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lc-birdie · 2 days ago

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i mean i have an idea for sam but its soooo cliche LMFAO

- maybe being the assistant for sam n joaquin and what not and you just have a crush on sam...... sam kinda has his suspicions but joaquin would defs snitch on you by accident bc that man is a YAPPER he never shuts up. you dont know why you spilled about your crush on sam to joaquin but alas!!! it works in your favour

TALK TOO MUCH

INCLUDES -> sam wilson x reader WARNINGS -> fluff with a bit of angst (bc i can't help myself), misunderstandings, accidental machmaker joaquín, light blood and injury, alcohol WORD COUNT -> 3.7k

NOTES -> first sam fic, pls be gentle with me. also, the army man thing was 100% inspired by ted lasso, but sue me! it's such a sam thing to do. and as always: comments and rbs are much appreciated, and my asks are open!

it isn't unusual for you, sam, and joaquín to have a late night catching up on "official superhero business," as joaquín likes to call it. there's always more recon to be done, more adjustments to be made to the wings, more training. and with joaquín officially taking sam's side as falcon, that leaves you as the primary analyst.

which often means poring over hours of security footage or pages of legal jargon—especially now that there's a legal case being made against the so-called "new avengers."

but finding real, usable footage and evidence on security feeds is never like the movies. it's always terribly slow-going, even if you're watching it sped up. you've moved from your desk, to sitting on the couch, to draping yourself across it with a coffee in hand. you made a mental note long ago to thank sam for putting it in the base, but now you really have to deliver on that. without it, your back would no doubt be aching from the desk chair, and after well over an hour of footage and no sign of the weapon dealers you're supposed to keep an eye out for, it would have been hell.

that slow crawl of footage, combined with the quiet hours of the night, have your eyes heavy with sleep.

"working hard or hardly working?" comes sam's voice from the door.

he and joaquín had been training for the past hour or so—maybe longer now. time gets a little shaky this late in the night, especially with the dreadfully dull security tapes that play in front of you.

but the effect of the workout is obvious. there's sweat on his brow and a towel slung over his shoulder. and if you look a little too long at the broad spread of his shoulders or the flex of his arm, then you're more than willing to blame it on the hour.

"a little bit of both," you say with a tired smile, and your ears go warm when sam laughs.

"any sign of 'em?" he sits at his own desk and tips his head back, leaning back in his chair far enough that it gives you a great view of the angle of his jaw and-

yeah, you need to stop staring. so you turn back to your laptop only to see a heaping helping of nothing. when you take a quick glance at the time, it's well past 11.

"if there was, i'd be in bed already."

"mm, tell me about it," he sighs.

"why're you guys working out so late anyways?"

"joaquín insisted, the brat."

"hey, i heard that!" and right on cue, joaquín comes walking through the door with a pep in his step that is entirely unwarranted for how late it is. "i wanted to learn that move you did the other day against the serpent dudes."

"don't i know it." sam rubs out an ache in his shoulder, and you can't help but laugh. "this funny to you? the kid's beating up his elders!"

"aw, come on, old man," joaquín walks past sam to get to his desk and takes the opportunity to jab him in the shoulder. predictably, sam hisses and rubs at the sore spot. "just last week you were saying how you were proud of me."

"yeah, old man, you're the one training him," you manage through giggles.

"oh, i see how it is," sam raises a playful eyebrow at you, "ganging up on me?"

"always, sam, always." and maybe the look you give him back lingers just a moment too long, because when joaquín breaks the quiet with a clap, it startles you.

"tonight's my turn to put away the gear, right?" but before sam can even get out a reply, joaquín is already moving to their wings and suits—ready to pack everything away neatly without any further questions.

"guess that's my sign to head out, huh?" he stands with a grunt and stretches his arms over his head, lifting his shirt just enough for you to see his toned stomach.

if sam sticks around any longer, you will definitely have to blame your staring on how tired you are.

he hefts his duffel bag over one shoulder and trudges over to the door, but before he leaves, he turns to you.

"don't stay up too late watching those. we only need enough to prove that's their hideout," his voice is soft when he says it, a tone you swear he only uses with you. or maybe you're just projecting.

and then he's out the door, leaving you and joaquín to close up shop.

"so, sam, huh?" joaquín teases as he rubs away some dirt from his helmet.

"what about him?" despite your deflection, your ears still go hot, and your eyes are glued to the screen in front of you.

"i was in here for two seconds and you were making heart eyes at him," joaquín says with a shrug.

"i so was not!"

"were too!"

"okay, even if i like sam, it's not like i can do anything about it," you say with a huff.

"so you do like him!"

"ugh, drop it, joaquín." but it's true. you can't do anything about the hopeless crush you have on sam. he may not technically be your boss, but he can surely fire you if he thinks there's a conflict of interest. and that's the last thing you want.

you focus your attention back on the grainy warehouse on your laptop. and then something moves, just a dart of what could be a body in too much tactical gear on the roof and running down a fire escape. your heart nearly stops. "holy shit, i got them!"

the mission gets wrapped up a week later, leaving sam with bruised ribs and a sprained wrist and joaquín with a mild concussion and too many scrapes for his own good. despite the injuries, spirits are high as the three of you have a celebratory drink in a worn down bar in louisiana.

it was sam's idea, going home to delacroix. after a month of desperately trying to hunt down the smugglers and the dealers they took their weapons to, he had been itching for a break—just as much as you and joaquín were. so it only felt right to bring the two of you with him to meet sarah and the kids.

"should you be drinking with a concussion?" you gesture to the beer joaquín has been nursing for the past 10 minutes.

"one drink can't hurt, right?" he frowns at the bottle for a moment, "and the doctor said i'd be fine after a few days."

"it's been two, big man. let's cool it on the beers." sam chuckles when joaquín levels a glare at him.

"says the guy who insists on only wearing his wrist brace when he's working on the boat," joaquín grumbles.

"don't even start," sam returns with a lighthearted roll of his eyes.

"how's it feel to be back home, sam?" you ask, interrupting their banter before it turns into bickering. it's been ages since he's been back, and you can only imagine how homesick he's been.

"sarah's got me working like a dog on that boat," he says with an air of exasperation that only he can pull off in a loving tone.

"well, if you need extra hands," you gesture to yourself and joaquín.

"noted," he replies with a wink, and you hope that the fluttering in your chest isn't obvious. then he stands and turns to you, pointedly ignoring joaquín when he asks, "want another drink?"

"that would be great. thanks, sam." he smiles at you and walks to the bar with a few 'hello's' to the people who have missed him. and you, well, you make a great effort not to stare as he walks away. not that it works.

damn him for wearing tight t-shirts while working on the boat.

"'if you need extra hands,'" joaquín parrots when sam is out of ear shot and you groan.

"i was being serious!"

"yeah, but you made it sound like you were making a pass at him." your face goes hot and joaquín laughs at your wide-eyed look. "relax, i'm sure he didn't take it that way."

"ugh, i hope not," you swirl the watered down remnants of your own drink in your glass.

"you could just tell him, you know," he says with a comforting smile.

"and jeopardize the one tech job i've actually enjoyed? no, thank you."

joaquín seemingly doesn't have a response for that, or maybe he just notices sam returning to the table before you do.

sam is back with a smile on his face and two drinks in his hand, one of which he passes to you. you do your very best not to react when your hand brushes his to take the glass.

"so, who's helping me on the boat tomorrow?"

sarah's put sam and joaquín in charge of entertaining the boys while you help her with dinner. it's fairly mindless work, in a totally different way than your usual analytics gig. it's cleaning up fresh basil with a knife, it's peeling garlic and dicing it, it's mixing things when sarah hands you a wooden spoon. it gives you plenty of time to catch up with her while you do it, repetitive motions falling into habit.

"sam still a pain in the ass?" she asks while tenderizing meat to hell and back.

"only when he and joaquín are up to something," you reply, a smile that's very nearly too soft tugging at the corners of your lips.

she laughs at that, and the work continues like that: questions about sam, about you and what you do, and even a question about bucky—and that gets awkward very quickly. you're the one who's been looking into copyright law, after all.

that doesn't stop you from raising an eyebrow when she asks about him, though.

"bucky? really?" your voice is light, teasing, and you jostle her shoulder with yours.

"just asking! i mean, he's broody, sure, but..." she trails off with a shrug.

you glance out the window to see sam throwing a football around with his nephews. he lets cass tackle him with a laugh you can almost hear in your head, and he rolls his eyes when joaquín celebrates the win with his nephew. it's the most relaxed you've seen sam in months.

except, maybe, for those late nights on base, where it's nothing but easy conversation and laughter. the memories send something shooting sharp through your chest.

"he's sweet and one hell of a looker," sarah finishes.

"yeah, i'm sure he is," you say too quietly and look back down to the cutting board in front of you before sarah catches you staring at her own brother.

"what about you? any broody super-soldiers catch your eye?"

"uh, no-" you stumble, looking for an out, "not super-soldiers. they aren't really my speed."

"oh, so just regular soldiers then?" you gape at her, and she just laughs.

before you can get another word in, the kids, joaquín, and sam all come storming into the kitchen. aj is sitting on joaquín's shoulders, marveling at how tall he is—and making a point of rubbing it into cass's face that he's stolen his teammate.

"no running around the kitchen while we're using knives!" sarah yells over the commotion, but it comes a moment too late. cass bumps your arm and sends the sharp edge of the knife in your hand across your fingers. it's quick, sharp, and it stings.

blood is running down your hand in half a moment, and you move to the sink as fast as you can. shit, shit, shit. there's a lot more blood than there should be for a superficial cut—you've seen your fair share of the scrapes joaquín and sam come back to the base with.

joaquín is quick to herd the boys out into the living room, promising cass that you'll be fine, that you're stronger than him and sam by miles. but the vague lightheadedness you feel at seeing your own blood pouring down the drain seems to prove him otherwise.

sam, on the other hand, is by your side in an instant. he's got a handful of paper towels that he presses against the cut that spans across two of your fingers.

"there's a first aid kit in the bathroom upstairs, c'mon." he places a hand on your lower back and guides you forward. even with the throbbing ache in your hand, you can't ignore the warmth of him against you. his hand is gentle, just the ghost of a press against you to keep you moving.

he acts quickly once you're in the bathroom, running your hand under water to keep blood from dripping all over the tile—seriously, are cuts on your hand supposed to bleed this much? and he takes out the first aid kit. it's methodical, the way he takes it apart—the kind of thing that reminds you just how much military training he's really had.

gauze, antiseptic, bandaids—avengers themed ones that are certainly meant for aj and cass.

he doesn't speak as he patches you up, just holds your hand gently as he cleans up the cuts with the antiseptic and wraps them up in bandaids.

you watch the focus on his face, the furrow of his brow and the flitting of his eyes across your hand. you watch the way his fingers are intentionally light when they touch you, like it takes a conscious effort to keep from grabbing your hand in his.

and that thought is when you decide to pull away and clear your throat, which has grown unbearably tight.

"thanks," you say, avoiding his gaze by looking at his handiwork. there's a thor bandaid on one finger and an iron man one on the next.

"anytime," he replies, already packing up the first aid kit. then, he opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, and the look in his eye has your heart shuddering. it's the kind of look you only see when he says those impossibly gentle things, the kind that leaves you with more questions than answers, the kind that makes you think maybe you have a chance. just maybe.

but sarah's already yelling for him downstairs. he curses, stashing the kit quickly and turning to head back to the kitchen. "work never ends, huh?"

"yeah. right."

after dinner cass hands you a little plastic army man.

"sorry for hurting you on accident," he says, voice soft and heavy with guilt.

"it's okay. accidents happen!" you take the little figurine from him. "who's this?"

"uncle sam gives them to us when we get hurt."

"well, thank you." you look at it carefully. it's bright green and wields some kind of ancient gun that the military hasn't given soldiers in decades. he still stands in front of you, rocking from one foot to the other. "i'm all better, see? i have thor and iron man keeping me safe now." you put out the hand with the bandaids for him. it makes him smile, and then he's off to bug sam and sarah—who have banned you from the kitchen while they clean up.

a moment later, joaquín plops down on the couch next to you with a similarly guilty look to cass.

"i messed up."

"the cut didn't hurt that bad, joaquín. don't worry about it."

"no, i mean-" he cuts himself off with some quiet curse in spanish that you can't quite hear. "okay, so, earlier sam was kind of, maybe, joking around about bucky flirting with sarah when they visited, talking about how he had to keep, like, telling him off for it, or whatever."

your stomach dips. oh, shit.

"and i might've said something about how sarah was probably doing the same with you." joaquín is quick to react to the panic on your face. "i didn't mean to say anything! i was just joking around, and i wasn't thinking. i swear-"

"joaquín, please tell me you're kidding."

"he didn't say anything! he just laughed and moved on, so, like, i'm sure it's fine-"

he just laughed. joaquín opened his mouth, and sam laughed.

he keeps prattling on some long winded apology, filled with assurances and promises, but you aren't hearing any of it. sam knows, and that sends your heart racing in all the wrong ways.

he knows, and it'll be a conflict of interest. he knows, and you'll be fired for it. he knows, and you'll lose the guy who keeps you grounded on long stakeouts, the guy who makes you laugh harder than you ever have before, the guy you've been hopelessly falling for for months now.

he knows, and you're fucked.

"i'm gonna, um, head upstairs," you mumble, interrupting joaquín. "just, i dunno, tell them i'm tired, or something."

he calls your name softly as you get up, but you don't turn around. you just make a beeline for the room you've been given—well, the room you and joaquín have been sharing, since sam insisted he'd take the couch for the week. and maybe that's for the best since right now. the thought of sharing a room with sam makes your chest go tight.

you kick past the air mattress on the ground and fall onto the bed with a sharp breath, tugging your knees up to rest your head on them. your eyes are burning and your chest aches from the panic.

do you start packing up now? write a resignation letter while you're at it? surely, sam won't want you in his sister's home knowing you have some stupid school-girl crush on him, much less want to work with you.

or maybe sam will understand. maybe he can move past it like it's nothing. but can you? it's so easy to pretend when he doesn't know, when it's something you have to keep hidden.

now that it's out in the open, is that even a possibility?

there's no moving on from him, as far as your heart is concerned, and that sends a sharp pain lancing through you. a strangled sound fights its way out of your throat.

"it'll all be fine," you keep repeating to yourself, getting up to pace around the room like someone possessed. "it isn't the end of the world. it's just a crush."

it's just a crush on one stupidly good looking, achingly thoughtful, impossibly charming man. he's only the man who gave you a second chance when no one else would, who trusts you to watch his back in the worst situations. you can't think of a reason not to love him, and—oh, shit, is that what this is?

love?

you stop dead in your tracks when you hear a knock on the door. "you alright in there?" comes sam's voice from behind it.

"yeah, fine, just tired!" you reply, voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

"yeah, okay," he sounds unconvinced. "can we talk?"

"can, um, can it wait? i just really want to go to bed," and maybe your voice is too honest when you say that, because you hear sam sigh from the other side of the door.

"i don't think it should." a moment goes by, then two, before he speaks up again. "i can stay right out here, if that helps."

and it shouldn't, but it does.

"okay."

"look, joaquín said something earlier, and-" you can hear him shuffling behind the door, and then a quiet thunk on the ground. "i don't want you freaking out about it, so-"

you interrupt him before he can say anything else. "don't worry about it. i'm fine. i'll be fine. i'll just move on, and nothing has to change."

"no, that's not-"

"i promise! just please don't get rid of me, let me stay. i like being at the base, and i like you and joaquín. it'll be like it never even happened." your face is wet with tears, now, and your chest stutters with every breath you take.

"i'm not firing you, dammit!" he huffs. "i was waiting for the right time to say something, until after the mission."

you go quiet, and something nauseatingly hopeful sits heavy in your stomach.

"but i should've said something sooner, because here you are crying because you think i hate you." he makes a sound that sounds almost like a laugh. "you drive me crazy, you know that? you're beautiful, smart, and you're good with my nephews and sarah. and i spent weeks trying to find a way to ask you out but it was one mission after another-"

you fling the door open as he talks, and he must've been sitting against it, because he falls back against the floor with a grunt. he stares up at you wide-eyed and heartbroken, and you stare back, desperately trying to dry your eyes.

"you wanted to ask me out?"

"still do," he says simply. your heart does something funny at that.

he lays still on the floor for a moment, waiting with baited breath for your response.

"okay, i- yeah, okay."

"just 'okay'?"

"jesus, sam, get in here," you say with a laugh, and he gives you a cheeky grin as he stands.

he sits down on the edge of the bed and pats the space next to him, taking your hand in his as soon as you do. his thigh is warm against yours, an insistent, grounding weight.

"sorry for making you cry," he says, voice too quiet and too honest.

"blame joaquín. he's the one who spilled it to you." his thumb rubs over the back of your hand in small circles.

"a-ha! but without joaquín we wouldn't be going out on a date next thursday."

"next thursday?" you shoot him a questioning look.

"i know your schedule. you're free then." but then he pauses. "if you don't have other plans."

"thursday is perfect, sam." he grins and presses a kiss to the top of your hand.

when sarah sees you both the next morning sitting next to each other at breakfast, she looks like the cat who got the cream. she raises an eyebrow at how close you are together, but doesn't say a word until she finds you alone.

"i was right about the not-so-super soldiers then, wasn't i?" and once again, you're left floundering.

#sam wilson x reader #more people need to read this #love him

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lc-birdie · 3 days ago

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It could be a headcanon of Lewis Pullman's characters reacting to his girlfriend's (who has vision problems) new glasses because the new ones look good on her.

As a girl who wears glasses, I love this <3 thank you for sending this in!

Lewis Pullman characters x fem!Reader | 2.0k | Headcanon, tons of fluff <3, a little bit suggestive but nothing explicit (still, 18+/MDNI).

You could be doing something so mundane, like sitting at the dining table going over some mail or personal documents or something, and Rocco Gauthier doesn’t really understand it himself—but he is ready to wife you up. You absentmindedly push your glasses up your nose when they slide down and he's like, “Oh my god, marry me.” And you’re so puzzled? But also like, “Okay???” not thinking he’s serious. But then he’s giving you a ring and telling you he wants a fall wedding. Next step? Baby making, of course 😏

I love the idea of Bob Reynolds finding you asleep on the couch after watching TV or something, and he’s just like smiling wryly to himself like, “oh, silly girl, she did it again”. He goes over to maybe gently wake you up so you can go sleep in your bed, or maybe he’s about to princess carry you back to your room… but then he notices them, your new glasses. And for a minute, he’s just… really soft? He’s suddenly overcome with this really quiet, swelling affection for you. He sits on the couch right next to you just to look at you for a few seconds, brushing some hair away from your face near the temples. You stir under his touch, and when you open your eyes and smile at him, he’s whispering, “you’re beautiful”.

Miles Miller loves them, of course. He spends that first day just staring at you while you talk, maybe quietly reaching out to touch them like he’s still getting used to them, like he loves that there’s something new about you for him to memorize. And when guests at the hotel comment on them, he gets this tiny, proud little smile on his face, like yeah, he’s the one who gets to kiss the pretty, glasses-wearing dream girl behind the front desk.

Bob Floyd can’t stop sneaking glances at you, eyes flicking up to your face and then darting away. Then back again. Then away again. “You look… different, is all,” he says shyly when you ask him what’s wrong, and then his cheeks turn pink, “Not bad different! Like, good different… really good.” He also thinks it’s really funny because, before, you could just kiss him without a problem but now one of you has to take off your glasses first so they don’t crash into each other—so now whenever you take off your glasses, even for totally innocent reasons, he’s already licking his lips in anticipation.

I don’t think Calvin Evans would gush or make any grand declarations. We know Calvin doesn’t place a huge emphasis on looks, so his reaction is much more subdued, but of course he still notices right away. “You got new glasses,” he’d say, a bit flat, more observational than anything else. But then his gaze lingers for a little longer than usual, like he’s studying you. “I like how you looked before, but I really like this too.” And it’s such a simple, quiet statement, but it makes you warm and fuzzy on the inside anyway. He doesn’t say much more about it, but occasionally he reaches out to brush your cheek near the frame whenever you’re standing close. And of course, because he’s a doting husband, he carries extra microfibre cloths for you in case you need something to clean your glasses with. Or you can just use his sleeve, no big deal.

“You changed something,” Thomas Keefer says when he gets home one day, just back from the gym or from a run, all sweat-tousled and pink-cheeked. You point to your new glasses and he just nods once, still staring, still catching his breath. “You don’t like them?” You ask, but he’s shaking his head, “Didn’t say that.” And because he’s a reserved military man, all buttoned-up, disciplined and emotionally in control all the time, he says something super clinical like, “They’re nice. Sharp, clean lines.” You just give him this unimpressed look before he exhales through his nose, maybe on something of a laugh. He leans in close and drops his voice to something quiet and low, just for you, “Damn, that look is lethal.” Then he kisses you, slow and deliberate, and you’re much more satisfied with that answer.

Jordan Weaver pretends not to notice at first just to mess with you, because he’s such a little shit. You walk in and he doesn’t react, not even a glance. You step into his line of sight and he briefly looks up from a magazine he’s flipping through, then back down again, casually asking, “Hey babe, what’s up?” And you’re like, ��Well? What do you think?” He looks up again to give you the world’s most exaggerated once-over… “About what?” You throw a pillow at him and he finally laughs, “Okay, okay! Damn.” Then he’s pulling you close to give you a real look, one that’s a little cocky and soft all at once. “You look like a sexy teacher… I’m into it. Like, way into it. You gonna teach me somethin’, honey?”

Todd Stevens does a double take, and then he’s coming closer to get right up in your space. “Damn, sweetheart, are you tryin’ to start something, or…?” And he goes on about how you’re giving off sexy librarian vibes and it’s giving him ideas—“Can I come see you after class, ma’am?” and the next time you dress up for nighttime shenanigans you’re wearing a knit cardigan and your glasses are hanging off a beaded necklace and Todd is just so flabbergasted but he’s kind of into it? And also, “You look so hot, I’m gonna have to fight off other boys now. You gonna make me get violent?” And I just—I’m weak.

Rhett Abbot is in front of the house tinkering with his truck, when you walk up wearing your new glasses. He glances up when he hears your footsteps and just freezes, doesn’t say a word for a good five seconds. Then finally: “That look’s dangerous, sweetheart... reckon I’ll be gettin’ in trouble all week because of you.” And he’s just looking at you like the sun’s just come up behind you and he’s never seen anything prettier <3

Harrison Knott pauses mid-step when he sees you, then clutches his chest like he’s been shot. “Are you trying to kill me? How am I supposed to function when you’re so dang cute?” But you’re still unsure, and when you’re staring into a mirror wondering out loud if you should’ve just gotten contacts instead, Harrison’s protesting immediately. He showers you with like five different compliments in under five minutes, telling you how obsessed he is with the new look. “I don’t look like a nerd?” You ask him, and he’s like, “Are you kidding? That’s why it’s hot.”

Major Major falls in love a little more, thinks you look so sophisticated and elegant. He’s so smitten, maybe stops talking mid-sentence, his eyes going a little wide and his mouth hanging open. He blushes adorably when he realizes he’s staring, when he realizes the whole room just heard him say, without realizing, “…So pretty”. When someone else compliments them, he’ll lean in and mutter something like, “I told you they look nice.” In fact, he likes them so much that sometimes, when you take them off, he’s flustered and asking, “Wait—put them back on for a second… please?”

Ben Mears keeps glancing at you over his computer screen, smiling because you’re giving off more writer vibes than he is. You’re holding your new glasses by one of the temples, the tip tucked between your lips as you read over a draft of his latest manuscript, brows furrowed in concentration and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge kiss you silly. Instead, because you’re trying to be productive and he wants to respect that, he has you come sit in his lap—maybe it’ll inspire him to write something fun. Well, soon he’s kissing all over your neck and your shoulders anyway so it backfires.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐈𝐕 ༊*·˚

#delicious meal right here #ben mears x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob reynolds x reader #calvin evans x reader #harrison knott x reader #jordan weaver x reader #major major x reader #miles miller x reader #rhett abbott x reader #rocco gauthier x reader #thomas keefer x reader #todd stevens x reader #lewis pullman characters

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