so i’ve been writing fem!wash/york lately
this is a bit from a scene and idk if it will appeal to anyone but i’m really happy with how my writing’s been with it
context is that york is about to bang wash on her desk. oops.
In some ways, she thinks she’ll never understand how she ever let him get this close to begin with, because York is everything she’s not, and never has been. He’s an easy grin and a wry joke rolling off the tongue to her sharp, firm lines, her pressed uniforms, her stacks of paperwork — the last of which are now a mess, but somehow she can’t bring herself to set them to rights.
She’s never really believed in opposites attract, because it’s never fit into her rigid, carefully defined world, like everything else she’s never understood. It’s never made sense, and things that don’t make sense don’t have a place here, when everything she does has to fit to the guidelines set out by the Project and the ones she’s set for herself, and besides, she can’t see how she would ever be attracted to someone who flaunted the very rules she held so dear.
And then, of course, came York.
He’s open and closed all at once, offering a shoulder-bump and a friendly nod in the hall to every agent he passes and yet holds onto his spot at the top of the board without budging for a moment. He’s defiant and agreeable, quick-witted and insufferably stupid, and he’s definitely, absolutely not her type. Wash doesn’t like men like him, so wrapped up in themselves that there’s nothing more to them, no matter how clear it became that there was more to York than that.
He just doesn’t fit with her, not in any sense of the word, and yet when his chest is bare and pressed tight against hers they’re like puzzle pieces snapping into place, moving together like they’re of one mind instead of two. Her shirt slips off her head and Wash feels nothing but the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his fingers pressing against her, and all the thought left in her head flies right out as he dips down to her chest.
She’d always thought of him as nothing but a careless playboy, but she’s the one being played, now, as if she’s an instrument under his practiced fingers. He’s everywhere, all at once, one hand pressing tight against her clit and another against her back, and her fingers scrabble at his skin for purchase, digging lightly into his shoulders as he moves against her, and she doesn’t want him to stop.