#westley x reader

[captainsophiestark]

The Reunion Scene

Westley x Reader

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Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Princess Bride

Day 10 Prompt: "It's alright, I'm here now."

Summary: Westley and his love reunite after she shoves him off a cliff, before realizing who he was of course.

Word Count: 1,070

Category: Fluff

A/N: I'm reading the Princess Bride novel and apparently "The Reunion Scene" in the book between Westley and Buttercup is a bit of a running gag (the wikipedia article can give a quick walk through for anyone curious), so I decided to write it! In the book, it's described as a three page scene, which is about the length of this. For anyone unaware of the wild lore behind the novel, I highly recommend a Wikipedia deep dive, it's very entertaining

Tagging @auroracalisto as my fellow Princess Bride fan :) Hope you're having an amazing first semester teaching!!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I planted both hands against the chest of the man before me and shoved with all my strength, sending him careening over the cliff's edge. He'd killed my dearest love, and now returned to mock me, to dare imply I hadn't loved Westley. Whatever happened to me, I couldn't stand this man a minute longer. I shoved him of the cliff, listening to whatever he screamed as he tumbled to the ground below.

"As... you... wish..."

My heart stopped in my chest at the words of my love coming from the mouth of the Dread Pirate Roberts, tumbling down from the cliff I'd just shoved him off of. My Westley, alive, and falling. It couldn't be possible, but it was.

"Westley!" I cried, immediately rushing to follow him down the cliff. I tried to keep my feet under me, and I made it some of the way before gravity caught up to me and sent me tumbling, head over heels. I landed at the bottom, right next to Westley, who still wore his mask. Our eyes locked, and despite the lingering pain from my fall, I surged forward and ripped the mask from his face.

Staring back at me, by some miracle, was Westley. My farm boy. He looked different, older, stronger, and a little of the soft innocence had gone, but he was here. Not dead, like I'd thought him to be for the last three years. Alive, and now, with me.

"Oh, Westley!" My heart sang as I flung my arms around his neck. Without a second's hesitation, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. I moved to kiss him, but to my surprise, he pulled back.

"Won't your betrothed take issue with you kissing another man?"

"Humperdinck? Westley, I've already told you, I don't love him-"

"And yet you agreed to marry him. There was not a moment these past years I didn't think of you. But you agreed to give up on me, on love."

Now it was my turn to pull back a little. My brow furrowed, but Westley's expression didn't soften as his piercing blue-gray eyes surveyed me.

"Westley, I thought you dead," I said plainly, still a little shocked at his reaction. "Not a day has gone by that I didn't think of you, to mourn you. My heart was ripped out of my chest the day news came of your death, and I've had to live every day since dealing with the loss of my love.

"And besides that, Westley, I didn't seek the prince out. He found me, and proposed, since he was looking for a wife and found me beautiful. He knows and accepts that there's no love in our union, and he made it very clear that refusing a request from the crown prince would result in death. Death I would gladly accept, if I had ever thought there was any chance of you returning to me from the dead."

A cold fire lit behind Westley's eyes at my words, and when he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low and quiet.

"He's forcing you to marry him?"

I shrugged. "There are worse fates than being Queen, Westley. But none of that matters, not now that I know you live. Nothing matters at all anymore, Westley, so long as we are together."

He sighed, pulling me to him again, resting his forehead against mine. I brought my hand up to his chest, resting it there so I could feel his heartbeat and reassure myself that this was real. Westley was truly here.

"It's alright, I'm here now," he said, reading my mind as his hand came up to gently stroke my cheek. "My ship waits for us not far from here. It's not going to be easy for us... we'll have to go through the fire swamp..."

"We'll make it through," I said, running my hand through the hair at the base of his neck now. I smiled at him, all the love in my heart glowing through. "We'll make it through anything together."

"Then we haven't any time to waste. We must move quickly."

"Wait!"

Westley froze, halfway up from our position on the hill, but he sank back down at my outburst. His eyes never left mine once. His eyebrow quirked slightly in silent question, and I didn't wait to give him his answer.

I rushed forward, kissing Westley hard, like I'd wished for a chance to do every day for the past three years. He immediately returned the kiss, pulling me into his arms and holding me so close to his chest I could feel our hearts beating in sync.

There have been five kisses in the history of the world deemed so passionate, so perfect and full of love, above and beyond anything else that's ever happened. I was no expert on it, but in that moment, I knew this one blew every other kiss before it away.

Neither one of us wanted to pull away, but finally, Westley did. He kept staring into my eyes, gravity trying to pull us back to each other, but with a grimace of regret he leaned further back.

"We really need to keep moving. If we're to stay ahead of your pig fiancé, we have no time to waste."

"Just promise me a million more moments like this, for the rest of our lives."

Westley smiled. "As you wish."

I beamed as Westley pulled me to my feet, and the two of us began heading through the ravine we'd tumbled into and towards the Fire Swamp, hand in hand.

No doubt, the challenges ahead would be dire and terrible beyond imagining. But I knew confidently that we would survive them. My Westley was still in the world, and even better, he was with me. There was no other ending but for the two of us to be happily together.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

[captainsophiestarkreading]

Ahhhh this is so cute!!!!! There’s almost nothing here for Westley, so I was so happy to see this existed AND that it was so absolutely adorable 🥰❤️❤️❤️

THE PRINCESS BRIDE HEADCANON: Being Courted By Westley Would Include...

Prompt: "hello love, may i please request headcanons of dating westley (wesley???) from the princess bride? you're the first person i've seen on this hellsite (affectionate) write for him. thank you in advance and have a great day!"

(A/N: Thank you so much for this, I was just waiting for a Princess Bride request! And you're right, there needs to be more content for Westley and The Princess Bride in general. Also, I hope you don't mind me erasing Westley and Buttercup's romance, I just felt really bad breaking them up just for the sake of a headcanon. I hope you enjoy!)

First meeting Westley when he chases after Vizzini's crew, which you are a part of.

You didn't really want to be, of course - starting a war between Guilder and Florin held no interest to you - but Vizzini knew you would be of use to him, since you were rumored to be the best thief in four kingdoms. You denied his offer to kidnap Princess Buttercup at first, but the little man kept insisting, and, well, money was money, after all. So you reluctantly helped kidnap the future queen and began to deliver her to Florin's border with Guilder - until Inigo noticed a man in a black mask following you.

Afterwards, neither of you would say it was love at first sight - after all, he'd been dead the first time you'd actually seen his face - but both you and Westley felt an instant attraction towards the other, which only increased after you, Inigo, and Fezzik helped him rescue his childhood friend Buttercup and avenge the murder of Inigo's father.

Shortly after escaping Florin's palace, you decided to confess your feelings for each other at the worst possible time - while your group of four was locked in a sword fight with some officers of Florin that Prince Humperdink had sent after you.

"[Y/N]? I suspect this may not be the most opportune time for a confession of this sort, but I must say it: I find myself developing a deep love for you."

"I confess that I share your feelings, Westley. Now, would you care to discuss this further when we aren't being attacked?!"

Being in a relationship with a man who was literally willing to die just to save his friend is about as sweet as one might expect. Very early on, you realize that Westley would move mountains and swim across oceans to keep you safe and happy.

Of course, this can sometimes lead to him being overprotective when you go to steal something your merry band of misfits needs or go up against Florin's soldiers in a fight.

While this is sweet at first, it quickly gets annoying, so you have a conversation with your love about it.

"Westley, I realize you wish to protect me, but you need to let me get into danger if that is what's required. I'm one of the world's best thieves, and Inigo himself taught me to sword fight; I can handle myself."

And, being the understanding person he is, Westley agrees to back off.

"I understand, [Y/N], and I will respect your wishes. Just please try not to put yourself in more danger than necessary; even the Dread Pirate Roberts has limits on how much his heart can bear."

"Alright. If that's what it will take."

Westley's only pet name for you is "darling," and he says it constantly. Like, all the time. To the point where you sometimes wonder if he even remembers your real name.

In return, you like to call him "Goldilocks" or "dear." He doesn't exactly love the former, but the latter always makes him smile, since he knows you aren't usually the type for terms of endearment.

Becoming great friends with Buttercup, which makes Westley endlessly happy, since it brings him great joy to see his lover and his dear friend bonding.

Buttercup, Inigo and Fezzik all totally shipping the two of you, and making secret bets on when you'll get married and have children.

When your band of four finally crosses into Guilder and manages to convince the king to grant you asylum there (after all, he wasn't too happy to hear that Prince Humperdink was planning on starting an unprovoked war with his kingdom), the first thing Westley does is pull you away from the others and softly press his lips to yours - your first kiss as a couple.

The kiss is perfect - soft, loving, not too demanding, and full of the knowledge that you've both wanted to do this for a while now. When you finally come apart for air, the smiles on your faces are so wide and bright and happy they could cure every illness the world has ever known.

It's a pure, beautiful moment - until you hear Inigo's teasing whistle and Buttercup's clapping and shouts of joy from their vantage point not too far away.

Laughing, the two of you lean your foreheads against each other, share one last quick, soft kiss, then link hands and head back towards your friends.

You're ready to start your new lives together - confident in the knowledge that you love and have each other, and that that can carry you through anything.

[kaleidos-copia]

I just rewatched one of my favorite films, The Princess Bride, for the first time since becoming obsessed with Ghost, and now I can't stop thinking about Copia as Westley. All black outfit, gloves, mask, and even a little moustache... it's so Copia coded.

Not to mention Copia is witty and agile, just like Westley. He would scale the Cliffs of Insanity, duel strangers, and sprint great distances to rescue you, all because you're his true love.

The quote, "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while," is also very Copia, isn't it? And just imagine Buttercup and Westley's reunion as you and Copia...

Need I say more?

[fromstormsend]

As you wish / As m'lady commands

That was all he ever answered. “As you wish.” Fetch that, Farm Boy. “As you wish.” Dry this, Farm Boy. “As you wish.”

Every time you said ‘Farm Boy do this’ you thought I was answering ‘As you wish’ but that’s only because you were hearing wrong. ‘I love you’ was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard.” -The Princess Bride by William Goldman

"If you start calling me m'lady, even Hot Pie is going to notice. And you better keep on pissing the same way too." "As m'lady commands." -A Clash of Kings - Arya V

"That's right," he said angrily. "I'm too bloody lowborn to be kin to m'lady high." -A Storm of Swords - Arya V

When Arya and Gendry see each other again, Gendry had to make an explanation like Farm Boy did. I think ‘bloody lowborn’ sentence was a love confession but Arya didn’t get it like Buttercup :)

And yeah DEATH cannot stop true love but only DELAY. Valar morghulis.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Warm Rain Kisses

Westley Vuk x Reader

I had married Westley so I got a burst of needed endorphins. It’s also a AMAZING game. Pls I need mutuals who play this game

Summary: A rainy day on the farm calls for some needed cuddles with your newly acquired puppy of a husband

“Darling, you are just drenched-!” Your husband would shout, as your soggy body entered the home. Everything was soaked, and your boots were even filled with water. That rain storm came out of nowhere, and it was hitting hard. With lighting cracking outside.

“Seem’s to me Violet may have made her incantation a little too potent.” You admit, as you would pull your shoes off. You swore a fish came out of it even. Cleocatra would enjoy it, at least.

“I’ll go fetch you a change of clothes.” Weasley said, as he would hurry to the closet. He did his best to be careful, as it had been past sunset. Big paws and all. He’s had years of practice, and you made it your soul mission to write your own mending incantation. Just for him. That way he could stress less. Gramma would have been so proud.

“The chores are all done, at least. Frozen over here.” You shivered, as you had to take everything off. Even with being married, and having had many an encounter that resulted in damaged clothes, your husband still got so bashful around your naked body. You two have long since enjoyed a wonderful honeymoon, but here he was. Covering his eyes with sleepwear he grabbed for you. Had you giggle. That’s the man you married.

“I’ll get some underwear on, don’t worry.” You teased him. With a peck to his furry cheek you were off. Left him all a fluster. How you adored teasing him. Your big ‘scary’ wolf of a husband, still able to be so gentle in such a massive form.

With proper undergarments on, you returned to the living room. You might wear was laid out, and you could hear him already working in the kitchen. If the mutters of Russian curses at dropped items said anything to you.

Warm clothes, a warm fire place, and the works of tea. That’s what your cold skin needed. Also, cuddles. Lots of them. He was more than happy to provide such, as he would return with a tray of needed treats.

“Figured I would try something a little different. My mother loved to make warm drinks for me, and my brother, whenever we returned hunting. Even in the snow you can lose a lot of fluids. She liked to make it a little challenge for herself. To try and make something a little different.” Westley would explain to you, before he laid on the floor. Now your big pillow to cuddle, as the towel he had also grabbed was in your hand. Ruffling at your hair to dry.

“Oooo. Hot chocolate!” You perked up, and were excited. Something sweet. Oh he knew you well. Hardly bothered with your hair anymore, before you were quick to take your cup. Nearly burned your tongue, but it was so worth it.

“Kai always finds the best chocolate.” You cooed, as you laid against your husband. Enjoying his furry touch, and the way he breathed. Such big breaths. How his heart beat was so visible. Some call it morbid. You call it beautiful.

“He really does. Maybe if we were to ever reveal ourselves one day, he should be who we speak to first. He seems the most likely to be open minded.” He figured, as he yawned. Poor man was exhausted, but he was always willing to wait for you.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already has met some FaeFolk. He’s been all over the place. Maybe he never brought it up because of that. He knows better than to risk their secret. Respects nature, after all. The way he talks about the water just seems too whimsical…” You would agree, as you watched the fire place.

“Exactly. Along with the books he seems to enjoy, and how whatever I recommend seems to be something he’s aware of. World travelers tend to be more open minded.” Your husband would agree, as he gave a long stretch. Made his joints pop just right, as he would yawn.

“Today was a good day.” You would nod, with pride. You finished some candles, have potions and time freeze spells stacked for your mining trip tomorrow, finished some aging wines for your hubby to enjoy, the animals were checked on, you did alot in one day. Busy, but that’s how you liked it.

“I’m so glad. I wish I could do more for you, but I can only be in two places so often.” Your husband would sigh. That made you kiss his fuzzy little ear. He was doing so much. He deserved rest all the same. Just because you two had different jobs didn’t mean he didn’t deserve any less rest.

“You are doing the best you can. I love you so much for that.” You would finish your drink, before you simply curled up against him. No need a bed tonight. He was just perfect like this. The warm fire place, the rain storm outside, and the heavy breathing of your Westley. What more could you want?

“Suppose I’m stuck here for the night.” He chuckled, before he would nuzzle his muzzle against your cheek. His wet nose kissed your cheek, and that made you giggle. You loved his little doggy kisses. And in turn, he loved giving them. It made the burden of being a werewolf not so bad. You loved BOTH sides of him. His human, and fae, sides. Him. Simply him.

“Good night, sweetheart. Love you. Love you so much.” He whispered, in that gravely voice of his. A sleepy ‘love you more’ was returned, and he chuckled. Hardly could stay awake any longer. It was just a slice of heaven in that moment. Warmth, and love.

What more could a witch want?

[captainsophiestarkreading]

These are so good and so sweet!! I absolutely love all the different parts and time periods of their lives you covered, and I’m a BIG fan of Inigo and the reader becoming friends on their own. Literally so sweet and dreamy, I loved it 🥰😊❤️❤️❤️

Dating Westley Would Include...

Request: Hello! I was wondering if you could do Westley from princess bride relationship headcanons?

The Princess Bride is one of my favourite movies (I watch it every year on my birthday) so thank you! <3

If you enjoy, please leave a comment and let me know! Thank you for your kindness!

Warning: mentions of injury/ blood and swords.

(I do not own the Princess Bride or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @thekatebishops.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

As a young babe, the fairy tales your mother used to read to you at nightfall, so full to the brim of hope and true love as they were, always seemed like a strange fantasy to you. Little did you know, as you grew up alongside that strange farm boy who hovered behind your every step as if he worshipped the ground you walked on, that true love had been lingering behind your eyes for as long as you had lived.

That all changed one magical day on a late spring morn, when you decided to try and cure your lack of sleep by wandering down to the barn. Sitting amidst the starlit lavender thickets, the few cows you owned came shuffling away from their warm hay to come moo by your face as you sat cross legged beside them. Despite the sleeting rain that muddied the brick outhouses, you could see a thatched window swing open from the opposite side of the farm, and Westley’s curious face peeking out at the sudden uproar of noise. Once he spotted you, I swear, a smile bright enough to blight the most sweet of angels bloomed across his face; it took him less than a minute to throw his shirt on and to come through the verdant storm to sit beside you. You didn’t think you could get any cosier: the gentle pitter patter on the creaking roof-beams, and the warmth of the young man settling himself beside you without a word. That was until Westley unravelled the cloth he had managed to hide underneath his elbow, and gently wrap the straw stern blanket he had brought around both your heads, until you were tucked together under the stars like a fresh bud waiting for the sunlight. 

‘You look freezing, my love’, he says gently as he takes your hand from where it’s resting on your knee and wraps it in his under the blanket. ‘It would be my honour to share what little comfort I may bring with you.’ The glow of the speckled stars makes his eyes seem to grow tenfold, despite how bright and wide they are already, when filled with an unutterable and primordial love. You turn your head towards him, and he follows your every movement. Taking a chance, you ask squeeze his fingers and ask if you can kiss him, and with a love-fraught sigh, as quiet and gentle as the wind brushing through the violets, and an overjoyed shut of his eyes all he says is… ‘as you wish.’ And then the heavens seem to open above you: spurting out gold and silver bursts of shooting stars across the pearled horizon as you press your lips onto his pliant ones, and the two of you spend the growing dawn growing to learn the aspect of each others lips.

Keep reading

[munsonsmixtapes]

As You Wish

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: you and Eddie meet at Robin’s Halloween party and realize that you’re dressed up as a couple

based on this request!

Eddie was convinced that he didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the second you walked through the door to Robin’s apartment, he was beginning to think that his mind was changed.

You looked absolutely breathtaking in your Buttercup costume and he was realizing that you were the new friend that Robin had made at work. The one she had gabbed about endlessly, always wanting to make it clear to Eddie you were very pretty and very single.

That was always something that his friends told him and faster many failed dates, he had revoked all of their setting up privileges. But this time…this time maybe he’d let it slide.

He turned away from you when you approached the snack table where he and the other three in his group had been standing. He wanted to remain cool and mysterious even though he knew that he was nothing of the sort. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been chronically single.

“And who might you be?” You asked and Robin patted Eddie on the shoulder to let him know that you were speaking to him. He whipped around, knocking over the bowl of chips in front of him in the process and was grateful that a mask was covering most of his face because it hid his blush.

He was quick to drop to the floor to scoop the chips back into the bowl and was so focused on what he was doing that he hadn’t even been aware that anyone had been helping him until a hand brushed his.

Eddie looked up slowly to see your eyes looking into his, a warm smile on your lips. His gaze shifted to your hands to see m that they were full of chip crumbs that you were picking up from the floor and he was about to thank you, the words on the tip of his tongue, but you had somehow rendered the man who never shut up speechless.

“I-“ he started, but his mouth was now dry and he was suddenly very aware of how hot his costume was. Jesus, he really needed a glass of water.

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice so gentle and he appreciated that you were being so patient with him. A lot of women he had come across would have made fun of him, but you didn’t. You had even gone as far as helping him clean up the mess he had made.

“D-“ he cut himself off again, not entirely sure what he was trying to say. He was blowing his shot at getting a date without and he hadn’t even said anything yet.

You gathered the rest of the chips into the bowl and then stood, offering him your hand and he took it, letting you help to his feet.

“Well, look at that,” you smiled as you got the full view of his costume. “It seems we’ve somehow dressed up as a couple.” You let out a chuckle and Eddie swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

Your words finally registered in his brain and he looked down at his costume before looking at yours, seeing that the two of you actually did look like a couple and that made him feel even more sweaty than he was previously. What were you doing to him?

“Guess it’s fate,” you added with a wink and the man thought he was going to die right there.

“G-guess so,” he was finally able to get out and your smile widened at his agreement. Robin had told you that he was cute and she had been right, at least, you thought she had been even though you couldn’t see most of his face. And you thought his clumsiness was adorable. Most men you had come across had been cocky or way too confident so it was refreshing to see someone who wasn’t.

And his costume was impressive, so close to the one that Westley had worn in the movie and you wondered how much he paid to have it made. Surely something custom like that had to cost a pretty penny. Yours had just come from items you already had in your closet and you were lucky just how accurate everything looked.

“I really love your costume,” you complimented and you watched what you could see of Eddie’s cheeks turn bright pink. “Where did you get it?”

“I um-I made it,” he replied, stepping closer to the table to grab his bottle of beer that he had left sitting there. He took a sip, watching your face the entire time, gauging your face for any negative reaction. How many times had he told a girl that he made his own cosplay costumes only to be met by grimaces? It was all so exhausting to try to put on a facade, to pretend to be someone else and he was tired of it. That was why he had stopped putting himself out there, why he decided that it was better to be by himself.

But your face lit up as soon as the words left his mouth, fascination written all over it and the man swore he was dreaming for a second.

“You made this?” You asked, your beautiful smile getting even brighter. “That’s fucking awesome!” You were now grinning and Eddie resisted the urge to clean out his ears or make you repeat yourself.

“I did,” he nodded, your smile feeling infectious as one spread across his own lips. “I um-“ he cut himself off, but then thought he should continue, deciding that you were a safe space for him. “I make costumes all the time. I love to cosplay.”

Now you were beginning to understand why Robin was trying to set the two of you up. Not only had she probably (definitely) known that you two were going to coincidentally dress up as a couple, but she also knew that you both were into cosplay.

“Me too!”

“Now you’re just pulling my leg.”

“No, seriously, I’ll have to show you my photo album sometime.” Sometime as in…were you setting up a date?

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” you nodded. “Do you want to get a drink-oh-you already have one.” Eddie took another sip of his beer and realized that the bottle was in fact empty.

“Empty,” he held up the bottle and you nodded, feeling a shy smile appear on your cheeks that were starting to burn.

“Let’s go, then,” you held your hand out and Eddie took it without hesitation, letting you lead him into the kitchen for another drink.

“As you wish,” he responded with a smile as he looked down at your entwined fingers, subconsciously letting the pad of his thumb rub along your knuckles gently as he followed you, wondering what the hell he had done to deserve you.

You spent the rest of the night side by side on Robin’s couch, drinking and laughing with the rest of the group. And when the party came to a close and the two of you went down to where you had parked, you exchanged numbers, deciding that maybe Robin did know what she was talking about in regards to setting the two of you up.

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For The Night (Part 2) | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 1, Finale!

Summary: After a few too many drinks, Spencer takes you back to your place, and you say something you might regret when you sober up…

Tags: fluff, more pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Words: 2.3k (whoopsie)

|

“Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

“Just for the night?” Morgan laughed, his bright, white smile teasing you two.

“Well, we’ll see how he does and go from there,” you joked. Reid couldn’t help but laugh a little at your comment.

“Well, I intend to impress,” he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, laughing under his breath while looking down at you. Penelope hit Morgan on the shoulder, drawing his attention toward Reid’s little look of love. He just laughed, turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

“Those two are so screwed.”

The night went on as one usually does. Some of the team split off into different games, dancing, or their own little conversations. You and Spencer were of the latter group.

“I can’t explain WHY The Princess Bride is my favorite movie, it just is!” You feigned defensiveness, leaning into the seat behind you, laughing. “Why don’t your profile it out of me,” you smiled at Spencer. He laughed, taking a drink of his club soda.

“Fine,” he set his drink down, turning to you. “I think…” he leaned down, leveling his eyes with yours, glancing between both of your irises. “I think it’s probably because, ever since you were a child, you’ve been escaping with fantasy,” he sat up. “It would be safest to assume you identify with Buttercup, that you long for someone close to you to come sweep you off your feet and solve all your problems,” he narrowed his eyes. You looked gently up at him. “But,” he sighed, leaning back. “Knowing you, I’d say you like Westley,” he smiled. “You grew up less wealthy and have worked your whole life to protect the people you love. It’s a movie that makes you believe there’s hope in the world,” he took a long sip of his drink.

Your jaw hung open in shock. “When did you learn so much about The Princess Bride,” you smiled, leaning your head on your hand.

“Garcia made me watch it,” he shrugged, laughing.

“Okay, fine…” You took a sip of your drink, head spinning a little. “So what’s your favorite movie, then, hm?”

He didn’t hesitate before responding, like he had clearly been wanting to talk about it. “L’age D’or,” he spoke with his hands. “It’s a-a seminal surrealist film that was actually co-written by Salvador Dali,” he smiled wide. “It used Dali’s classic absurd style and shocking imagery to critique the bourgeoisie and the Catholic Church. It, uh, was so controversial, actually, that it led to riots and bans,” he continued on about vignettes and taboos, but you just stared at him with a smile, eyes glazed over with pure adoration. Some time after he went on about Luis Buñuel’s other works, you realized you were absolutely whipped for this nerd.

You must have been off in la-la-land, because Reid got a little closer to you to get your attention. “Are you okay?” You snapped up.

“What, yeah, I’m good,” you smiled, smoothing down your slacks. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you smiled nervously, standing up a little too quickly. You stumbled a little, causing Reid to reach out and steady you with his hands. Morgan noticed.

“Hey, Pretty Girl, how many of those have you had?” He gestured to your glass.

“Probably too many,” you smiled half heartedly, realizing you were likely a little more than tipsy. You also started to notice how tightly Spencer’s hands steadied you. “It’s getting late, anyways, I’ll go call a cab,” you started to reach for your phone, but Spencer stepped in.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Pretty Boy is right,” Morgan added. “Someone should take you home.”

“Guys, Im an adult, I don’t need a babysitter,” you laughed, speech slightly slurred. Yeah, you were definitely drunk.

“It’s fine, I can take her home,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile to Morgan. He turned to you, ignoring Morgan’s small, concerned smirk. “It’s not safe to go home alone while inebriated,” he took his hands off of you, and you noticed how he flexed them a little. Interesting. You would have to analyze that in the morning, maybe when you weren’t so intoxicated. He pulled his crossbody bag over himself and grabbed your hand, leading you from the booth. “I’m still your boyfriend, for the night,” he smiled.

You couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“Okay, okay, whatever, pretty boy,” your hand tightened around his. The nickname felt different, coming from your lips, he thought. Somehow, it seemed like less of a nickname and more of an observation. He shook it off. “I don’t live far from here, we can walk,” you spoke as you both stepped out of the bar, the biting cold air hitting your skin. You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s, his biceps wrapped up nicely by his cotton sweater. You smiled, and, you couldn’t see it, but so did he.

“Sounds good,” he barely squeaked out, just content to be settling into your touch.

The walk was peaceful, passing by a river or a park, street lights illuminating the sidewalk. They cast a warm glow on the night, shining in Spencer’s eyes, glimmering as he glanced down at you stumbling by his side. The breeze was slightly shielded by Spencer’s towering figure. He relished the feeling of your grip, a sense of security he didn’t know he craved. And, for a moment, it really did feel like you two were a couple.

He helped you up the steps to you apartment. “Such a gentleman,” you joked. He laughed lowly.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t eat concrete, but if you’d rather I didn’t-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding~” you slurred out, pulling out your keys. It danced around the lock a few times, since your vision was blurred, but with some help from your temporary boyfriend, the door pushed open and you were met with the warmth of your apartment. You couldn’t help but sigh, throwing yourself down on the couch. Spencer locked the door behind the two of you, watching you kick off your shoes.

“You should take your contacts out before you fall asleep,” he put his bag down. “Sleeping with them in can increase your risk of infection up to eight times,” he more than scurried over to your kitchen, filling you up a glass of water.

“Speeence, that’s so much work,” you threw a throw blanket around your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, but I don’t want you coming in to work tomorrow with dry eyes and corneal damage,” he set the glass down on the coffee table, kneeling in front of you. You were so tired, you didn’t notice the nickname. He didn’t seem to, either. “Come on, you need to take them out,” he reached for your arm, taking a hold of your wrist. His voice was gentle, laced with a genuine concern, and his touch was reverent. As you looked down to where his sturdy hands held you, you realized, for a moment, how deeply you cared for him.

He knew alcohol made your inhibitions nonexistent, but he didn’t expect you to start crying. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong,” he grabbed the side of your face, wiping a tear off your cheek. His hands were just so soft, it made you tear up more.

“I-I don’t know,” you sobbed out. You really didn’t know.

“Hey, it’s okay, drink this,” he handed you the glass of water. As you took a sip, he moved his hands to your knees, soothing small circles into them. “Why are you sad?”

You sniffled, looking down at his face. His brows knitted together, eyes beaming up into your own. You could have SWORN you saw his heart beating against his sweater. “Because I love you being my boyfriend, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t,” you were a little embarrassed, but you were drunk, so it barely mattered.

Spencer’s heart rate spiked, and a rosy tint started rising in his face. “You don’t mean that,” he soothed, voice just above a whisper.

“I do,” you looked straight into his eyes. They were glazed over in something you couldn’t describe and probably never would.

“According to research, a-about 63% of people have admitted to saying something they regret while intoxicated,” he reasoned out, holding onto your hand.

“Another study found that 54% of those confessions are things they genuinely feel, Spence,” he realized you clearly weren’t out-of-it enough to not hit him with his own statistics. He couldn’t speak, and he really couldn’t think either. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dancing around your face. His heart jumped up and down as an innocent desire swept through his veins.

Did you really mean that? Was he not the only one who stole small glances in the bullpen? Was he not alone in his heartbreak when watching someone else flirt with you? Surely, this was a symptom of the alcohol. Maybe-

“It’s so hot in here,” you broke the silence, breaking away from him. He swallowed hard, eyes moving hesitantly away from your face.

“I’ll uh, I’ll change your thermostat,” he stood up, moving towards the hall.

“Thank you, Spence,” you lied down, sniffling once more.

He gave up on having you take out your contacts or change your clothes. He just spread another blanket over you, shutting off the lights. He even took the liberty of setting your alarm. Before he left, he heard you mumble a small, “Good night, Spence.”

He smiled, sighing.

“Good night.”

—

“Hey, Pretty Girl, didn’t have too much fun last night, did you?” Morgan laughed. He couldn’t see you rolling your eyes under the sunglasses that shielded you from another migraine.

“Ha-ha,” you set your stuff down. “That’s me laughing at your funny joke.”

“Honestly, I’m shocked you didn’t show up with Boy Genius, this morning,” he crossed his arms. “Leaving together from the bar, going back to your place-“

“Derek, nothing happened,” you huffed. At least, you THOUGHT nothing happened. The events of the last twelve hours were an honest blur.

“Okay, okay, I yield,” he threw up his hands, going back to his own work. You turned to see Spencer walking in at about the same time.

He had replayed your words in his mind about a thousand times, maybe more. Did you really mean it when you said you loved having him as your boyfriend? Maybe you said that to every guy who took you home drunk. He thought going through all the possibilities would make it easier to face you, in the morning. He proved himself wrong.

You pulled off your glasses, standing up. As he sat down at his desk, you leaned over it.

“I wanted to say thank you for last night,” you spoke softly, not out of secret, but out of vulnerability.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he looked up at you, moving some files around his desk.

“I really, really appreciate it,” you spoke apologetically. “I wasn’t too much… trouble, was I?” You smiled nervously. “When i’m inebriated, my inhibitions tend to…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Disappear?” He smiled, laughing a little.

“Yeah…”

“You weren’t any trouble,” he reassured you, voice steady. “Actually, it was,” he smiled. “It was nice.”

“Nice?” you laughed, feeling your headache melt away at his soft voice.

“Being able to take care of you,” he defended playfully. “I don’t usually get to do that; it’s usually the other way around,” he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, looking up at your soft smile. “There was something I wanted to talk about, though…” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Crap, did I do something weird last night? I’m so sorry, if I did, I never-“

“No, no, nothing like that,” he laughed nervously. “You uhm…” he grabbed the back of his neck. He wanted to know if you really felt the same way he did. He wanted to know if you would hold his hand like that while sober. He wanted you. “Would you like to, maybe, get together sometime again?” He squeaked out, smiling shyly. “Maybe, this time, without the alcohol?” You smiled at his offer.

“I absolutely would, Spence,” you giggled out, tapping a nail habitually on the screen dividing your desks. He sighed a sigh of relief.

“Cool,” he pursed his lips together in a smile.

“Cool,” you mirrored him subconsciously.

Maybe it wasn’t just for the night.

(‼️💕THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REQUESTED PART TWO. REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[zepskies]

As You Wish

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When Dean agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

AN: Here’s a little something in honor of Dean’s birthday! If you haven’t seen The Princess Bride, do yourself a favor. 🥰

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, and nothing but the fluff. (Established relationship.)

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Dean says, right in time with the iconic swashbuckler on the screen, complete with his best approximation at a Spanish accent.

You giggle against his side, hard enough to rock both of you on the bed. When he agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

“Are you gonna quote the whole damn movie?” you ask.

Dean brandishes an imaginary sword with his fist held out.

“HELLO! My name is—”

Biting your lip, you cut him off short by playing dirty. You wrap your arm around his middle and dance your fingers across his ribs. He’d never admit it, but he’s got sensitive sides.

He flinches and laughs on reflex. “Hey, hey! That’s a foul move!”

His arm tightens around your waist while his other hand closes around your wrist. You try to grapple with him, your bare legs tangling with his pajama-clad ones, but you both know it’s a losing battle.

Dean gathers you tighter against his chest and traps your wandering hand.

Huffing another laugh, you relax again. His heart clips at a faster pace under your ear. Your hand smooths up his chest and finds its way up the back of his neck.

Dean can't help it. He lets out a contented hum when your nails give his scalp a little scratch.

For a moment, his attention drifts away from the movie and down to you. He spies the soft edge of your smile, feels your hair starting to itch against his arm, your soft curves under his hand, pressing against him.

You two don’t get these quiet days often, but he wants to make sure you get some rest. You, Sam, and Dean spent about three straight weeks in a row with back-to-back hunts, and the last one had really taken it out of you. So now, Dean’s satisfied to see you so relaxed. Happy, even.

Yeah. You really do seem to be as happy as he (secretly) feels.

Sometimes, he finds that part hard to believe. If you could want this with someone like him, then maybe…maybe he doesn’t screw up all the time.

Dean tunes back into the movie just in time for Buttercup to jump out of the window in her pretty white dress. She and Westley join Fezzik and Inigo on white horses, and the couple shares the kiss that left all the others behind.

Dean glances down at your face. He’s amused by the way you’re eating up all this sappy rom-com crap. Your eyes are shining with unshed tears. He ducks down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“You just spring a leak over anything, don’t you?” he teases. You shove at his chest with a halfhearted hand.

“Only over the good stuff,” you retort.

He accepts that with a chuckle. When the credits start to roll down the screen, he reaches for the remote and searches for the episode you guys left off in Game of Thrones. You tap his chest.

“Hey, wanna go out to dinner tonight?” you ask. A warm smile plays on your lips. “Just you and me?”

Dean blinks. He doesn’t remember the last time you two went on an honest-to-God date. No time, no privacy, always something evil on your asses…

A decision made in his mind, Dean gives you a smile back. He brushes his thumb across your cheek.

“As you wish,” he says.

AN: 😘 Hope you liked this one!

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

[abibliophobiaa]

Summary: You’ve never been one for love. Especially after your last round with it. Halloween rolls around and in comes Eddie Munson. He’s only in town for a couple days, you’re looking for no strings, and chances are you’ll never see him again anyway.

Easy, right?

That is, until you end up with an unexpected party favor.

mini series masterlist

next chapter

——

warnings: alcohol; smut; unprotected p in v; unplanned pregnancy and associated symptoms; major miscommunication. eddie munson x afab!reader(7k words)

——

“You’ve been staring around for hours. No one is catching your eye? Not even slightly? You’re not doing brain surgery, you’re just trying to get your toes wet.”

You knew this. But the music had been too loud, the room too heated, your body tucked away against the bar as you sat beside your best friend, sipping on a watery margarita that the ice had long since dissolved into.

All around you people bobbed and swayed to ‘Monster Mash.’ Cliche by all means, and yet it felt fitting when you appraised the crowd once more and noted the mummy dancing with his zombified partner. Further out you caught a werewolf in a particularly compromising position with a vampire, and a group of clowns crowded together hosting what looked to be a meeting.

“What about that Westley guy?”

Right — the one everyone had been talking about all night. The man who had the nerve to dress up as the direct counterpart to your own costume. With a huff, you hiked your leg up, crossing one over the other against the stool. The red dress around you shifted and moved, fingers reaching to adjust the belt around your waist.

“I haven’t seen him.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. “For all I know, he doesn’t exist.”

Micah glanced about the room once again, her makeshift halo wobbling on her head. Somewhere in the distance her boyfriend, Jeremiah, was invested in a deeply riveting conversation about football with some of his friends from college. All of which had dressed in their old football jerseys, dark lines drawn haphazardly under eyes, helmets covering heads. She lingered on him for a moment, and then glanced further over your shoulder, lips tugging upward into a devilish grin. Oddly fitting for the girl dressed as an angel.

“Actually, he’s right there.”

Gravity sent your heart tumbling into your gut. Silly, when you’d thought about it. Just because he’d worn a costume from one of your comfort movies didn’t mean he’d be anything special. Multiple pirates, doctors, and the occasional Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger had already attempted to rouse a conversation, only for it to fall flat. This could very well end up the same, and this night was lost to the turmoil of the inner workings of your mind, still reeling from the sting rumbling in your chest over the past few months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But it wasn't a joke when you swiveled around on your stool and faced him. Not at all. In a dimly lit bar, packed too tight with too many bodies bumping you to and fro even as you presently sat, you spotted him. Found the guy people had been mentioning all night as the other half of your ‘couple’s costume,’ saying you both looked amazing together, despite the fact none of them knew he was quite literally a stranger to you.

He sat at a lonesome table. Leaned on an elbow with a cheshire grin spread across the prettiest set of pink lips. His dark curly hair was tied behind his head, tucked into the mask that covered the upper half of his face. Even partially obscured like that, he was handsome, freezing you in place with those piercing brown eyes that were locked unwaveringly on your silhouette.

So he’d noticed you too. Inwardly, you were beaming. After two months of couch surfing and feeling sorry for yourself after a failed relationship wherein you’d walked on your partner of two years with someone who most definitely wasn’t you, you’d decided tonight was the night you’d get back out there. A night of fun, a night to meet someone new, to let loose a bit.

“What are you waiting for,” your friend Micah asked, shoving you forward with a hasty push. “He’s your Westley. If this isn’t some weird ass fate, I don’t know what is.”

Your Westley’s smile grew wider as you approached. Corners dragged upward to form that broad grin, bracketed by the sweetest set of dimples you’d ever seen on a man. Heart pounding a bit, you leaned up against the table, letting out a noncommittal huff. Puffed out a deep breath that caught his attention and had those chocolate brown eyes solely on you.

“Is this space taken?” you asked, and he dipped his head in greeting. “So you’re the guy everyone has been talking about all night.”

“Ah, yes,” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the very sound. It’s a lovely, hearty sound. The kind of laugh that seemed dangerous, because you might like it too much. “And you’re the girlfriend I didn’t know I had.”

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, taking a step closer. “Though it’s all very flattering. Prettiest Princess Buttercup here.” He dropped the lowest part into a whisper, “Definitely a compliment because, if I’m being honest, you’re way out of my league.”

Your cheeks burned with the compliment, feet fidgeting beneath you where you stood. He reached over and slid a chair beside his hip, patting the surface so you could hop on up and join him, a hand of his reaching out to steady you when you wobbled a bit. Another round of drinks were ordered and you learned quickly his name was Eddie and he’d been in town only for a couple weeks now. Had a few gigs in the city for the band he played in and would be off in another two days. Blew in and out like the storm that presently raged outside, wind howling, rain splashing against sidewalks, lightning painting the night sky in a shock of white before leaving it dark once more. He’d grown up in a small town, but realized he’d only ever had dreams that were too small for the walls he’d been raised in.

So he’d ended up on a short tour and would head off to California to start laying down tracks for the band’s first ever album. He sounded so hopeful and eager, so rejuvenated and excited about life, and it had you endeared to him. Drifting closer as the night went on and he asked you about your own life. Learned you grew up here in the city but craved something quieter, very much unlike him. You’d studied creative writing and English in college and wanted to write the stories people would one day know and love and shelve in their homes, but in the meantime you worked at a library. It wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it kept you abreast, and he regaled you with the endless fantasy titles he’d known and loved through the years.

It wasn’t long before the hours trickled on by and Micah approached the two of you with a sulking Jeremiah in tow. The latter of the two a little too inebriated based on the slight sway in his form and the hand Micah kept firmly planted around his forearm.

Her blue eyes flickered up at Eddie’s face, then drifted back to yours. “I’m taking this idiot home. He’s in time out —”

“Noooo,” he moaned, forehead pressing into the crook of his girlfriend’s neck.

“Are you coming back with me or…?” Micah’s eyes trailed back upward to Eddie once more, brows arched curiously.

Eddie looked at you and shrugged. “Up to you, Buttercup.”

“I’m gonna stay…actually.”

Micah nodded, giving you both one last glance over before tugging her boyfriend along behind her in the direction of the door. As she passed, she leaned up against the hollow of your ear and said loud enough over the music, “Be careful. Have fun. You’re beautiful and I love you and you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, okay?”

Once they were gone your attention returned to the man swathed in black standing before you, shoulder bumping his. “It's too loud in here,” you shouted for emphasis, insides nearly rattling from the music booming from the speakers positioned about the room. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more…”

“Private?” he asked, leaning down toward your ear. Chills skittered along your arms as his lips nearly brushed your skin there, gooseflesh pimpling in its wake. “I have a hotel room two blocks over. How do you feel about running?”

“Let’s go.” You grinned.

“As you wish.” He beamed, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.

Outside, the two of you huddled up beneath the small awning growing smaller by the second with the other patrons who had similar ideas of waiting for their rides and cabs or braving the fall storm head on and taking off into the soaked streets in their full Halloween costumes.

Laughter bubbled up from your lips as a particularly hard jolt against your back sent you tumbling into his form, a quick hand of his reaching out and curling low around your back. He tensed, eyes locked on yours, awaiting your response and you leaned further into him, relishing in the heat of his form.

Moments skittered by under the awning. His eyes roamed your form, dark and beautiful, ringed with those little crinkles that appeared in the corners whenever he smiled. He’d been smiling all night — at you, a thought that has little butterfly wings quivering low in your belly, and lower still at the suddenness of the desire ramping up in your bloodstream.

The glowing lights from the bar filter out onto the street. Flashed orange and red across Eddie’s features, painted him in vibrant color, highlighting the plushness of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the bump of his chin. Hesitant fingers reached up to brush at the curls tied behind his head, curled one of the ringlet strands around and around a fingertip, your forearm spreading over the space between his shoulders, around his neck until he pressed in closer to you. Those chocolate brown eyes flickered southward. Lingered on your lips briefly before traveling back up, asking that question without words. Your only answer was the upward tip of your mouth, leaning into the space, waiting to feel him warm against you.

Electricity danced in the moments shared between you. In the fingertips that pressed into his shoulder and gripped tight as his nose nudged at the space beside yours, your mouth tipping up closer to his. From here, you could smell the mint he’d tossed in his mouth on the way out, could feel the tremble of his breath against your sternum, feel the heat of it fanning over your lips.

But the kiss never came. Behind you, a group of friends pushed and shoved toward the front door, nearly sending you and Eddie into the sidewalk and out of the shelter provided by your awning. It dawned on you then, however begrudgingly, that maybe you should move, give others a space to wait for their vehicles, and start to head in the direction of his hotel room.

He seemed to agree, sliding his palm down your forearm to twine his fingers between yours. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

“Bet you’re glad you wore the equivalent of tights for pants today, huh?”

“Suppose it makes it easier for me to whisk you away in the night, now doesn’t it?” He barked out a laugh, and clutched your hand tighter, dragging you out onto the street and into the rain.

——

You were presently in the midst of what was officially the weirdest, most endearing hook up you’d ever had. Moments after rushing out into the busy city streets and getting absolutely drenched from head to toe, Eddie tugged you toward a grocery store, suggesting he had nothing back at the hotel. Had looked a little bashful about it, even when you reassured him it was fine and you’d manage without, though he wouldn’t hear any of it.

As a result, you trailed behind him, dress sopping wet and clinging to every inch of your body, helping gather some things you might need in between what you hoped would be an eventful afternoon. Water, snacks, and the like. He seemed so giddy with it, and you hated the way his dimple in his cheek had your heart and thighs clenching. You preferred only the latter of the two, and couldn’t afford yourself the emotional aspect that came along with the former.

Eventually you had both found yourselves in the frozen food aisle, his shoulder bumping yours, your fingers dancing in the spaces between the two of you, the anticipation of after burning brighter with every minute that passed.

“How do you think they know what…oh, I don’t know…Moose Tracks taste like?” Eddie asked, turning his head over his shoulder.

Fortunately for you, he’d removed his mask, revealing more of his features. Those curls that dangled along his brow line, the smattering of freckles along high cheekbones, the crinkled corners of his eyes whenever he smiled at you.

“What?” you asked, once more reminding yourself of just how differently this night was going than you’d originally anticipated.

“Like what makes a Moose Track a Moose Track?”

“I think it’s just a…mix of things that remind them of…you know what?” His eyes twinkled, and you shifted a little closer. It really sucked that he was cute — obnoxiously so. “I actually don’t know. But, I do think we have more than enough stuff here to feed an army. And I think the rain finally let up.”

“You want to head out?”

“I think we should,” you agreed, tugging him along behind you down the aisle, in search of the nearest check out line.

The walk to the hotel room reminded you both of what you’d intended for that evening. The curious glances you would catch him shooting your way, the way you’d do the same when he focused his attention ahead. It increased with every step closer to the looming building, the desire for closeness, to feel, to touch, to taste.

Burned brighter when he swiped his key card and you started shoving the things he’d brought inside of the mini fridge, before snatching two water bottles and placing them down on the bedside table. He whistled as you walked around the room, fingers snapping, one of his curls tucked against the fullness of his mouth.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, sensing the nervousness radiating from his form.

Those dark eyes settled on yours as you approached, palm coming up slowly to rest against his sternum, right where you could feel his heartbeat clanging against his ribs.

“It’s been a while,” he settled on, voice softer than it had been all evening, a tremorous quality catching your attention.

“We’ll go slow,” you promised, leaning up to finally, and happily, close the space between the two of you.

It felt like a long, shared exhale. The way he immediately knew which way to turn his head, how you liked for his calloused fingers to rest against your cheekbone, that you wanted to be as close as possible, pressed flush against his form. Your head swam as he turned you around and walked you backward until your backside thumped against the edge of the dresser positioned against the wall opposite the bed. Grunted as he reached a hand up the back of your neck and sought out that pesky zipper you wanted so badly pulled down.

As if he’d read your mind, the man in question gave the zipper a nice, hard tug and the fabric shifted and dropped around your shoulders, baring the similarly colored bra beneath. So maybe you’d gone shopping for your first foray back after your break up? Based on the darkened eyes honing in on the lacy fabric, you’d picked correctly.

“Such a shame,” he groaned against the curve of your collar bone, fingers pushing the dress down and onto the floor, “really liked that dress.”

“My turn,” you mused, fingers reaching forward to tug the tunic free from his obscenely tight pants.

He helped you with ease, arms lifting just enough to help pull it over his head, giggling as his endless mane of curls sprang free. Tattoos jumped to life before your eyes. The multiple on his arms and torso, some looking faded and older, likely done in someone’s house, and others freshly inked, leaving a tapestry of stories he’d likely tell you if you’d only had the time.

“Fuck it.” He reached down and cupped your jaw, bruising kiss after bruising kiss laid upon your mouth, your toes digging into the carpet below as pale fingers trailed down the center of your chest, and then lower still, pausing at the hem of your panties. “Can I touch you?”

You might burst into flames if he didn’t. “Please.”

“Never have to say please with me, Buttercup,” he said, fingers pushing past that lacy barrier until they met your flesh, knowing exactly what he’d find there. “Sweetheart…this all for me?”

“Don’t tease.”

A broken sigh spilled from your lips, fingers clutched tight around his forearm as those expert fingers dragged a slow circle around your clit before sliding back to your center, pushing in. Your head rolled back against the wall, heat blooming anew as he stepped closer into the circle of your thighs, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, enjoying the sounds made only for him, the slickness of your center practically pulling his fingers back in with every perfect thrust curled in that spot right where you needed him the most.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” he panted, mouth pressed tight to yours, grinning against your skin as you keened high and tight, creeping closer and closer to your edge.

And just when you’d thought you were about to explode into dozens of tiny stars like in the night sky above, Eddie stopped. You nearly cried out his name in your frustration, only to find him dropping down onto his knees in front of the dresser, capable hands tugging you closer to the edge, before he pushed the dainty fabric back to the side and swapped his fingers for his tongue.

One long stripe from center to clit was all you'd needed for the rubber band to snap. For the shaking to start, the chanting of his name like a mantra or a prayer to rouse the neighbors likely next door and alert everyone in the building to what magic Eddie had worked between your thighs.

“Not,” you gasped, leaning your head forward to rest against his heaving chest, “fair.”

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?”

“Too good at that.” Another rasped breath pooled from your lips, quieted by the sound of your lips pressing to his chest. Hazy eyes lifted to his face, a satisfied exhale slowing the rise and fall of your chest. “Get on the bed.”

“What do you —”

“On the bed,” you repeated, grinning wickedly as he backed up just enough so his kneecaps hit the mattress. “I want to look at you.”

And god, what a sight he was. Once you’d finally managed to tug his pants down, revealing the boxers beneath, you were rewarded with the fullness of Eddie Munson in the flesh. The narrow waist, the smattering of hair you kissed along his abdomen, the curve of his chest, the freckles along his chest and shoulders. Traced along the tattoos on his chest, the sides of his ribs, the one on his upper thigh, before dragging upward to slide over the increasingly — and massively impressive — hardened cock peeking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he blew the words out on a shaky exhale as you squeezed a little tighter, gauging what he liked.

Your grin grew as you wiggled the remnants of his clothing off his hip and cupped the weight of him in your palm. Perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and you wanted so badly to show him just how much you thought so, sliding down further onto the edge of the bed, tongue dragging a long line up the underside, along that prominent vein that had him bucking upward off the bed.

“Can I, Eddie?”

He watched through hooded lashes as your eyes zeroed in on his leaking tip, thumb sliding over the pre-cum there, before gliding your palm in a slow downward motion around him. He nodded, breath nearly cutting off completely as you finally, and blessedly, welcomed him into your mouth, immediately knowing nothing would compare to this moment and this girl.

Ruined. You’d ruined him for others, your pretty smile around his cock driving him too swiftly to a precipice he didn’t want to see the end of. Not yet. “Wait, wait, wait. Fuck. Your mouth is perfect, sweetheart. But — mmm — I need you.”

He pulled you upward with a gentle hand on the back of your neck, rolling you over beneath him, tongue marking a path along your chest, the peaks of your nipples, the delicate skin of your abdomen. With each pass of his lips over your flesh, you sank deeper into the mattress, knee bent, foot digging into the space above his hip, drawing him close enough that you could feel his glistening, wet hardness brushing your abdomen.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, moaning as his finger circled your wet entrance. “Want you inside me.”

“Patience, Buttercup,” he practically purred, reaching over into the bedside table to find…nothing. “No. Oh shit. We didn’t get condoms. I’m such an idiot, I —”

“Shit,” you whimpered, jolting upright and nearly smashing your skull into his as he double checked the inside of the drawer. “What about your suitcase? Wallet?”

“I told you I don’t exactly do this often.”

Those dark brows knitted together on his forehead, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. You remembered then the fortunate and recent development of starting birth control after Micah suggested she could never live without it, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to clasp your hands together and thank the heavens for the little pills you had back home in your friend’s bathroom.

“I’m on the pill,” you told him, swallowing the nervousness that grew with every beat of your heart. “And I’ve been tested recently. I’m clean.”

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you should have known better.

“I’ve been tested since my last time too. I’m good,” he said, unmistakable desperation filling his voice.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered as he rolled onto his back.

“Me neither,” he agreed as you clambered over his lap and bracketed his hips with a thigh on either side.

Lured with the wonderful bliss that was Eddie Munson’s lips warm and plus against yours, you gripped him in hand and slowly lowered yourself down onto him, completely bare. There was something so raw about the moment. About the shuddered breath you both released, the way his hands cupped your hips as he pushed in deeper than you ever thought possible, his voice a broken mix of ‘that’s a good girl,’ ‘taking me so well,’ ‘look so good full of my cock,’ as you move over him.

You wanted to hate that you end up doing something between fucking and making love. For something so casual, it feels almost too intimate, the way you collided together like two pieces fitted together of a puzzle that had only been missing those parts.

And it wasn’t gentle, his fingers clutched in your flesh, feet planted on the bed as he eventually pounded up into you — but it was also somehow tender. A complicated mess, just like the shattered pieces of your heart as he groaned one last time and urged you to come with him, pulling you closer in his arms. His fingers circled your clit until you cried his name and clenched down around him, whimpering at the warmth of him spilling inside.

As you both drifted back to reality, he maneuvered around the bed and washed himself from between your thighs. Cooed when you winced at the cold contact, dropping a kiss against your forehead and telling you that it had started storming again. He could either call you a cab or you could stay the night, he’d suggested. You hadn’t anticipated spending the night with him, but after he dug around for the ice cream and M&Ms you got from the supermarket, you found you couldn’t say no to him.

Especially when he turned on the television and, funnily enough, The Princess Bride was on. Fate, or something more, seemed to laugh in your face. Gleeful as you sprawled out beneath the covers naked as the day you were born beside the man who you quickly learned enjoyed handfuls of popcorn mixed with his sweet chocolate treats.

It didn’t take long before he’d grown hard again, the lights dimmed and the food forgotten, your soft sighs and pleasured peals filling the room as he pushed in and watched as your eyes rolled back and back arched prettily for him.

And later, after you were both satiated and satisfied, you fell asleep to the sounds of Inigo Montoya’s famous speech, and the gentle inhales and exhales of the man sprawled out beneath you.

——

Daylight streamed in through the olive curtains positioned against the wall across from you. You hadn’t noticed them last night. Hadn’t noted the wooden walls, the pale ceiling above, nor the cream bedspread across your hips. Hadn’t noticed a lot of things, it seemed, other than the man who dozed behind you, tattooed arm slung low around your waist, keeping you in close.

Fallen asleep — you’d both fallen asleep watching The Princess Bride, much to your grunted amusement as you shifted up and into a sitting position. Eddie’s arm thumped onto the bed, leaving a wrinkled mess around his sinewy forearm. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you took in the curve of his jaw. The way he looked more boyish than his nearly thirty years, lips parted in a sleepy breathing pattern, curls strewn all about his face. A smile graced your lips, fingers of yours rolling over the curve of his back, the heft of his shoulder, the breadth of his bicep.

Part of you craved curling back up beside him. Wanted to feel his mouth roving over yours, across your skin, between your thighs once more. Would probably dream about the way his face had scrunched up in pleasure before he came apart beneath you last night for weeks to come. But your eyes noticed the time ticking on the far wall, alerting you that work started in two hours. Some weekend reading activity for the children in your town you’d volunteered to work weekend hours for; hindsight, as they say, was twenty-twenty.

“She’s running away in the night,” he grumbled beside you, mouth rolling over to press into the pillow you had slept soundly on for a shocking eight hours, letting out a loud yawn. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d done so. That curly head of hair lifted, too-long strands falling into his gaze as he pinched one eye shut and glanced toward the giant bedroom window. “Or…morning, I guess?”

“I have work,” you said, reaching over to snatch your underwear from off the floor.

He watched with rapt attention as you whirled around and clasped your bra into place, cheeks burning despite the fact he’d seen every inch of you merely hours ago. The man propped himself up onto one elbow, your eyes catching the bat tattoos on his arm as his fingers reached over to curl around your hip, dragging you back down into bed.

Soon enough it was loud giggles, his fingers dancing along your sides, noisy kisses against your own. But it didn’t take long before you were reduced to breathy sighs. His fingers against the span of your hips, his chest pressing yours into the mattress. Lips over yours, against your cheek, the curve of your throat, the hollow between your breasts, the valley of your abdomen. He stopped with a nip along your hip bone, tongue laving over the sensitive skin there.

“Do you have to go?” he groaned against your stomach, placing a final kiss there before crawling back up your body and cradling the back of your head with one hand, his body weight perched on the other elbow, face hovering over your own. Pretty, he was so damn pretty and you wished you could hate him for it.

“I guess I have a few minutes,” you suggested coyly.

And it was all Eddie needed before he had you beneath him once more singing a tune he knew he’d never forget.

You dressed in silence after. He pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a thin sweater while you glanced at the wrinkled heap of your dress from the night before. It hadn’t dawned on you the complications of getting your feet wet on Halloween — at least, not until now.

“I can’t walk back to Micah’s in that,” you groaned, pointing to the messy ball of fabric on the floor.

“Wait — I have an idea!”

Eddie rummaged around a box in the far corner of the room and tossed a tee shirt your way. Across the front was ‘Corroded Coffin’ in a messy font that reminded you of how your brain often felt after one too many cups of coffee in the morning.

“Your band?” you asked, turning the shirt around to show him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, white teeth flashing with his smile. “You know, you could see us some time.”

You quickly slipped the dress over your head and let the skirt ruffle messily along the floor, then moved to roll up the billowy sleeves to your shoulders.

“I can’t say that I’ll be in California any time soon,” you told him, pulling the tee over your head next and draping it over the belt. Like this, it looked more like an oddly fitted skirt and a top. You already decided that was much better than a Halloween costume, so it would do until you got home and could change.

He nodded rapidly, like he knew that, but hadn’t realized that you’d be coasts apart in only a couple of days.

“Well…” he trailed off, searching around the bedside table for a moment.

Once he procured a pencil and a piece of paper, he scribbled down a string of numbers you immediately knew were the hope for something more from a boy with kind eyes, a beautiful smile, and a heart of gold. Your chest ached. If only you’d met him two years ago, at a better time, in a place where you were more open to whatever this could not be.

“My number — for the place I’ll be staying at for the next couple months,” he explained, tucking it into the exposed circle of your palm, closing your fist within his fingers. “Maybe, I don’t know…we can talk?”

“I can do talking,” you conceded, already hating the fact you knew you wouldn’t be utilizing the number.

It was better this way; he was better off this way.

You both parted with a kiss in the doorway. With his arms looped low around your waist in a way that felt too familiar. A way that suffocated, heart twisting at the soft smile that graced his pretty mouth when he wished you a good shift and you wished him a safe flight.

The walk home was all inward grins that flowed on your face until it hurt. Waves to random strangers passing on the street, curious gazes from onlookers at the billowing sleeves you kept shoving up into your tee shirt as you passed. Memories of the night before flashed in your mind. Of his fingers tugging the zipper on the dress, tossing your underwear alongside his on the floor, mouth on yours, hands learning the contours of your body, the way he fitted perfectly inside you.

Another time, another place, another day maybe.

And that day was not today.

Micah was sprawled across the kitchen island when you entered. You shut the door as quietly as possible behind you, only to find she’d already been awake anyway. A cup of likely long gone cold coffee rested beside her along with a bottle of painkillers, her forehead pressed against the cool tile, nursing what you imagined had to be the headache from hell.

“You’re home late,” she grumbled, pushing her head up into her hands. Blonde hair spilled around her forearms, face covered behind her palms. “I’m assuming you had a good time. Which will at least make one of us. Jere passed out as soon as we got home and snored all night.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” you apologized, stepping further into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator immediately for some water. “I…we had fun.”

“I’m going to need you to spill, because he was cute even with the mask. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she mused, suddenly healed of her headache, what with the way she looked at you like she’d received the best news of her life.

“I accomplished exactly what I wanted to. I got my toes wet.” You shrugged, lathering some butter onto a freshly toasted bagel.

“You like him,” she screeched, making her own self wince at the sheer volume of it.

You did. You do. But those feelings would fade. Your resolve had already hardened because he wanted romance and flowers and you needed no strings. He deserved that much — he deserved so much.

“We had sex, that’s all. And he’s leaving for California in a few days. I’m never going to see him again. So it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

——

It hadn’t felt real. For days, you’d doubted every symptom. Every inkling that might have alluded to your present condition.

First, it had been the realization that your period was late. Not even the one or two days you would have pushed aside as a result of stress, the extra hours you’d taken up at work to try and save a little money here and there for a new apartment, or your severe lack of sleep. Then, the nauseousness started. In waves, most days, and definitely not only in the mornings like you’d been led to believe your whole life. Your chest ached next; a fullness that felt unlike your normal, monthly symptoms. Chalked it up to your oncoming period. The same period by that point was nearly two weeks delayed. There was also the fact that no matter how much you slept, you’d still felt like it wasn’t enough. Found yourself dozing off at work, yawning standing in the line for groceries, losing focus while out with friends.

There was also the fact statistics were on your side. You’d done all the right things and were on birth control at the time. So it couldn’t be…that, right? Statistically improbable, unlikely, unwarranted. At least, that was what you had chosen to reassure yourself with, quieting the shouting in your skull that suggested otherwise.

It wasn’t until you were sprawled out against that obnoxiously crinkly white paper in the doctor’s office a little over a month after Halloween that you’d even allowed the thought to enter your mind. It also happened to be the first moment you wondered if you were about to have the entirety of your life changed by a night with a boy in too tight pants you’d definitely not thought about even once since you’d spent the night with him. And you most definitely didn’t picture his dark pupils expanding in the night as you rolled over him, his palms gripping your hips, your hands on his chest, heads thrown back in shared ecstasy.

No.

Not at all.

Six weeks, they told you, with sympathetic looks and uncertain smiles as you exhaled shakily and stared up at the ceiling to stop the room from spinning out of control around you. Six weeks pregnant and undoubtedly so, based on the rapid thrum of the baby’s heartbeat on the screen before you. Strong, they’d said. Perfectly healthy for someone at this point in your pregnancy. They printed pictures up for you of the tiny gummy bear with arms and you held it in trembling hands as they began to speak. Words strung together to form sentences you’d barely understood. Options for next steps, vitamins to take, habits to stop, foods to eat and foods to avoid, how much caffeine to drink, how much weight you could lift and what activities you should start to limit—your head spun with it and continued the whole quiet walk home back to Micah’s place she shared with her boyfriend, Jeremiah.

She welcomed you with open arms as you entered their apartment with a pamphlet on pregnancy in one hand and your pocketbook in the other, whimpered cries of not knowing what to do soaking through her knitted sweater. She’d accepted it without hesitation, just as she always did and would. Held you close to her chest — and hissed at Jeremiah to leave when he’d eventually poked his head in — as you processed the emotions swirling like an endless kaleidoscope in your mind.

And later, when your tears had dried and she’d plopped a freshly opened box of ice cream in your lap and demanded you eat, she asked, “Please just…tell me it’s absolutely Westley’s and not Paul’s.”

“Six weeks,” you sighed, watching her shoulders relax. There was no mistaking who the baby’s father was, and at least that brought you some comfort, “Definitely Westley’s.”

Though you weren’t sure if that made it any better.

“I just want you to know it’s going to be okay,” Micah reassured you, reaching over to rub at your forearm. But did she really know that? How could she? Because to you, it felt like the earth had fallen out of orbit, spinning dizzily now with no signs of stopping any time soon. “I know we don’t have the most space right now, but the couch turns into a futon. It’s yours until you find something otherwise, you know that.”

Telling Eddie his world was (potentially) about to change happened two weeks later. You needed some time to process, is what you’d told yourself was the reason why you’d delayed. After hours of debating, you decided to keep it, and knew that there was always the chance Eddie didn’t want kids — always the chance he’d want to pretend it never happened and that he didn’t want to be a part of its life. Regardless of what he chose, you’d set your mind on being a mother, and you’d do it alone if you had to. But he at least deserved to know; deserved the option of choosing them, even if all you’d had was a night fueled by lust, because you weren’t interested in anything more than that.

Fear had clamped your mouth shut, preventing you from forming those two words for fourteen days. Just two simple words that would have opened the dam to let in the floodgates for the conversation that needed to happen.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

You’d rehearsed it all afternoon, pacing a certifiable hole in the ground from how rapidly you’d moved. Had even stood in front of your friends and had them listen to it until you felt confident enough to do it for real. Gripped Micah’s hand tight as you swiped the man’s number from your pocketbook and dialed. It rang once, then twice, and you worried he wouldn’t answer or you’d caught him at a bad time when the line exploded with sound. Voices. Dozens of voices spilled through the other line, and music along with it.

You winced. “Uhm, Eddie? Is this the right number?”

A long pause extended, drowned out by guitar strings and drum beats. “Uh — uh, yeah. This is him.”

He sounded gruffer than you remembered — voice tinged with a smokier quality that seemed almost unfamiliar to you now. Not that you’d spoken much that night. Maybe he’d caught something, maybe he was sick. Maybe it was merely the weeks that had grown on since you’d seen him, and he'd become another person in the crowd already — someone you knew if only for a night. Heart pounding, you gripped Micah’s hand tighter and wound the phone wire around a pointed fingertip.

“Hi…I’m sorry I’m only calling now. Busy, you know?” A lie, because you’d never intended to call. It had been one night; that was all it was ever meant to be. “It’s the…girl from the party. The Buttercup to your Westley costume on Halloween.”

He chuckled in reply, and you wondered if maybe he was shy. He’d been looser the night you met — louder. Boisterous and passionate. Carefree and fun. But you wondered briefly if that was the glass of whiskey he’d drunk before you slipped away to his hotel room hearing him now. But you remembered that next morning, too; his splendid affection, the kissing, the exuberance of his persona, the way he’d made you fall apart around him again.

It seemed…strange now. Cut off, cold even.

“I’m…pregnant. I just —” You swallowed the knot of fear forming in the back of your throat and continued, “I just thought you should know…because it’s yours.”

There was another prolonged pause.

Nervousness welled up in your throat the longer it continued. Joined that roiling nausea that had become your friend and foe these weeks. Swallowing thickly, your fingers pressed over the span of your abdomen, over the knitted sweater and skin protecting your tiny secret — still not visible to others yet, but wholly your own all the same. You’d already decided you would love them fiercely enough for the both of you if he didn’t want anything to do with it, just so they’d never feel like they were missing out.

Then, after what felt like decades, he asked, “Who is this again?”

You repeated your name, nervousness rattling your bones, fingers trembling in Micah’s. Micah mouthed out ‘Breathe,’ even though you were doing anything but.

The line went dead, and your heart along with it.

——

let me know what you think! 🩷

[captainsophiestark]

The Dread Pirate Roberts

Westley x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my Year of Olympians and part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​ which features a ton of awesome creators and runs all year! Go check it out if you haven’t already!

Also, this fic wasn’t a request, but I’m dedicating it to @auroracalisto​ who is my fellow Princess Bride fangirl searching desperately for fic with me

Fandom: The Princess Bride

Prompt: Poseidon; Sea, Water, Storms

Summary: Prince Humperdinck has set his sights on Y/N to marry, but she can't simply forget the love of her life, Westley, and give that up for a life with the prince. So, she decides to run, taking a boat and setting sail for new horizons like her farm boy did so long ago.

Word Count: 3,192

Category: Angst and fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I glanced back over my shoulder one last time as I undid the last of the lines holding my boat to the dock. In the dead of night, I couldn't see much, but in the far distance the lights of the capital city of Florin stared back at me. This would likely be the last time I saw this place.

A few weeks ago, I'd been in town to do some shopping for my family, taking a bit of a rare adventure away from our farm. While I'd been walking through the market, a procession had ridden through on horseback. Among the group of young soldiers and officials was none other than Prince Humperdinck, apparently in the city to visit his subjects before going back behind the walls of his massive palace. By some strange stroke of luck, he'd seen me, and apparently decided I was someone he wanted to get to know.

We'd spent the rest of the day walking around the market, surrounded by his guards, talking and taking in the day. At first, I hadn't minded. What other opportunity would I get to speak with a prince, after all? I told him of the troubles I faced in the countryside, and about things I thought might help or fix them. He listened closely, and I thought I might actually be making a difference. He even invited me to return to the capital city and the palace in a few days' time to continue our conversations. Of course I'd said yes, excited that the prince had listened to me and wanted to hear more of what I had to say.

And then, when I arrived at the castle, he proposed to me. To make matters worse, it was clear from the minute I set foot in that place his proposal came out of a place of attraction to me physically, and absolutely nothing else.

I immediately knew I wanted nothing to do with him, especially not in that way. I'd already met the love of my life, and although I'd lost him when he went off to sea and left my family farm, my love for him had never faded. Perhaps, someday, I'd be willing to love someone else, but that day was not today, and no matter what I knew it wouldn't be love for Prince Humperdinck. However, there was no saying no to the Crown Prince. So, to escape the fate of the loveless life I surely faced if I agreed to marry him, I'd decided to leave this land once and for all.

I'd had very little time to make plans or preparations, since my window to escape Humperdinck was incredibly small. I'd managed to pull together some provisions and to secure a small boat, that hopefully I'd be able to sail on my own. I was no expert sailor, but I could get by well enough to leave the country. I'd had no time to tell my family or anyone else I cared about, but eventually, I'd decided that might be for the best. This way, they'd have deniability when people eventually came asking about where I'd gone or why I'd left.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, then chucked the final tether ashore and away from me. I ran around, adjusting the rigging and sails on my small boat as I drifted out of the harbor. There was a light wind tonight, perfect for helping me make my escape. The gods of the sea were watching out for me, or else my darling Westley, the love I'd lost to the sea, now acting as my guardian angel.

It was fitting, I supposed, that I'd eventually follow him out here. I hoped to find a new place to call home, somewhere no one knew me or my connections to the Prince of Florin, but nothing was guaranteed. This may well be the place I perished, to finally join Westley after he lost his life to the Dread Pirate Roberts.

I sat up all night, manning the lines and making sure my sails were always adjusted to catch the winds. I made good progress, leaving Florin in my wake, and eventually got comfortable enough that I could sleep for short periods of time in between making sure everything went smoothly. I'd actually managed to gather a decent amount of provisions, and I started to feel more hopeful about my prospects on this ship to find a new land.

At least, until a storm hit.

I woke up just after twilight on the third night since I'd left, being almost rocked out of my seat by the waves tossing my boat about. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the remaining sleep fog as the waves continued to grow around me. I swore as I looked to the horizon, only to find darker clouds and bigger waves. I was headed straight into the center of what appeared to be a very big storm.

I ran to the rigging, trying to change course. I wrestled the ship into a sharp right turn, thinking I could run along the edge of the storm until, hopefully, I past it. I'd never be able to outrun it by going back the way I came, and the odds of me finding the eye of the storm before I capsized were fairly low. I had no other way out.

I wrestled the rigging until my arms burned, and then found a way to keep going. Despite my best efforts, however, the storm only got worse around me. I clung to the ship, praying for a miracle or some way out of this, and then suddenly, I was underwater.

A massive wave must've finally managed to swamp my boat. I floated for a moment, letting my natural buoyancy show me which way was up so I didn't accidently swim further from the surface before I at last made my push upwards. I gasped once my head broke the surface, searching frantically for something to help keep me afloat.

I found a piece of my now-smashed ship not too far from me and swam towards it wildly, clinging onto it for dear life once I reached it. I frantically tried to come up with an idea to save myself, but I kept drawing a blank.

I was going to die here, tossed among the waves, resigned to a similar fate as my dear Westley. There was a certain poetry to that, I supposed, even as I fought back tears at the hopeless feeling now welling in my stomach.

Then, out of a break in the waves, I saw the mast of a ship coming closer to me. My heart leapt, and I started shouting and waving, doing my best to catch its attention. It was a far bigger ship than mine had been, meaning it hadn't lost its struggle with the massive waves around us. Maybe I had a hope of making it out of this after all.

That hope immediately died when I caught sight of the flag flying over the mast as the ship got closer to me and the wind changed. They were flying the Jolly Roger.

I stopped waving, debating mentally whether it was better to stay in the water or be caught by pirates, but apparently a decision had been made for me. They'd already seen me, and I could hear shouting and see people pointing to me as the ship came even closer. I braced myself, trying to be as ready as possible for whatever this new challenge brought. I had been the one who'd decided to run, after all, and I knew in my heart I didn't regret that decision one bit, no matter what this new hell might bring me.

Before I knew it, I'd been fished out of the water and hauled on deck. I quickly backed away from the men who'd gotten me on board, and although most of them didn't pay me any attention in the chaos of trying to keep the boat afloat, two followed me as my back came up against the main mast, halting me in my tracks.

The men stared at me as they stalked closer, and every muscle in my body went into fight or flight mode. The man a bit further back from me seemed to be taking cues from the other man, his eyes darting between me and who I assumed must be the leader. The leader, the one closest to me, was dressed in all black with a mask on his face, his ice blue eyes tracking my every movement. My heart stopped dead in my chest. I'd never seen him before, but I'd heard enough legends and stories to know beyond a shadow of a doubt who this man was.

Before me stood the Dread Pirate Roberts.

A fury like none I'd ever felt raged through me, replacing the panic and fear that came before. This man was responsible for the death of my Westley. I glared at him, putting the full force of my hate into the look, then glanced around for a sword or something else to attack him with. I'd most likely die on this ship anyway, so I might as well go out attempting to get some justice for my lost love.

"You! What were you doing out in this storm?" yelled the pirate over the waves. I glared back at him and ignored his question.

He waited a few long moments for my response, then huffed in irritation. He looked around at his crew and the storm still raging on all sides, then back at his first mate.

"Keep us from sinking! I'll be back!" he roared at the man behind him before turning back to me. The man rushed off to fulfill his orders, leaving me more or less alone with Westley's murderer.

Before I could even attempt to make a move for revenge, the pirate surged forward and grabbed me by the arm. His grip was like iron, and although I fought against him, I couldn't break away. He dragged me across the deck of the ship with surprising strength, up the stairs to the ship's wheel where a navigator wrestled against the wind and waves, and then through a door to what I assumed must be his private quarters. He shoved me into a chair as soon as we were through the door, slamming it behind us before turning back to me.

I moved to stand from the chair, but before I could, he had his sword at my throat. I glowered up at him as he spoke again, a deadly calm to his voice.

"Now, I'll ask you again–and I expect an answer this time. What were you doing out in that storm?"

I clenched and unclenched my fists, debating whether it would be worth it to answer or if I should just let him slit my throat. After a moment's hesitation, however, I decided I didn't really want to die if I could avoid it, especially not before I found some way to get even the slightest justice for Westley.

"I was escaping the hell of being married to a man I don't love, a monster second only to yourself," I hissed. The pirate stared back at me for a few moments, seemingly considering my words, then spoke.

"Explain."

I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to get my temper under some kind of control.

"I caught the eye of Prince Humperdinck," I finally managed. "I had no desire to marry him, but he's not a prince who takes well to the word 'no'. Running was my only option, so I secured a boat and set sail as soon as possible."

"On your own?"

I nodded once, not bothering with a verbal answer.

"And being a princess was such a horrifying fate that you risked death in its stead?"

I sneered. "Being wed to someone I don't love after knowing what true love feels like is a fate worse than death, yes. And thanks to you I will never have my happy ending with my love, for he died at your sword while he was out attempting to gain enough fortunes for us to finally marry."

"...And what was this man's name?"

"Westley," I replied without hesitation. Up until now I'd been staring back at the Dread Pirate in rage, but my tone softened and my focus shifted to the distance as I got lost in memories of my beloved farm boy. "He was good and kind, something you'd know nothing about. He loved me, and despite the simple life we led together, we were happy. We could've lived long, wonderful lives together, but now that will never happen. So threaten me with your sword and whatever else you want. Nothing you say or do will ever match what I've already had to endure."

I faced the pirate again as I delivered the end of my speech, only to find him staring back at me with slightly wide eyes. When I'd finished speaking, he stared at me for a moment longer, before finally dropping his sword to his side. Another beat, and then he'd dropped to his knees before me, staring up at me like I was the sun. I leaned back a bit, confused, until he tore off the black mask covering so much of his face and looked up at me again.

Westley. Somehow, by some miracle, I was staring into the face of Westley, the love of my life.

"I... How... What kind of trick is this?" I demanded, trying to get my head straight. Had I been drugged somehow?

"No trick, my love," he replied, staring at me dreamily. He scooted a bit closer to me, but didn't touch me, instead letting me work through my thoughts.

"Tell me what's going on," I demanded, sounding a bit more desperate than I wanted to.

"As you wish."

He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but I didn't bother listening. That was enough to satisfy any lingering doubts I had. I didn't understand it, but I could also say with complete certainty that this was, in fact, my Westley.

I slid out of my seat, joining him on the floor on my knees. We were face to face, and he smiled softly at me, but I didn't give him a chance to do much more before I pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss.

After a few seconds of shock, he kissed me back, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me tighter to him. I ran my hands through his hair, over his arms, across his shoulders–anywhere I could reach. I'd gone years without Westley, my darling farm boy, the love of my life, and I needed every bit of confirmation I could get that he was here, and this was real.

We stayed like that for long minutes, only pausing our kiss once or twice to come up for air. When we finally broke apart, I laid my head on his shoulder, holding him tight to me as he likewise held onto me, a few tears finally starting to fall.

"Westley..." I breathed, relief flooding through my system as I felt his strong arms around me and heard the steady beat of his heart. "How is this possible?"

"When the Dread Pirate Roberts raided my ship, he didn't kill me," Westley breathed, speaking softly against my ear as he ran his hands up and down my back. "I begged him for my life, and I told him about you. My love, who I needed to return to. I told him I couldn't die because I couldn't leave you.

"He ended up sparing me that day. He kept me prisoner, and told me each day he'd most likely kill me in the morning. Over the course of time, he trained me, and I learned everything to do with being the Dread Pirate Roberts. Eventually, he told me his secret. He was not the Dread Pirate Roberts. He was a man called Ryan, who had inherited the position from someone else who was not the Dread Pirate Roberts. The title carries more weight than anything else, and so the name has been passed down every few years, the previous Dread Pirate Roberts retiring with their fortune after choosing and training their successor. He'd chosen me to be his, and a few days after he told me as much, we docked at a small island port. We hired a completely new crew, and then he left. I've been the Dread Pirate Roberts ever since."

"I... I can hardly believe it."

"Imagine how I felt when I found you bobbing in the water just as I was finally on my way back to you," he chuckled. I huffed a laugh with him, then at last pulled back to look him in the eyes again.

"So... what now? What do we do next?"

"Well, we can't stay on the ship. It's not the best place to start a life together, to say nothing of the questions it would raise that I left you alive."

"Of course."

"And you can't return to Florin or, truly, any country near it, lest the 'prince' find you and throw a wrench into our newfound happiness."

"Agreed."

"Then that really only leaves one option, doesn't it?"

"And what might that be?" I asked, smiling and leaning into Westley as he stared at me, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"To find a completely new place and start over, of course. I've already picked my successor–I was planning to promote him once I reached the shores of Florin, but now I'll wait until we find our new home."

"My love, I can't think of a plan I'd more like to initiate," I said, beaming happily back at him. He leaned down and kissed me again, then pulled away to stare at me with love in his eyes.

"So, where shall we go?"

"I'd say you know the lands far from Florin's reach far better than I. You choose. But... pick someplace with green fields, and perhaps a gorgeous lake we can swim in on hot days. With land enough for us and any future children to roam and have adventures, and room for a home for us to curl up in on cold winter nights."

"Well, that's not much to ask for," he teased, leaning into me a bit. "Anything else you'd like to add to the list, my love?"

"Yes. I want our new home to be some place we can live happily together, without anything to ever separate us again so long as we both shall live. I want it to be a place where we can be by each other's sides for the rest of time, where we finally get our happy ever after."

He smiled at me warmly, leaning down to place a soft kiss on my lips before pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes.

"As you wish."

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Oh, Honey - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Content : jealousy, friends to lovers, a bit of violence, flirting, kissing

Word Count : 1.6k

Plot Summary : Jamie doesn’t know how to react when he sees you flirting with a West Ham player. 

A/N : More of my love, Jamie, there's a criminally low amount of Jamie fanfic---as always pls like and reblog if you enjoy <3

“Well don’t you look gorgeous?” You hear the voice before you see its owner, and you roll your eyes before picking your drink up from the bar and turning around. 

“And you are?” You deadpan. 

“Westley Smythe. But I’m better known as the star player of West Ham.” He quirks a smile at you and you try hard not to laugh right in his face. 

“You do know who I am?” You ask him, and he raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down as if there was no way he could know. 

“I’m Richmond’s athletic trainer. ” You watch the wheels turn in his mind, and you smooth your dress on yourself, flashing him your own brilliant smile. “I don’t really associate with West Ham.” 

He shrugs. “No one has to know.” He says, and this time, you do laugh out loud, actually tickled that this man was being so bold. 

But your laugh alerts your own star player, a certain number 9. Jamie’s jaw clenches when he sees you laughing with Smythe, and the grip on his beer bottle (a rare treat Roy allowed him) tightens. He feels Roy lean over, and he rolls his eyes in anticipation for whatever Roy has to say. 

“Bloody fucking hell, Tartt. Just tell the girl you like her.” Jamie can’t help but steal glances at you, where you’re chatting away with the West Ham player. And…are you enjoying his company? He thinks about you, how you move when a song you like comes on, the smell of your honey scented perfume. 

“I can’t.”

“Yes you fucking can.” Roy grunts, and with that he puts another beer in front of Jamie and wanders off to mingle with Ted and Beard. 

This leaves Jamie with admittedly, a lot to think about, even though Roy hadn’t said much. 

You keep a tight smile on your face, and you glance to the boys, noticing Jamie was watching you. Your face flushes and you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Even though Westley was definitely not your type, you decide you could maybe use him to make Jamie a bit jealous. 

For the past few months, it always seems like Jamie is on the edge of asking you something. There’s stolen glances, smiles that linger a bit too long. You even find yourself checking over him after games more often than other players. You and Jamie were friendly, even friends, but you couldn’t deny the extremely large crush you held on the Mancunian. 

You reach out and brush a light hand on Smythe’s arm, causing him to step a bit closer to you. You glanced again at Jamie, the muscles in his perfect jaw jumping at the sight of you and Smythe. You grin to yourself, angling your body so you’re facing away from Jamie. You felt maybe a little evil, but maybe it would push him to talk to you a bit more. Of course, you could talk to him, but it seemed like anytime you tried to flirt, Jamie was completely oblivious to what you were trying to do. 

You roll your eyes as Westley continues to drone on, casting a peek over your shoulder. Jamie was still watching you, but he was standing now. He sets his bottle on the table and skulks out of the bar, and you can’t help but smirk. 

The next day, you’re up in the box with Keeley and Rebecca, who you inform of your jealous-Jamie plan. 

Keeley grins. “I love it babes.” And Rebecca nods.

“Maybe it showed him what he was missing.” She suggests, and you point a finger at her, settling into your seat. You cross your arms and gaze down at the field but the huge monitor over the stands shows closeups of the team. You can’t keep your eyes off of Jamie, and Keeley leans in. 

“He looks grumpy, I think your little plan worked, yeah?” She grins, nudging you. You shrug, but secretly you were pleased. If he was jealous over you, surely that meant he liked you. 

The game starts, the usual fast paced back and forth making your head spin. You notice that Smythe has the ball, about to score, when suddenly -

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, standing straight up out of your seat. Jamie had slide-tackled the other player, knocking him down, causing Smythe to roll a little bit. Westley Smythe stands up and charges towards Jamie, who didn’t seem like he was going to back down, in fact, he was smirking, walking to meet Smythe. Jamie pushes Smythe hard, but before a real fight can break out, the referee interferes, gesticulating to Jamie. 

Finally, the referee pulls out a red card. 

Keeley and Rebecca sit next to you, stunned. 

You look up at the monitor and catch Jamie smirking, tongue out, cocky expression on display as he walks back towards the dugout. You sit down, slightly stunned. But also, slightly into it. You watch Roy shake his head at Jamie and send him into the locker room. You quickly stand up, making your way out of the box.

Your tennis shoes make a soft tap, tap, tap on the floor as you walk down the long, bright hallway to the locker room. You round the doorway and stop, right as Jamie looks up at you. 

“What the hell, Jamie? A red card? Not to mention, you could have hurt yourself and then work on your ankle would have had to start over.” You put your hands on your hips, moving forward towards him. 

“Oh sorry, are you worried about your little West Ham boyfriend?” He says, scoffing as he stands up, turning to face his locker. 

“Boyfriend? I don’t care about Westley.” 

“On a first name basis, huh?” 

You clench your teeth. He was going to be difficult about this. “Why do you even care?” 

Jamie shrugs, still facing away from you. “I don’t.” 

“So why’d you tackle him, then?” 

At this, you can see Jamie’s body tense. “He’s a bloody wanker, that’s why.” 

At this, you scoff. He was really going to stand in front of you and pretend as if you didn’t know what this was about. At the sound of your noise of indignation he turns around to face you. There’s a glint in his eyes and he steps closer to you. Very close. Noses almost touching close. He’s slightly taller than you, so he looks down at you. 

“Maybe I don’t like the way he was looking at you last night, yeah? Like you were a piece of fucking meat.” 

“I can take care of myself.” You assure him, biting back a smirk. You can’t help it though, a devilish smirk was playing on the corners of your lips. “Are you jealous, Tartt?” 

You expected him to smirk. You even expected him to maybe laugh, that beautiful smile on display. Instead, he licks his lips, quirking an eyebrow at you. “I think you know the answer to that.” 

“Then say it.” You challenge. 

At this, Jamie smirks. “Yes. I was jealous. You are smart, funny, and kind, and seeing Westley Smythe all over you made me want to tackle him on the pitch.” 

You’re a bit taken aback. You didn’t expect him to pile compliments on you, and your eyes soften. “Oh..” you breathe out. 

Jamie continues to gaze down at you, leaning in even closer than he was before, his lips hovering centimeters above yours. You watch, mesmerized, drunk in his presence. 

“Seems you might like having me jealous over you, yeah?” Jamie teases. “But that’s okay, as long as I get you all to myself.” 

You swallow, your eyes trailing to his lips. “You’ve always had me all to yourself.” You whisper, glancing up to meet his gaze again. But the look on his face is different. Where before it was smirking, sexy, teasing, now it was surprised and anguished. 

“Wh..what?” He manages to get out, and you kick yourself, believing you said the wrong thing. “Just how long have you been trying to make me jealous?” He asks, reaching up to gently push a strand of hair behind your ear. 

You shrug, suddenly bashful, cheeks burning red hot as he brushed his hand there briefly. You feel a gentle hand under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. He searches your face, a small, pleased smile playing on his lips. 

“Only since last night. I couldn’t take the tension anymore.” You whisper, and Jamie laughs softly. He slides his hand to the side of your face, lifting his other hand to mirror it. Cradling your face gently, he leans in. 

Before anything happens, his eyes travel from your lips to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers. Your mouth feels dry, but you nod, and he leans in, gently connecting his lips to yours. 

You kiss him back, feeling as if you were melting, and you slide your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His hands leave your face and snake around your waist, holding you as close as he can. “You are as sweet as honey.” He breathes into your ear, and you shiver. 

“Oi!” You hear a booming voice yell from the doorway and you instinctively look over, still tangled in each other’s arms. There stood Roy, an eyebrow raised. “Not that I don’t think it’s about time the two of you kissed, but Ted wants to see you, Tartt.” 

Jamie looks at you, stealing another kiss before winking at you, following Roy out of the locker room door. You stood there, smiling and blushing to yourself. You guessed Jamie just needed a little push, is all. You couldn’t wait to continue what you started.

[lostgirlmuseum]

Pairing: Bucky x reader (No gender mentioned, but reader does wear a dress)

Words: 1.6k

Summary: You and Bucky are forced to work on Halloween and even when cosplaying as lovers you only seem to bicker.

Warnings: it gets just a lil goofy. If you’re not down to clown kindly exit my circus. Reader is a bit of a hellion. No use of y/n. Not that much plot rip. Lemme know if I missed something.

A/N: Started this last year but didn’t finish it in time. Originally this was like 70% different but then I had to scrap a bunch of stuff and now it’s this I guess.

Dividers by: ME :) pls enjoy

“Who am I supposed to be?” Bucky asked. 

“You’re kidding, right?”

He lamely gestured to the outfit. “A pirate?” 

“You’re Westley!” 

“What’s a Wesley?”

“No, West-ley!” You handed him the final piece of the costume. “From The Princess Bride!”

Bucky eyed the black mask skeptically and quickly tied it around his head.

“And you’re the Princess Bride?”

“In fact I am. I’m Buttercup!” You watched the scarlet dress twirl behind you in the full length mirror.

“Her name is Buttercup?” 

“I’m not appreciating the judgement in your tone. It was either this, or eggs and bacon. Would you like to be bacon?”

“This is fine.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You studied your costumes and scoffed. “I mean you’re practically wearing what you wear anyways. All black. Except instead of a gun you have a sword and you get a cute little bandana to wear on your head.”

You made the perfect couple. Bucky looked dashing as always in his pirate getup, and your smile rivaled the shine of your gold tiara. 

Neither of you thought you’d be spending the holiday with each other, but duty called. Your mission? To infiltrate a rich kid’s Halloween party and snap some photos of his gazillionaire father’s files. Why? Boring shit, bad guy did bad thing, yadda, yadda.  

You pulled up to the English country manor in one of Tony’s convertibles and gaped at the view. The large house sat upon a hill and was framed by flourishing gardens, illuminated only by the inside lights. You could hardly imagine how green and lush they looked in the daytime. 

“Are we clear on the plan?” Bucky asked as he opened your car door for you.

“Yes. Enter the party dressed in costumes,” You took the gloved hand he offered and stepped out.

“Locate the main office. I’ll be watching your back.” Bucky continued, the two of you starting your journey to the entrance.

“I pick the lock,” you nodded as you looped your arm with his.

“You’ll grab pictures of the files,”

“And then we’ll go back to the ground floor and party.”

Bucky stopped so suddenly that you went lurching backwards.

“That is not the plan.” 

“I’m officially adding it to the plan.” You said, removing your arm from his and continuing to walk.

“You can’t do that,” he grumbled, hand shooting out to grab yours before you could get too far.

“C’mon Buck!” You turned around to face him. “When was the last time you went to a Halloween party?”

“I don’t know.”

You stepped closer to him and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“We deserve to have a little fun if we are forced to work on Halloween. Besides, I thought we were spies. You really think our chances of getting caught drastically increase if we hang around for a bit? You think we are that bad at our jobs?”

“But—”

“Fine,” you smirked, “we party first. Blend in. Then we get to business.”

His black mask only amplified his unamused glare.

“Ugh. Okay, we’ll play it by ear. Agreed?”

“Fine.” 

Unfortunately for you, there was very little partying to be done. Bucky gave you five minutes amongst the flood of witches, ghosts, cowboys, and angels before dragging you off to the west wing of the estate. 

You followed the large hall to a set of stairs, and ascended to the second floor. 

“I think this place used to be a castle,” you whispered, eyeing the strange suits of armour lining the hall.

“Focus.” Bucky said, five paces in front of you.

You skipped ahead and spun to face him, “I’m the most focused person in the world right now.”

You continued to skip backwards all the way down the hall until you reached the study doors. 

“All right,” you smiled after picking the lock with a single bobby pin, “be a good watch dog for me.”

Bucky grumbled, but you shut the doors behind you too quick for him to lodge an official complaint.

The study was as elegant as to be expected with a house such as this. The glass balcony doors in the back of the room stretched all the way up to the coffered ceiling, and towering bookshelves stacked with ancient spines lined the walls, but what caught your attention was the mahogany desk in the middle of it all. 

You made your way behind the desk and promptly began opening the drawers. 

It didn’t take long to find what you needed. 

Just as you snapped photos of the the final file, Bucky came bursting in and locking the door behind him. 

In the time it took him to warn “He’s coming, we have to go,” he had made it across the room to the balcony doors, wrenching them open, and dragging you with him. 

The exact same moment you shut the door came the creaking of the study entrance. Bucky yanked you away from the window and into his chest as he pressed his back against the stone wall.

“That was close,” / “Stop manhandling me—” you said at the same time.

“Manhandling?” Bucky whispered harshly into your ear, releasing your waist. “If that means saving your ass, then—”

“I can cover my own ass.”

“Is it really so hard for you to say thank you?”

“I can cover my own ass, thank you.”

“Do you want us to get caught?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I don’t think it is when you keep acting like this.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“Oh my g—”

“Keep your voice down or he’s going to hear us, stupid,” you shoved your palm against his mouth.

He squeezed your wrist and yanked it away from his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking ever do that again.” He snarled.

He caught your smirk and the twitch of your hand and pushed you away before you could shush him again.

“What did I just say? Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“I listen to you.”

“If you listened to me you would leave me alone.”

“Is that right?” You asked, a glimmer in your eye.

“Yes.”

“As you wish,” you said, and backed up against the balcony railing.

“What—” he began, but you were already hurling yourself over the ledge.

Bucky ran to grab you but could only look on in horror as you catapulted a full story to the lawn below. Instead of stopping where you fell, the steep hill sent you tumbling further away.

Bucky cursed as he launched himself after you, hitting the ground with a harsh thud, and rolling after you in stupor.

A chorus of grunts and oomphs echoed into the still night as the two of you tumbled down the ridiculously long hill. 

Rolling,

Rolling,

Rolling,

Bucky finally reached you at the bottom after what felt like minutes of nauseating turning. It took him only a moment to hoist himself up and run over to you, motionless on your stomach.

“Are you okay? Please, please,” he kneeled by your side and anxiously rolled you onto your back. “Look at me,”

“I’ve got grass in my mouth.” You mumbled, peaking an eye open at the dishelved man above you. His bandana was missing and his v-neck was ripped a little wider from the fall. Not to mention the literal dirt on his cheeks.

Bucky flashed a quick look of relief before turning red. He stood up and ripped the mask from his face. He furiously threw it to the ground and began to storm off.

“Where are you going?” You called, struggling to get up.

He halted. You watched in curiosity and unease as he balled his fists. He relaxed them, and tightened them again as he whirled around to face you.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was just doing as you asked,” you shrugged nonchalantly, steadily sitting up.

“I didn’t mean to throw yourself from the balcony! You could’ve really hurt yourself,”

“You didn’t have to come after me. You could’ve really hurt yourself, too.”

“Yes, but my body is made to withstand that kind of fall, yours isn’t.”

“I’m not w–”

“I know you’re not weak! Do you really think I’m calling you weak, or are you just arguing to argue?” 

You looked down at your muddied shoes and mumbled something.

“What?”

“I said,” you began, but the rest of your words were incomprehensible. 

“I can’t hear you,” 

“I said!” You swung your gaze up from the ground, “I don’t know how to talk to you! Okay?” 

“What are you even talking about?”

“You only seem interested in talking to me when we are arguing. Otherwise you act like you hardly know me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? When was the last time you started a conversation with me that wasn’t work related or related to something I had done to piss you off?”

“...”

“Exactly.”

“What,” he scoffed, “so you decide to throw yourself off a balcony?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to act like you care about me,” you said. 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I never said it was reasonable.”

“So if I tell you I care about you, you'll stop fighting me on everything?”

“Bucky, stop,” you groaned.

“No, I’m serious. Is that what it takes?”

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just say you care about me because I want you to. Then you’re just saying it to placate me.”

He sighed. 

He turned around and scanned the grass. A moment later he was picking up his mask and brushing off the dirt before retying it around his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on,” was all he said.

You followed him back up the hill as he led you to the back entrance of the party.

“Where are we going? I thought we are leaving.”

“You said you wanted to enjoy the party, didn’t you?”

“But—”

“You have thirty minutes. Okay?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you think?”

You softly smiled. “Thank you, Bucky.”

Before he could respond, you had placed a quick kiss to his cheek and ran off into the crowd.

“As you wish.” He mumbled, fingers grazing lightly over the spot you had kissed.

A/N: If you made it to the end thank you so much. Please let me know if you liked it. I have anon on for my inbox if you're shy or if you ever have an ask :)

[moonlightisdancing]

Dancing With the Devil/ s.f.k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 2243

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI 18+, drinking, touching, teasing, masturbation (f), priest rp, defo some sort of religious trauma, rough oral (m receiving), begging, slapping, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), overstimulation, praise, daddy kink

A/N: this fic was a collab with @belovedsamuel she gave me the sauce and i wrote it out <3

~~~~~~~~~~~🩵~~~~~~~~~~~

As you walk into the bar, you’re met with your boyfriend's brothers already several drinks in. You were supposed to be there an hour ago, but Sam looked criminally good in his priest costume. As his little devil, you just had to take care of some business before leaving.

“Hey! Look who finally showed up!” Josh pops up out of his seat to give you a hug. “Ahhh! It buuuuurns!”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” You gesture to his pope costume.

“Touché.”

You walk over to Danny and Jake at the bar. Danny’s dressed in an all too short pharaoh costume with now smudged eyeliner. Jake is dressed as Westley from The Princess Bride, his partner seated next to him dressed as Buttercup.

“Ordered you guys drinks.” Jake points over to two glasses on the counter.

You thank him and take a seat, Sam sits between the two of you. His cologne catches in the air as he settles in, filling your nose with the familiar scent you’ve grown to love so much. Josh finds his way back over and starts telling one of his stories, everyone paying half attention. They’ve all evidently had a few drinks before you and Sam arrived, but you feel yourself not too far behind. The liquor surely was working its way into your system as you continued sipping down mixed drink after mixed drink. Past a slight buzz, you only find yourself paying attention to Sam. Watching how his fingers wrap around the glass as he nurses his drink, lips perfectly parting to take in the liquid. The familiar fuzzy feeling finds its home inside of you, getting lost in his mannerisms. Josh goes on with more stories, Jake joining in now that his liquor had hit him enough to crack his introverted shell. The noise in the background is exactly that, Sam being the only thing to fully consume your thoughts. You reach your hand over to Sam and place it on his knee. He turns enough to acknowledge you without drawing attention from the others.

“Hey, sweetheart. Doin’ okay?” He asks, placing his hand on yours and caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Yes, I’m okay.” You nod.

“Okay. I love you.” He whispers, leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“I love you, too.”

His attention is quickly brought back to his brothers who are growing quite rammy. You slowly slide your hand up from his knee to his thigh, fingertips tracing circles closer and closer to his length. Sam clears his throat as your hand gets dangerously close to making contact, causing him to turn and shoot you a threatening glare. You can feel the slick building up between your thighs.

“I’ll be back, gotta use the bathroom.” You announce to the group, sliding your hand down his thigh as you get up.

You watch Sam’s eyes trail up and down your frame as you walk away. You walk towards a flight of stairs descending to a hidden bathroom in the basement. It’s typically for employees, but your group frequents the bar so much they’d let you use it whenever. You stumble into the dark bathroom, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You lock the door behind you, making your way toward the toilet. You rest your phone on the toilet paper holder and pull up the tight red dress as you situate yourself on the toilet in attempts to clean up. Sam has you a mess and he hasn’t even touched you yet. Giving into your temptations you decide to have some time to yourself.

“They won’t notice anyways…” You mumble to yourself.

You rest your back against the cold porcelain lid, spreading your legs a bit wider for easier access. You run two fingers through your folds, tipping your head back in ecstasy as you work light circles over your sensitive bud. Your mind flashes through images of Sam from earlier today, eliciting soft moans of his name that echoed against the stone walls. God how you wished he was here right now, making you feel how he did before coming out for drinks. As if the universe heard your silent prayers, you hear a knock on the door. The knock quickly turns into rustling of the handle, making your heart race.

“Y/N, open this door.” Sam’s voice angrily whispers from the other side.

“H-hold on.” You stand up and fix your panties before flushing the toilet and quickly running your hands under the water.

You wobble to the door and unlock it, creeping it open enough to see Sam’s face on the other side.

“What? I just had to use the bathroom.” You defend yourself before he opens his mouth.

“It’s been 15 minutes, and I have ears.” He chides.

“You were listening?!”

“Yeah, because I kept knocking and you weren’t answering.”

Fuck, how out of it was I?

“Sorry, I was-”

He steps into the bathroom and shuts the door, locking it behind himself.

“Moaning my name in here all by yourself? After pulling that shit out there?” Sam’s hands quickly find their way to your hips, coercing you against the wall.

He presses searing kisses to the exposed skin on your chest, working up your neck until his mouth lingers near your ear.

“Sounds to me like a little someone needs to repent.”

“Do something, Father Sam.”

“Daddy, to you.” Dominance drips from him as the words leave his lips.

He nudges his knee between your legs, pressing it against your core. You try to lower your weight on his knee, but his hands on your hips prevent you from going anywhere.

“Daddy, please?” You beg.

“Only thing you should be begging for is forgiveness.” He moves his leg as fast as he placed it there. “Knees. Now.” He demands, backing away and pointing to the ground before him.

Without hesitation, you find yourself dropping to your knees.

“Always looked so good on your knees for me.” He teases as he firmly grips under your chin with his hand. “Show me how much you want to be forgiven, sinful little thing.”

You reach your hands up, pressing them against his hardened length before teasingly unzipping his pants. You place a kiss against him through his boxers, earning a breathy moan from the contact. The fingers of his free hand find themselves tangled in the hair at the back of your head, gripping up a handful as he pulls your face up to look at him.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.” His eyes slowly move around your soft features, taking in every detail as he looks down on you.

You reach back up for his cock, releasing him from the restraints of his boxers. Sam, hands still holding your head, guides your mouth to his dick, your hands holding balance on his hips. He presses his tip to your lips, staining the tip in cherry red lipstick.

“Would look better smeared all over that pretty face of yours.” He moves his hand from under your chin to grab his cock, using his tip to smudge your lipstick across your face.

“That’s better. Now go ahead, repent.” Sam places his hand back under your chin.

“I tried pleasing myself without you, and then lied about it. I was wrong.” You look up at him submissively. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Forgive me, daddy?”

“Good girl. How could I not forgive such a sweet thing like you?” He asks, placing his cock back to your lips.

An unspoken consent is exchanged as you open your mouth, displaying your tongue for Sam’s use. He works his lipstick covered cock into your mouth, hands tightening their grip on your head. His strokes start off slow until he’s fucking himself into your mouth at a steady pace.

“Is this okay?” He breaks character for a second, only continuing after you hum and nod yes.

Sam pushes himself down your throat until tears begin to threaten your lash line, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft. He continues until a mascara stained tear rolls down your cheek, pulling himself out of your mouth.

“Really want forgiveness, don’t you, little thing?” He gently slaps your face and returns his hand to your neck, pulling you up to your feet.

With his grip still around your throat, he pushes you against the wall, pressing his weight against your body. The cold wall causes you to groan from the harsh feeling on your warm skin. You lift a leg up and wrap it around his waist, watching his cheeks grow pink.

“I need you.” You whisper, leaning in to place a kiss to his lips.

“Need me for what?” He urges.

Oh, he’s really getting into this.

“Need you to fuck me until I behave. Until I’m a good little thing just for you, daddy.”

Sam pins the leg around his waist to the wall, allowing your red dress to roll up your thighs. His other hand snakes down to grip his length, brushing the head of his cock through your slick. He drags the tip of his dick up to tease your swollen clit, rubbing painfully slow circles until your knees are about to give out.

“Please? Please just fuck me?” You beg, trying to move your hips to place him at your entrance.

“Slow down, satan. Wanna fuck you so good you forget how to sin.” Sam peppers kisses along your jaw, working his way down your neck.

Once his lips find their home against your collarbone, he gently bites into your soft skin as he pushes himself into you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He whines, allowing his head to fall weightlessly into your shoulder.

You maneuver your hands so one is resting on his exposed cheek, the other tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Sam slowly starts working himself in and out of your aching core. He brings his free hand between the two of you, settling the pad of his thumb on your clit, rubbing tight circles.

“Think you can take more?” He asks in your ear.

“Mhm. More.”

He halts his movements, rubbing a finger against the space he’s already occupying. Sam slowly pushes his finger inside of you, watching your eyes for any discomfort before moving his hips back and forth a few times.

“One more?” You beg with your fucked out voice barely able to speak.

“Okay. Tell me if it hurts.”

He dips another finger into your core, eliciting a guttural moan and furrowed brown from you.

“Too much?” He asks.

“No, feels so good.”

Sam’s thumb begins working circles over your clit again, curling his fingers up into you as much as the tight space allows. Your head falls against Sam’s as you grow dizzy from over stimulation.

“I love you.” You tiredly moan.

“I love you more, little thing.” His breathing is hitched as you begin to tighten around him. “Can you be a good girl and cum for daddy?”

Almost in command, you fall apart beneath him, explicit noises escaping your lips, his name rolling off of your tongue in a mantra.

“Good girl, such a perfect girl. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His hips stutter, movement faltering as he fills you with his warm release.

Combined moans echo off the bathroom walls surrounding you guys. Sam removes himself from you, cupping his hand to your core to stop his seed from spilling onto the floor. He reaches over for some paper towel to help clean up the mess he contributed to. He removes his cum covered hand from your center and replaces it with paper towel. You grab his unholy hand and bring it to your lips, cleaning his release off of it with your tongue. You lick his hand until there’s nothing of him left covering it.

“I love you so fucking much.” He says, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, too.” You giggle as you wobble to the toilet, legs practically jello below your weight.

As you relieve yourself, Sam takes the time to wet some paper towel to help fix your smudged makeup. He comes over and begins to wipe off your lipstick before dabbing the paper towel along your cheek to fix the running mascara.

“Fuck, I cannot go back out there like this. That was… unholy.”

“S’okay. Let me talk.” He reassures discarding the paper towel into the trash can beside the toilet.

Once you’re as fixed up as you can get, Sam grabs you into his hold. The two of you make way upstairs, the entire party suggestively looking at you. Your hair was still messed up from Sam’s hands being gripped in the roots.

“Y/N got sick. I went to check on her and she wasn’t doing too hot.” He pouts, your orgasm weakened body helps with the sickly look.

“I’m sorry guys, I shouldn’t have drank on an empty stomach…” You play along, you’d rather have them think you’re a lightweight over the truth.

“Awh, okay. Well it was nice seeing you Y/N, I hope you feel better!” Danny offers condolences paired with an awkward side hug, he was trying not to hurt your sickened body.

“Bye guys, we’ll see ya.” Sam says, reaching for his wallet.

He discards a hundred on the table before taking you under his arm again.

“Let’s get you home, baby. I think you’ve repent enough today.”

[pastafossa]

Pasta, I need some help. There’s a fic I read about a year ago(?), and I’m desperately trying to find it, but I can’t remember who it’s by. It’s a Matt Murdock x Reader fic where Reader gets kidnapped by Fisk’s men, and they try to get information out of them. I’m pretty sure Westley is the one interrogating them, and they play Frank Sinatra while they do. They eventually let them go, and Matt gets a call from Reader because they left a phone with them after they let them go and he finds them naked on the docks. Poor reader is really beat and has PTSD, especially when they hear the song that was playing, and they end up missing Thanksgiving because they’re out cold recovering. I think the title has something to do with pie (maybe not, but there’s a pie involved—rhubarb?), and it might jump POV? I appreciate the help!

I'm fucking DELIGHTED to say I knew this one right off the bat cause I love that fic, and the author's on my rec list if you ever lose her fic again! You're looking for Strawberry Rhubarb by @ellephlox!

[quirkykaty]

Busted

Pairing: Crowley x F!Reader Warnings: SMUT (the one and only I've written so far, so feel free to judge), bit of fluff, bit of angst, getting caught (duh) Summary: When the cats are away, the mice will play. Sam and Dean pop out for a few hours and Crowley decides to pop in for a visit. Wordcount: >1000 Author's Note: I can't remember when or why I wrote this but it still makes me grin when I reread it so whatever. Crowley is such an ass but gods I love him.

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“Bye! Call us if anything comes up, okay?” Sam called out to you from the door of the Bunker. Dean grinned at you over his shoulder and winked as he dragged his brother out the door. You laughed as the door closed on them, shaking your head at the grown men’s teenage antics.

Spinning on a heel, you made a bee-line for the kitchen. With Sam and Dean off to chase down a lead on the English Men of Letters, you had the Bunker all to yourself for a few hours and that meant one thing. Booze and a movie marathon in your pajamas. It was going to be fantastic.

Within an hour, you were splayed out on the couch in a ratty shirt that was several sizes too big and a pair of fuzzy black socks, with a bottle of Jack in one hand and the remote in the other. Having the boys out of the Bunker meant you could pull your secret stash of movies, ones that you’d never live down if the boys found out. The first on the list was the Princess Bride, a guilty pleasure even you were ashamed of.

“Westley was a bloody idiot for leaving Humperdink alive, if you ask me,” a voice behind you drawled, the familiar accent making your face go red in seconds. You cut off the movie and leapt up, whirling to face the smirking demon that was currently leaning against the wall. “Hello, darling.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you squeaked as you came around to the other side of the couch, frantically glancing across the room to the Bunker’s main room. The boys could be back at any time and if they caught you here with him, there’d be hell to pay. No pun intended.

“I heard that Rocky and Bullwinkle were going to be out for the evening and thought I’d pop in to see my favorite little hunter,” he said with a dramatic pout, pushing off the wall and striding toward you until he was right in front of you. “Miss me?”

You flushed slightly at the closeness, his rough voice only adding to the fire building inside you. “You.. You can’t be here, Crowley. Sam and Dean will be back soon. If they catch us…” you trailed off, biting your lip nervously.

Crowley simply smirked and hooked a finger under your chin. “Then I suppose we should be quick about it, hm?” His eyes smoldered their smoky red as they travelled across your face. He knew exactly what it did to you to see his eyes like that. Grinning smugly, he leaned toward you, not touching you, not kissing you, just moving far enough into your space to make your whole body tense with anticipation. “Dammit, Crowley..” you growled, grabbing ahold of his jacket and pulling him the rest of the way to you. Crushing your lips against his, you gripped fistfuls of his jacket and shuffled back until your hips were against the back of the couch.

Without missing a beat, Crowley wrapped his arms around you and pinned you to his chest, kissing back with a passion that never failed to make you go weak in the knees. His hand slid down your back and hooked under your thighs, hoisting you up and spinning around. With a thought, you were across the room, trapped between the wall and Crowley’s body as the two of you moved together.

You broke the kiss first, head falling back against the wall as Crowley’s lips moved to your neck, nipping and kissing here and there to drive you wild. Your legs came up and wrapped around Crowley’s waist, prompting him to grind up against you. A small whimper rose out of your throat and you ran a hand into his hair, tugging gently. “No time for teasing.”

Crowley grunted and tugged your earlobe between his teeth, smirking impishly as he rolled his hips against yours once more. The two of you vanished again, back to the couch, where he pushed you down, shedding clothes while you tugged off your panties.

Within seconds, he was on top of you, one hand under your thigh and the other trailing up your side, under your shirt. Your lips met in a desperate kiss as he pushed into you, drawing a moan from you and a faint hiss from him. He set a rough pace from the start, hands wandering, seeking flesh wherever they could find it.

It wasn’t long until you were both tumbling over the edge of ecstasy, your moans and his echoing off the walls of the Bunker. Panting heavily, he pressed his face into your neck as you both came down from the high. Your fingers traced shapes on his back while you caught your breath, chuckling weakly as you pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

Pushing up on a hand after a moment, Crowley gazed down at you, head cocked to the side as he gave you his trademark smirk. “Well, that was a rather rousing workout, don’t you think?”

“I’ll have to send the boys away more often,” you said with a giggle, leaning up to kiss him softly.

“When you do, make sure you find out when they’re coming home,” a third voice piped up from somewhere in the room. You squeaked and bolted up on the couch, moving so quickly you smacked your head into Crowley’s. He yelped and put a hand to his head as the two of you turned to see Sam and Dean standing in the doorway of the Bunker’s living room.

“Busted,” Crowley muttered, giving you an almost apologetic smile before vanishing from the room, leaving you to face the fallout on your own.