into thinking you would EVER consider going home with the king of fucking douchebags (most likely the biceps and tight clothing that the man sported). Nevertheless here you were speeding down the freeway, thinking way too hard about your love life completely blanking and forgetting to drop by your apartment to quickly change into something more work appropriate.
Before you knew it you’ve parked your car, walking into the cold air. A shiver runs down your body and the shock hits you when you realize. Here you are in a little skimpy black dress that clings to your curves in “just the right way” according to Penelope before shoving you out into your car heading to that horrible excuse of a date, “ahh shit. Fucken seriously! Of course this is just my luck … I mean at least I look good” groaning and mumbling to yourself, you make your way into the building. You knew Hotch would be understanding, I mean you never know when you’re gonna be called in and it sounded urgent so yeah, sometimes you and your coworkers walk in with inappropriate work wear. You will never forget the time he called everyone in at god knows what time, Spencer had walked into the room with his pjs sporting a fluffy dress robe, you seriously thought someone was going to have to perform cpr on you that night.
Walking into the building in heels was definitely a pain in your ass, but you managed as you pushed the briefing room door open. A low wolf whistle from Derek Morgan was the last thing you needed right now “damn sweetheart, who knew you could clean up so nicely“ As you make your way into the room, you playfully roll your eyes at him.“haha very funny” you cringed as everyone’s attention was now drawn to you. while taking a seat next to JJ, wishing to be wearing literally anything else “Sorry Hotch, i came straight from..” you hesitate for a second, glancing around before continuing “A date, but this sounded important so I didn’t have time to change”The stoned faced man simply nods at you “It’s fine. You're here, right now we have a lot to cover” He starts debriefing the team, leaving no detail out of the case, no matter how brutal, you tried your hardest to give him your unwavering attention, but you could feel someone’s eyes on you. And out of the corner of your eye see him. Spencer.
His stare was hot and intense, and fuck was it making you become a flustered mess. You glanced at him from your peripheral trying your best to be subtle about it, it was getting harder and harder to focus on Hotch and the case, not Reid. But when his puppy dog eyes drifted up, down and all over your body, your body involuntarily reacted, slightly squirming in your seat. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes turn and lock onto his gorgeous brown ones, a smirk graces your lips as he finally notices your eyes now on him. Looking like a kid being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he turns pink from the embarrassment and shame of being caught, and god did that make your head spin. Now it was his turn to awkwardly squirm in his seat while staring at Hotch with all his attention. You giggle under your breath at his fumbling awkwardness. Before you know it everyone around you starts to pack up their things and stand up, leaving you confused. Of course you spent the whole debriefing paying so little attention to the case and more on Spencer.
Sighing, you pull the hem of your dress down as you stand trying to save yourself from even more embarrassment. “soooo how did it go? Was he as yummy as you’d hoped?” Garcia wraps her arms around yours as you try not to stumble down the stairs towards your desk “you, my love are officially banned from meddling in my love life” you could already hear the trail of complaints bouncing around in her head as you plopped down onto your desk chair, reaching for the new case folder hoping to catch yourself up before take off in the morning “aww come on I for sure thought you’d be jumping his bones, all those rippling muscles, who In Their right mind could resist” the thought of the man you had seen a few hours prior put a foul taste in your mouth, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust “he was a complete dick, he legit referred to himself as an “alpha male” AN ALPHA ,Only thing I wanted to jump , was off a building at that point” a defeated look from her was all the conformation you needed, no longer were you going on blind dates, and your love life was back to being non existent and sad “sorry Pen I tried, I really really tried, you just have horrific taste in men like my god do we need to get you some help. These guys are basically human garbage” whilst looking up your eyes naturally drift and settle on Spencers desk frowning as you watch him, his heads buried in the case file whilst obsessively jotting down notes like some multitasking god, your heart couldn’t help but pine after his more, the looks you shared moments before didn’t help your case either. Resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you drag your eyes away trying to spare yourself from going into one of your Spencer Reid spirals. You look up at Penelope already disliking the pitiful look she was giving you “are you sure your ready to give up?, I mean I know this cute guy who would be super into you, he's just your type “the new voice startled you, turning in your seat you’re met with Emily smirking down at you whilst leaning against your desk inserting herself into the conversation with JJ beside her “wow ok fun, are we all just gonna just dive head first into my personal life?, don’t we have a case to work on?” trying to deter the subject of the conversation off of you was a bust, as the women you call friends gleam down at you with a shared look “yeah no this is too entertaining to sit out on.” you couldn’t believe you were having this conversation right now, letting out a groan you leaned back in your chair covering your face in hopes of hiding the redness in your cheeks “sweetheart, what you need is a good ol one night stand, get a certain pretty boy out of your system” if you weren’t already melting into a puddle of embarrassment, you definitely were now “Morgan shut up please for the love of everything holy”
you could only pray Spencer wasn’t paying attention to the little group that was forming at your desk, maybe he was being good and reading the case file like the rest of them should be doing but of course luck wasn’t in your favor tonight “what are we talking about?” Before you could shut the whole conversation down Morgan happily answered Spencer “oh, we were just discussing Y/L/N’s love life. I think she needs a good root, what do you think?” that stupid smirk Morgan was happily wearing was enough to make your blood boil, now you truly wished to disappear “ok ok that’s enough” you shoot up from your seat avoiding any eye contact with Spencer not wanting to see his reaction to your humiliating red face “conversation over, my love life is going back to being non existent, thank you for your concern but it’s over, officially dead so no more talking about it.” you snatch the file off your desk ready to get the hell out of whatever situation you found yourself in “i'm going home to at least get some sleep before we leave tomorrow or I’ll be a zombie all day” with that you hastily made your way out of the building and into the cool night air once again.
wrapping your arms around yourself in hopes to provide some warmth, you slowly make your way to the car park. Before you could make it to your car you could hear foot steps getting closer and closer until they were right behind you, stopping along with yours once you had reached front of your car. Quickly spinning around you slam them onto the car's hood, arm in your hand, face down and pinned.
“Ow ow ow ow Ow!” Shit. It was Spencer. The man you’ve been daydreaming about and here you were pinning him to the hood of your car. “oh shit sorry, my god, don’t walk up on me like that holy shit Spence you scared me” you pull away off him whilst letting go of his arm and backing away a little. Spencer lets out a hiss of pain as he pushes himself off the hood, rubbing his arm to try and relieve the pain “sorry I was just trying to make sure you got to your car safely. It’s late a-and” he looks at your dress whilst clearing his throat looking away awkwardly “are you ok? you seemed upset in there” he looks back at you whilst giving you a smile that made you wanna pass away on the spot “yeah I’m ok, just having your dating life put on full blast in front of the team like that can be a tad embarrassing” silence was the only response you were met with, you glance up at Spencer trying to think of something, anything to say in this moment “you look really nice by the way, it’s unfortunate your date turned out that way.” His eyes meet yours, your breath gets caught in your throat as heat creeps up your neck to your face “t-thanks” tugging on the hem of your dress you smile sheepishly “not the most comfortable outfit, honestly wish Pen let me wear my sweater but you know”
“Penelope” you both say, you giggle as Spencer chuckles. “Oh by the way, I thought you may want these, may help a little tomorrow” he hands you the notes he took from the briefing, Your fingertips brush against his, the feeling of warmth from his hands sends a shiver down your spine. “Thanks Spence. I appreciate it” you stand there longer than needed before you start to turn away from him. “You know, that even though there aren't any hard statistics, it’s roughly estimated that every 1 in 3 or 4 blind dates actually end up as a success” he rambles on, looking back at him you try to pay attention but you can’t stop your eyes from sifting down towards his lips “so there is a chance” his voice fades away as his words become background noise and your thoughts become louder and louder, all you could think about was him, the feeling of wanting only grew stronger with each passing minute. It didn’t help that his lips were tempting you, calling you in. you couldn’t hold yourself back much longer, will power growing weaker and weaker “fuck it” your body moves before commen sense had its time to put a stop to whatever ridiculous thoughts you had muster up, suddenly your lips press onto his without thinking it through. It was short and one sided yet sweet, the faint taste of coffee and sugar overwhelmed your senses
The sudden realization hits you hard as you push yourself off Reid, the feelings of regret and fear settles itself in your stomach making you feel sick “Sorry I wasn’t thinking, shit sorry, forget that happened ok” you back away keeping your eyes glued to the ground in fear that you’ll look up and only see rejection written on his face. What in the hell possessed you to do that?, why the fuck did you do that, the only reason you kept your feelings shoved down was to protect your friendship with Spencer, nothing meant more to you then the bond you both shared and now you’ve ruined it and for what? A stupid kiss? “wait, uh No no it was just unexpected I didn’t hate it actually quite the opposite” your head snaps back up at a red faced flustered Spencer Reid “don't apologize“ his warm hands warp around your cold ones as he steps closer to you once again “did you um maybe want to try that again? Only if you want to though I don’t want you to regret anything” you giggle as he starts to nervously stumble over his words, this time more confident in your actions your lips find his for the second time tonight.
The taste of coffee meets your lips again as your body relaxes into the kiss, which is very reciprocated this time. The warmth radiating from Spencer chases the cold night air away. As your bodies shuffle closer together. you both hesitantly pull away from each, you wanted to stay here in this moment for as long as possible but of course your bed was calling your name along with the early flight departure. “I should go” you really didn’t want to “I know“ his hands stayed on your waist for a moment before slipping away “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow” the sweet look on his face drove you crazy, the urge to say fuck it and stay with him for the remainder of the night was overpowered by the sleepless night before, you settle for placing a goodnight kiss on his cheek instead “night Spence” winking you open your car door and make your way in, you turn the car on and roll the window down to call out to him as he backs away with a smug smirk on his face “sweet dreams pretty boy” with that you drive away replaying the events of tonight in your mind, god you couldn’t wait to get the case over with so you could finally have a date that wasn’t going to end in ruins, especially with the man you’ve been crushing on since your first day, yeah no you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight now.
#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!readr#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds x reader
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alfred, who writes in a journal every day unbeknownst to the bats.
alfred, who's journals aren't marked by a period of time, or his own age, instead by the names of those he looks after. when dick is first adopted, and he knows this change is permanent, he puchases a new journal, despite his existing one being only 2/3 full. this one has a simple 'richard' written with a gold accent on the cover, a change from the last 8, titled 'bruce'.
alfred, who somehow makes journaling more of a logbook, albeit still personal. he's writing about himself, sure. memories of old friends, his travels, stories he's heard, things he has experienced.
but he mainly writes of them, the things they do, how they act. their character quirks that they haven't even picked up on yet themselves. the things he wishes he could tell them as a parent, instead of butler. the things they should know about those who've come before them. the regrets he has, and changes he's making. how they've molded him into a new person.
alfred, who will take all this information to the grave. until then, they stay packed in their respective boxes, some dustier than others, in the back of his wardrobe in the manor.
the contents of those journals aren't specific to each kid. everyone's within those pages. in tim's there's a lot about jason, and damian's has a lot about bruce. nothing's overly invasive in them, and the furthest it strays from the truth is when sometimes alfred admits to believing a different set of events to whatever he's been told, and even then he's probably right.
jason, who receives his journals prematurely. there's only 2, there should have been more. it's painfully obvious the cutoff, how it wasn't supposed to end there, but still it did. he receives them post-resurrection, convinced he doesn't belong in the world. his memories of robin growing fogged and becoming twisted.
he reads them and he cries, maybe it's because he forgot how much good there was in those times, or maybe it's because that's the determining moment in his new life where he decides that he really deserves and wants to live, because his existence runs deeper than being the robin who died.
frankly it's quite jarring for jason, to read about himself from another's perspective. as much as i love the idea of him and alfred getting along the best out of all the kids, he definitely distances himself for a while to process everything. he slowly creeps back though.
no one else gets to read their share until alfred's gone, and when they do it goes unspoken, no one pries to know anything outside of their dedicated journals.
jason, after hesitance and much internal conflict, drops off his own on dick's nightstand one night. receiving them back, two weeks later, is a silent affair face-to-face.
tim, similarly, on no one's accord but his own, gives jason his, to keep. he says something about how he doesn't think they were ever about him, and they seemed much more like a sequel. he also apologises, and mentions how he almost felt like he was intruding on something. but he understands now, he doesn't clarify about what.
#cass + duke have one each too#batfam#batfamily#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#batboys#the robins#batkids#nightwing#red hood#robin#red robin#dc comics#dcu#dc#gothihop speaks
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Your best friend Wade who always jokingly flirts with you the way he flirts with everyone - and you hate it because you have a real genuine crush on him and the flirting doesn’t mean anything… does it? It has to take a mutual friend to be like “oh my god he’s in love with you and doesn’t know how to tell you, so that’s why he’s always joking about boners” (please and thank u ilu 😌)
omg avo this kicked my ass, the amount of pining for Wade as he (jokingly, you think) flirts with you would be off the charts 🥲💖 I wrote a little drabble with how that might go, I love you and your ideas - thanks so much for sending this to me!!!
— cause every time we touch (i get this feeling)
best friend!wade wilson x mutant!reader
<1k | flirting, dirty jokes, heaps of pining
Blow job. Leg Spreader. Slippery Nipple. Liquid Viagra. Sex on the Pool Table. Pink Silk Panties.
Each time Wade comes into Sister Margaret’s - which is four or five times a week - he asks for dirtier and more obscure drinks.
"Wishful thinking", he tells you, each time.
Even with the roll of your eyes, you have to admit that it keeps you on your toes. That you look forward to seeing your best friend so often - tamping down the jolt in your belly, night after night.
Reminding yourself that yes, he got you this job, but he's not here to see you.
That this always was his spot.
It had been an easy sell. Used to working overnight shifts - security, back then. After the disaster with Weasel, they had been desperate for a replacement. Wade had come to you immediately, dropping to his knees as you opened the door.
Winning you over with a "you could literally get paid to hang out with me. How is this not a win-win-win? How is this not your dream job?"
And here, you didn't have to hide what or who you were. Reading feelings and intent were a bonus, when a handshake could tell you everything you needed to know. Their feelings spilled as easily as they were written, when you were negotiating contracts.
It also helped in-house. A human lie detector. Able to break up fights, settle arguments. A party trick, when things got slow. The regulars trying to get things past you - tales based in truth spun tall, seeing when you'd catch them.
Wade never plays, but you think that's because you know him so well.
And what seems like a sell, quickly evolves into more. Warping, as days pass. Spending more time with a crush sounds tempting, on paper.
The reality is something else.
Yes, there is a seat saved for him at the bar. Literally saved - his name scrawled across the vinyl, and you still haven't been able to scrub it out. Stopping by at all hours to chit chat.
Teasing you - how he's "so glad he doesn't have to stalk you at your old job anymore". An over-the-top sigh about being relieved that you're safe now - in your new job, surrounded by mercs.
Begging for the best job. Puppy-dog eyes. Fake coupons for favors that would make a sinner blush. Crossing his heart that you could have anything, and he means anything you wanted, if he could only get "that thing involving the murder clowns".
It's enough to make you hope.
Later, at home - in the early hours as you're pulled under. Replaying his comments. The filthy jokes and the shameless flirting - wondering if that's all they were.
Wondering if he'd be waiting for you tomorrow, perched on his stool.
But there's the downfall.
You see him - but you also see him with everyone else.
The charming smiles. Head thrown back in a laugh as he works the room. A friend to all, and as you watch him - perched on the knee of a goddess of mercenary as he yaps away, you can't help the swift current of jealousy.
Of foolishness.
It's enough that you're almost regretting agreeing.
Your mood is sullen, as you wipe down glasses. Trying to ignore the ache when you see him flirt. That realization that the something special you thought he had with you, might just be a part of his personality.
And when Dopinder shuffles from the back with more ice for the chiller behind the bar, it only takes one look at you before he's sighing.
"Not again. Please, I am begging you. I cannot take more of your yearning.”
Your lips quirk. Hadn't realized you'd become that obvious. He'd become your go-to, in the long hours you spend together behind the bar. Pinkie-promising not to say a word - but you always thought you'd had a decent handle on your expressions.
"We don't have to talk about it." Your hands raise, placating, "Just let me yearn in peace. I'll get over it."
"You know that almost half of what DP makes a month is funneled back in here, right?" He gives you a long look, "Before you, I saw him once a week. I had to beg him to come get his paycheck."
Doubt still lingers.
"Doesn't mean anything," You shrug - eyes dropping, as you help him restock.
"You do not think Mr. Pool worships the ground you walk on?"
The intensity of his question has you side-eying him, "I mean... I don't think he sees me that way. He acts the same with me as he does with everyone."
“Sure.” He huffs, leaning against the bartop, just as Wade plunks down in the seat in front of you.
“God, I haven’t been over here in like-,” Wade checks a fake watch, “Fifteen minutes? Feels like longer. Felt like a fucking hour.”
Pivoting back and forth on the stool as he adds, “Is it possible for people to get separation anxiety? Or is that just dogs? Is this how Dogpool feels when I’m gone?”
You just manage to catch the last bit, as Dopinder slips away.
“Exactly the same.”
Tonight, Wade is the first person that sits down in front of you for the game.
A frown, as you peel off your gloves - your barrier, to the outside world.
His own already bare - sliding back-and-forth over his suit-clad thighs. You'd mistake it for nerves, if you weren't so sure Wade had never been nervous in his life.
"What's your story, Wilson?" You ask, "Hope you brought something good."
"Oh, it's a whopper. A real fucking doozy. Apparently, you're not gonna believe it. " His laugh is a little too loud, and your eyes narrow, "But let's give it a whirl, okay?"
There's a flicker, behind the bar. A sideways look towards the bar, where Dopinder's hands cover his face. You don't need to touch him to read the guilt written across his features - the way he almost flinches, under your glare.
You're going to fucking kill him.
The sound of your name brings you back.
“Ready to play?”
Wade's hands rest face-up on the table - an offering. For once in his life he almost looks serious, and it’s enough to bring you back.
A breath - before you align your own. Letting them drop down, skin mapping against skin for the first time.
It floods through you.
The lick of heat that almost feels like a caress. A deep yearn that causes your own heart to twinge, layering with the feeling of need. Desire. Want.
It's familiar. It mirrors something deep inside, something that’s become as much a part of you as flesh and bone.
Oh.
A laugh slips from you, breaking the beat of silence. Relief tinged with disbelief - your smile stretching wide.
“Yeah?” You breathe, softening.
“Yeah.” He laughs, “Thought I was being obvious. But you are pound-cake dense, apparently.”
Hands flipping over, to entwine between yours. Letting that feeling inside him linger, settling warm and comforting over your bare skin.
“But I like that about you.” Another huff of a laugh, “Like all of you, really. Always have.”
It makes your heart ache. In a way that finally feels full, feels right - instead of the near-agony you’ve been bearing for weeks.
Only you could be such an idiot.
thanks for reading! 💖
#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson x you#deadpool x reader#deadpool x you#requests#avocado-writings#eupheme answers
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heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕
If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)
Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)
three's a family | S.R.
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think
“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.
Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”
Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.
“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.
Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.
You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.
Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.
Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.
You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”
Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?
Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.
As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”
Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.
“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.
Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.
You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”
He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.
Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”
Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”
Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”
While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.
“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.
Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”
Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.
He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.
“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.
In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.
Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”
Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”
“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”
You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”
For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.
Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.
“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.
He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."
You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.
By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.
Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.
“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.
You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.
“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.
Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.
You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”
Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.
At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.
With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.
You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.
Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”
Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”
When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.
He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.
“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.
As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”
Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“
“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.
Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”
Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”
He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”
Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”
You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.
When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.
Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.
Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.
“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”
Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”
In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”
You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”
He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”
Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”
“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.
You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.
The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.
Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.
Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.
According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.
Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”
“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.
Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.
The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”
Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.
Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.
The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.
“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.
Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.
Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.
“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#written by margot#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fic#dr spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds hurt/comfort#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid dilf agenda#margot's requests
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Fall for Me
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't think he's good enough for you, but still wishes he could be your guy. Word Count: Over 1.4k Warnings: Longing, insecurities, "just friends" (for now), Steve is a good friend, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: We'll call this a Friday Feels inspired by a nonnie.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
It was a special kind of torture for Bucky to watch the person he loved flirt with someone else.
To be fair, he couldn't say for sure that you were flirting. Being friendly? Yes. You had a warm and welcoming personality, the kind he was drawn to the moment you two crossed paths months ago. One of the things he loved about you was how genuine you were. It was only natural that you pulled others in as well. Your compassion, charm, beauty, everything called to him.
You were the whole package, inside and out.
“What the hell am I doing here?” He muttered. He hadn't wanted to go to the bar, but Steve assured him it was a hole-in-the-wall sort of place. Not a lot of patrons on a night like this. Somewhere no one would bother them. He added at the last second that you were going.
Bucky grabbed his leather jacket to go as soon as those words left Steve’s mouth.
Instead of having a drink with you like he wanted or just talking, he simmered in silence in a booth while you stood at the bar. He narrowed his eyes as the guy you were talking to moved an inch closer. A bit too close for his liking.
Steve said his name was Will. They had met each other at some point in passing. Short blonde hair and a trimmed beard. Ex-military, but still built like he had a war to fight. Behind the guy’s blue eyes lurked pain, guilt, and regret that most would miss due to his general stoic demeanor. Bucky could relate all too well to horrors that haunted even the strongest of men.
But when Will looked at you, his eyes lit up. They held a sense of longing. Hope.
Once again, Bucky could relate all too well because that was how he looked at you.
“You’re doing that staring thing again,” Steve said, grabbing a beer from the bucket and setting it down in front of him. “Just talk to her.”
Bucky took a swig, but didn't take his eyes off you. He was afraid if he looked away that Will might convince you to leave with him. “Talk to her about what?”
His best friend sighed. “You know what.”
Steve knew how he felt about you. Talking about his feelings wasn't easy, but he had to tell his best friend. And it wasn't the first time Steve encouraged him to speak up. He said you had the right to know so the two of you could figure out how to move forward, whether as a couple or just friends, instead of dancing around it.
But how could Bucky admit how he felt when he didn't deserve someone like you?
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
“We're friends,” Bucky stated. The words tasted as bitter as the beer he sipped. No, not bitter. He couldn't feel that way just because he had a piece of you when he wanted all of you.
Was he selfish for that?
He nearly shattered the bottle in his hand when you giggled at whatever Will said. Something akin to jealousy settled in his chest and he had no right to feel that way. The two of you weren't together. You were single and didn't owe him a thing.
But he knows if you gave him a chance, he’d treat you well. Better than any other guy before him. He would do his best to make you happy. Maybe that wasn't enough.
“Will is a good guy, but he isn't you, Buck. You’re still one of the best guys I know,” Steve said.
“You don't have to kiss my ass, punk,” he muttered, immediately regretting it. He was only trying to help and God knows he had done more than enough for him over the years.
Steve shook his head. “And you don't have to feel sorry for yourself, jerk.”
“I’m not,” he whispered. Maybe he was. He was sorry for so many things.
As if you sensed his sadness, you looked over your shoulder and met his gaze. You smiled at him, the kind of smile that stole the very breath from his lungs and made his head spin. He wanted to believe it was a smile you reserved only for him. And the softness in your beautiful eyes, he imagined he could see his future in them.
Could you see the endless love he had for you in his?
His heart ached when you turned away and put your hand on Will’s arm. Of course, you were attracted to the guy. Why wouldn’t you be? The thought of you kissing him though, being intimate with him? He felt sick enough to finally look away.
Bucky glanced at his distorted reflection in the beer bottle. A long time ago, he would've called himself handsome. Not because he was full of himself, but because he knew himself then. He knew how to walk the line between confidence and cockiness. He was full of life and wonder once. Now the weight of his sins showed in how he carried himself.
Sins you never judged him for.
“Jamie? Are you okay?”
Steve nudged him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He was so lost in his mind that he hadn’t heard you call out to him. He should’ve known since you were the only one who called him Jamie. When he looked up from his seat, he saw that you were no longer standing next to Will as he was still at the bar. And there was nothing but concern in your gaze as you set your drink down on the table.
“What? What happened?” He asked, not smooth at all.
Your eyes flickered to Steve and then back at him. “I asked if you’re okay. You don’t look too well.”
“Not feeling so great,” he said, which wasn’t a lie. “This place…”
“Oh,” you said, sliding into the booth beside him. He inhaled, your sweet scent soothing the pain in his heart and making it race all at once. “Well, why don’t we head out? There’s no reason to stay if you don’t want to stay.”
He gently smiled. You were always willing to go with the flow and change plans if things ever got too loud or too much for him. “I’m fine. Besides, you just got your drink and you haven’t had a chance to play pool with Sam or Natasha,” he argued. He didn’t want to spoil your night.
You put your hand on his arm, but it seemed different than when you touched Will’s arm. This was tender, soothing. “If being here is making you uncomfortable, then I don’t feel like sticking around. They’ll understand. Steve, please, back me up on this.”
“She’s right. You two should go,” Steve said, conveniently leaving himself and the others out of the equation.
Bucky spared Will a glance, who was now talking to the guys he went into the bar with. He swallowed hard before the next words left his mouth. “What about your new friend?”
“You are my friend, Jamie,” you said. He winced inwardly at the reminder. Friends. You were just friends. “Don’t worry about him. Let’s just go. How about a movie at your place? Something low-key so you feel better.”
“You sure?” He asked, wondering just how eager he looked to leave with you.
“I’m sure,” you smiled, making his heart warm again.
“Okay. You convinced me,” he said. Not that it would’ve taken much. Your smile could bend the will of just about anyone.
“You know, I hear healthy conversations are also good to help people feel better,” Steve chimed in, earning an elbow to the side from Bucky.
You raised an eyebrow and slid out of the booth. “Yeah. Sure. Jamie and I can have a healthy conversation and you all enjoy the rest of the night.” You offered Bucky a hand to help him out. He didn’t want to let go. “C’mon. We have a movie waiting for us.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky teased, proud of himself when you giggled.
Steve gave him an optimistic smile and he couldn’t help but return it. He wasn’t sure if Will had given you his number or if you planned to see him, but maybe he’d take a chance and tell you he had fallen for you. Maybe, if he was lucky, you had fallen for him, too.
Just maybe.
And maybe, just maybe, this could be a thing? Did Will give you his number? Will Bucky say how he feels? What's going to happen? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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