Gabriela (she/her), latina, 21, INTP-T. Obssesed with a lot of fictional stuff.
Will is the older brother. Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you! Also, Upstead Supremacy always!!
MASTERLIST
Warnings: Sexting, implied smut, and sexual content (not explicit).
Summary: (y/n) doesn’t get the usual treatment from Will on their anniversary, so she decides a little scheme might be in the order to get what she’s owed.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way, or know anyone involved with it.
A/N: So… My first Will imagine! And the first fic where I sailed a bit in these relatively uncharted waters that writing smut are for me, I’m still not quite confident writing properly explicit content but I tried to get close to what was requested on my dms. Overall, just hope that it isn't too bad and that you’ll enjoy it. Thanks for reading, and leave a comment, or reblog pls!
The definition of your state of mind today was hot and bothered, for sure. It was your second anniversary with Will and besides from a quick ‘happy anniversary’ and peck. And, really, it was a peck, Will hadn’t even sat down to grab breakfast with you — when his usual mojo involved waking you up with a hot, full-on make-out session and a homemade breakfast in bed —, claiming he was late for work. During the days of your romantic landmarks he used to always leave you little gifts and handwritten notes throughout the apartment and your work stuff and he’d have this whole fancy dinner out prepared but, today, he didn't mention any dinners, and as far as you could see there were no hidden gifts or notes.
So, you figured: if he could annoy you by making you get less than what you were used to on your anniversary day, then maybe you could annoy him back. But hitting him lower. Literally.
And that's what you had in mind when you went into your work bathroom and took out your shirt, better adjusting your breasts in the process and making sure that your cleavage and your lacy push-up bra made a good appearance in the photos you snapped, leaving your face out of them, of course. Then you sent one to Will and captured it with: ‘The girls really missed you this morning, doc! Hope I’m not catching you in a bad moment 😉’.
Now, all you had to do was wait for his reply, which should come fast because, unless the ED was dealing with an emergency, he always stopped to look at anything you sent him.
But you had to admit: your plan might have been backfiring because half an hour later you still found yourself waiting anxiously for his reply and not paying any attention to your work at all. After all, you and Will had never done that sexting thing before, and, you had to recognize: it was hot as hell.
And that’s why you found yourself concentrated on putting together a small mood board, with cropped pictures of the both of you, in which you two kissed all sorts of parts of each other’s bodies except for your mouths, pictures of champagne and lingerie, and sexy quotes from books you’d read to Will before. Writing on the text that accompanied the mood board’s screenshot ‘Oh, to think about the day we could be having…’, you clicked ‘send’. But as much effort as you’d put into it, he was still oblivious to anything, as he just left you on read again.
During your lunch break, though, you had a better plan. Because if sexting wasn’t working, then you’d be forced to take it up a notch.
So you expertly waltzed through the doors of Med, shooting all of your boyfriend’s colleagues your sweetest smiles and gentlest words, as you made your way to where he was standing, tablet in hand. “Hey there, dr. Halstead,” you let out in your sexiest tone. For a moment there, you thought he hadn’t recognized your voice or even heard you because he didn’t turn. Just stopped his movements. But then he did turn to greet you with a soft smile, looking like a man without a care in the world.
“Oh, hi, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you see my texts?” You asked, trying not to sound irritated with him — or yourself.
“I did,” nothing on his face. Not a thing. “But I didn’t really see anything that sparked my attention… I mean, they didn’t lead me to the conclusion that you were coming… Here, that is.” You didn’t miss his little joke, though, and decided you’d carry on with your plan.
“Well, I wasn’t. But then, I realized I needed to give you something. You know, like an anniversary gift…” You told him, batting your lashes innocently.
“Oh, okay! I don’t have anything for you here, though… But we can talk better in the doctors’ lounge,” if he noticed you didn’t have any bags on you, he didn’t comment on it. Will just led you towards the room, keeping the lightest of touches to the small of your back. In there, he turned his back to close the glass door, giving you two more privacy, and that’s when you fished his “gift” out of your purse.
“Hold out your hand, baby,” you said, ever so sweetly. “Here it is,” you finished it off as you deposited the panties you had been previously wearing in his open palm, panties he’d seen you put on this morning, panties that were wet, very, very wet. His eyes widened a little at the sight, and you instantly got more turned on, you’d never done anything that bold before, not even in your wildest dreams.
“(y/n/n)…” He mumbled.
“Is there a problem, Will?” You asked while glancing with gleaming eyes in his direction, “did you not like your present?” You continued your taunt, pretending to worry your bottom lip.
“No… Uh, that’s not-” he stopped mid-sentence to clear his throat, during which time you took the opportunity to glance down at him, noticing his scrub pants were getting a little more strained around his crotch. “That’s not it. It’s just that this makes me eager to give you your present too, honey.”
“Oh!?” Your acting was just on point that day because you uttered the interjection with such delight, that he tilted his head to the sides a little, trying to shake off a chuckle.
“Yeah, um, but here’s the thing: you’re gonna have to be patient. Be a very good girl for me, and wait until we’re both home and off work so that I can give it to you,” he said with extreme suggestiveness at the same time that he caringly petted the side of your face. “Can you do that for me, baby?”
Hearing him talk like that, and in that tone, along with his soft touch, you could only sigh dreamingly, accepting your defeat, and mumble out a weak “I- I think so.”
“Good, then I’ll get back to work now, if you don’t mind. Drive safe, honey!” He shot at you with a quick wink.
But before he could leave the room, you called him back.
“Yes?” He asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, keeping his smile small.
“Can I- can I have it back?” You asked, suddenly shy, cheeks burning.
“Sorry, have what back?” He was playing now, except you’d already lost on your own game.
“You know what,” you let out quietly.
“Um, no…” He pretended to think it over for a moment, “I think you’re gonna have to say it,” this time, he had a full-on grin spread on his features.
“M- my panties… Can I please have them back?” You were dying of embarrassment, why had you started that stupid “game” anyway?
“Oh, that! Well, you asked very nicely but I think it’s still rude to ask for a gift back, wouldn’t you agree, (y/n/n)?” He was thoroughly enjoying this, you could tell.
“Yes but-” He never let you finish.
“Then we should get back to business now, hon’! After all, the sooner we get to it, the sooner it’ll be over, and we’ll be home for you to get your present.” He told you, guiding you back towards the ED entrance. “But do keep texting me, if you feel like it!” He yelled a little, as he parted ways with you by giving you a tap on your bare ass, through your jeans.
To say that waiting for the evening, and working while waiting, was a torture is an understatement. But the wait was over the second you stepped into your home. It was like he knew you’d open the door at that exact moment because Will basically tackled you up against the door, closing and locking it in one swift motion.
“Wha- what are you doing, babe?” You coaxed out breathelessly.
“I’m,” a kiss to your now exposed shoulder. “Giving,” another kiss, this time to your lower neck. “You,” and another to the point right below your ear. “Your present,” he finished the sentence at the same time that he picked you up, also helping you kick off your shoes on the way to the bedroom. “This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it?”
“Please, Will” was all that came out of you, as his hands roamed your body on the bed.
“Oh no, don’t think you’re getting off this easy after everything you did today. Now it’s time for you to pay up, babygirl.” He told you with a wolfish grin on his face and you honestly couldn’t be more excited to settle your debts.
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People who love cold weather are fucking weird. You like to freeze? You like to shiver?? You like when you take a step outside and the air stings your skin???
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i have this unrealistic fantasy in my head where if you calmly and logically explain something to someone perfectly they will understand your position and gain knowledge from the exchange. unfortunately in the real world this does not happen often
♡ “who is he?” “just an old friend.” “friend? does he know that?”
♡ “are you jealous?” “jealousy is an egregious and shallow emotion for weak minded individuals.” “oh, you are jealous!"
♡ “jealous does not begin to describe the gravity of my emotions.”
♡ character A running up to an old friend and pulling them into a hug, while the colour drains from character B’s face.
♡ “jealousy doesn’t suit you, (nickname)” “have you seen me? everything suits me.”
♡ “i have nothing to envy, you looked completely disinterested with her, no spark in your eyes as you looked at her.” “how would you know what that looks like?” “because you used to look at me like that.”
♡ character A dances with character B’s nemesis unknowingly.
or
♡ character A purposefully dances with character B’s nemesis to get a reaction from character B’s sullen and stoic self.
♡ “it should not take seeing me with another man to realize you want me.” “i have always wanted you. but it has never mattered what i wanted, it is what you want. what do you want?"
♡ “you look rough.” a perfect description of the character who just watched the love of their life go on a date with someone else.
♡ “the two of you looked cute, you're always welcome to find me when you realize you’re not one for settling.”
♡ “so you don’t love him?” “no, i love him because he is my friend but i’m not in love with him.” “i don’t follow.”
you're not quite an emergency, is the thing. you're just having a bad spell. so what if you can't ever really catch your breath. can't ever really feel at ease. a buzzing, terrible feeling.
but emergencies are loud, and passionate, and hit the floor. you are not a lion or a hurricane, you just live in a pretty okay apartment and your back hurts. you wake up and drag yourself out of bed and banish what if i was dead thoughts like cobwebs. you pick out your clothes and try to stay active. you apply for jobs on the internet.
the anxiety is a wave, and the depression is a spiral. the other stuff keeps things "colorful." you mitigate your symptoms and take your meds when you have them and you try to hang out with friends. you go home and your head is full of riverwater. no matter how much you sleep, you still stay tired. you journal and practice gratitude and build from the bottom upwards. and still, the haunting.
you're not a 911 call or a shriek. you're just staring up at the ceiling and feeling the house settle into your bones. you feel you are playacting as a wolf when you're only a sheep. not quite dry and not quite drowning.
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hi, you. yeah im talking to you. You like my stuff from time to time and reblog once and a while, and I always recognize you in my notes. we’ve never talked, maybe you dont like to say much or you’re nervous or something. it’s okay, whatever it is.
I see you. you mean a lot to me. sometimes when I’m having a hard day, I’ll notice your name once again in my notifs and it makes me smile. im not kidding.
I don’t care if you’re a “ghost” follower or you send me asks all the time. i see you and I love you so much, genuinely and truly. you are really important to me.
Its *insane* the difference in attention to detail between different cop shows. Like, watching SVU clear a crime scene is laughable, they at least stop to put their hair up on CM, and you can literally tell they had legit training on Chicago Pd.
these days when you close your eyes, what else do you want but to be loved in a warm and permanent way. the open soft hand, the lowered voice, the blanket around your shoulders. you want to be loved like hot chocolate, like spring flowers, like dawn. you want to go to sleep protected and wake up fully rested. you want the wounds in you to matter, you want someone who is patient around your scars.
how greedy. these days when you look around, how many little ways are you assaulted by the notion that it's wrong to need others. individualism! capitalism! bootstraps! every time you try to language it, you need to cover up your desire into a carefully-worded soundbite: of course no single person can fulfill every need and we must invest in communities and i must be responsible for my own mental health and
but the yawning in you doesn't understand logic or sound or reason. it only sees sundays, only sees what you do-not-have, only sees the look others share and that you so desire. sick with dread at it, sick at how it makes you want, how you yearn in no direction.
no matter how many people you take with you to bed, no matter how many hands touch the tattoo you share with your sibling, no matter how many times you kneel with your knees bleeding. always, the ache that never stops chewing, the desperate sick loneliness that never quite abates. it never stops humming, i need i need i need. you burn your inner child for warmth and scatter the ashes into your morning coffee.
so you shut up and you load your life like shotgun shells and you try to make yourself whole in the way that others are whole. you let your father's words spill out of your mouth. you make a quick joke rather than tear your heart open. you sing into the mic and go home with stars in your eyes. your life is beautiful and you're lucky! you have everything a person can need!
but it would be nice, is the thing. to have a love that feels like peace.
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it killed you to grow up there, in the dark like that, with nothing but the bones of your childhood. they punished every version of you that wasn't a god. forced sainthood into saturdays and now when you're out in the sun, your hands shake. your breathing puffing into cold mornings, alone in your room, wondering how you could be so broken and yet never have anyone notice the break.
in the dream of that house, you sometimes remember meals and silence and long hallways and your hand cramping over your homework. you sometimes remember the yelling or the limegreen falsehood veneer your parents could construct in the presence of guests. mostly you remember the way time seeped through you, dripped onto everything, how the words it'll get better felt like an arrow through your chest.
you would lay in bed and hope for death with the same fantasy air as romance, picturing a glorious coffin. sometimes you'd picture a dramatic end or a tragic illness that would sweep you away. but mostly you pictured some kind of strange miracle; that you'd go to sleep and simply never have to deal with that again.
when you got out, you had to burn the atmosphere to escape. these days you reside on another planet entirely: one bright and full of lights and color and friends and spice and laughter.
and still sometimes when people say summer, you still remember the back deck. you still remember building a castle. you still remember the birds. when you lay yourself down at night - some part of you still whispers about catacombs, and the dark, and the bones.
some version of you is still resting in that tomb, after all. some version of you will always see the outline of that place and say that's where we used to call home.
