#do you know what hells i've shed : on the way to your mouth ✧ ° ecsile . | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maximotts · 1 year

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𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎: 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 & 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑

a/n: yes this is a day late, I've had a week from hell and I'm not having a holly jolly holiday season. Hopefully this really long chapter makes up for it! Reminder that we've got a scheduled break for this series for two weeks ask I do holiday things (derogatory) and finish up my Christmas fic

✎— priest’s daughter!Wanda x college student!reader ✎— confessions AU; after Wanda gets some much needed help from a few friends, she prepares for her first date.. at Carol's house party. Ups and downs ensue, but you try your best not to ruin the rare night out ✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; light sexual content with some?? angsty scenarios? more like tense situations; drinking; talks of sex toys; intimidation, but R comes to the rescue; more shameless groping; first kisses; brief make outs; hard conversations and Soft Tummy Wanda Time

✎— words: 7.5k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

“I can’t embarrass her, I don’t know what I was thinking… see you Saturday! What an idiot!” Wanda had been laid out on Natasha and Agatha’s couch between the two women for the past half hour, angsting over the earlier exchange through tears she thought she’d finished shedding back in high school. “I’ll stay home, there’s no way I should go.”

Natasha spoke up first, having been the one to open the door to find her best friend’s twin sister fidgeting in the hallway. As soon as Nat opened her mouth, Wanda was crying, falling into the slightly shorter woman with all her weight. She brought her inside quickly, hauled her to the couch while Agatha made her tea; she hadn’t seen Wanda this distraught in years so whatever happened, Nat knew it had to have been bad.

Her first instinct was to ask who did what and give them a piece of her mind, but Wanda never let her, always insisting that reactions just made everything worse. “There’s no way you aren’t going. You have to after all of that, or you’ll look cowardly.”

“But Tasha!” Wanda shot up to her knees, all watery eyes and red-tipped nose, nearly hitting the redhead in the face, “No one wants me there! And Carol was right.. I can’t dress like this.”

She’d never given much thought to what she wore; her dad didn’t let her wear anything too revealing growing up and when none of her mall trips were with friends instead of him, Wanda’s closet wasn’t exactly filled with each year’s trendy clothes. In college, she stayed with the familiar and dressed comfortably— now she feared you’d just been polite every time you paid her a compliment.

“There’s one person that wants you there!” Agatha chimed in, righting Wanda’s skirt where it’d twisted around in her distress. She’d been assigned Natasha’s roommate in their first year of college; in their second, they’d moved into an apartment together off campus and when Wanda took up residence down the hall for their third, Natasha warned her that Wanda had been heavily sheltered and sometimes needed that extra bit of attention and care.

Honestly, Agatha thought her friend was exaggerating, having met Pietro once or twice and not sensing anything off, but Wanda was a special case. Still, the younger girl was one of the kindest people she’d ever met and she enjoyed whenever she popped over for a chat. “And anyways, I think you look adorable.”

She was trying to help, but instead she only proved Carol’s point. Wanda groaned and fell back once more, head buried in the cushions, “I’m twenty years old, adorable isn’t going to cut it.”

The two older girls shared a look, Natasha’s worried while Agatha’s turned mischievous. Nat knew that look from the beginning of Agatha’s schemes and protectiveness kicked in anew. “Agatha.. I don’t think I like that look.”

She brushed her friend off with a scoff, prodding at Wanda’s ragdoll state until she could wrench her upright once more. Unlike Natasha, she hadn’t grown up with them all, but from the day she met Wanda, Agatha saw a project. Now that she finally had an in, she wouldn’t pass it up. Especially not when it was for a good cause, “You wanna be hot, is that it? You want your new crush to see you and not be able to keep her hands off you?”

That shook Wanda to attention, cheeks beet red. Sure she didn’t want to be mocked or subject you to any torment just being seen with her, but she couldn’t imagine you wanting all of.. that from her of all people. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of it, but whenever she did, she tried her hardest to shake that seemingly impossible reality away, “No, I-”

“So when you show up to that party dressed like you belong there, it’s because you want to hold her hand?” Natasha laughed, pinching Wanda on the cheek because she knew how much she hated it. Maybe Agatha was right; a little push might be good for Wanda, at least to give her a chance to try. “Have her push you on the swings?”

This was not the conversation Wanda wanted to have today, not when she couldn’t even take the first step to kiss you. Needing to keep her mind from that spiraling train of thought, she spun around to face Natasha now, pouting hard, “I’m not a baby, be real!”

Agatha tugged at Wanda’s dress gently, pulling at the material and letting the skirt fall back to her thighs. “Admit you want to stop looking like the poster child for an abstinence pamphlet and start dressing for a strip club and we’ll help you.”

“That is not what I want.” Reminders of some of the outfits she’d seen her peers wear flashed in her head with red alarm sirens; they’d be sure to catch your eye, seen you on Instagram with similar girls dancing and laughing without a care in the world. Beautiful as they were, that just wasn’t her. Wanda couldn’t turn into a new person overnight, nor did she want to. If she got new clothes, they had to be things she actually wanted to wear. Things you’d like on her. “I want her not to be embarrassed to be seen with me. I want her to kiss me, to flirt with me even though I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing! I want her to like me.”

Agatha backed off, sighing and taking one of Wanda’s shaking hands in her own. “I’d bet money she already likes you; you’re lovely and it sounds like you two already spend so much time together.” Neither her nor Natasha wanted Wanda to be so down on herself; there was no need to be, considering how, from the picture Wanda painted, you were plenty into her. Telling her outright might scare her though; it was always baby steps with the poor dear. “All you need to do is show her you’re interested and a little wardrobe change never hurt anyone. If you hate it, you still have your old clothes, no harm done.”

Wanda nodded, staring down at her lap until Natasha grabbed her chin and forced her to look up. “Come on, cheer up, you won’t have that much work to do. You’re beautiful already,” Nat cupped Wanda’s cheek, booped her nose before pushing her dress down to reveal bare shoulders. “And I’ve seen you in a bathing suit, you’ve got legs for days and gorgeous tits-”

“Hey!” Wanda jumped as Natasha gave them a squeeze, instantly self-conscious. There was a night a few days ago, one of your lazy nights when you laid your head in her lap while she read an article off her tablet for extra credit, where you did the same thing. Softer than her friend just now, a singular slow touch.

She looked down, naively thinking a stray hair on her shirt was the cause, but when she asked you only grinned and reasoned they looked too soft not to touch and went back to watching your show. Wanda decided to keep how tingly the action made her feel away from her two friends for now; they’d never let her live it down. “Just help me pick what to wear on Saturday.”

As soon as Wanda conceded, Agatha was up and searching for her laptop, “Oh, we can do so much more than one night’s something!”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The days leading up to the party were filled with Wanda reassuring not only herself, but also you that she was perfectly fine to go. It was sweet how you worried about her, checking in at least once a day to make sure she knew there was no obligation to show up or prove anything to anyone.

Wanda appreciated the sentiment, but she wanted to like parties, to go and have fun with you somewhere other than your living rooms for once. Only on Friday, opening the package of clothes she’d bought under Nat and Agatha’s guidance, that she nearly wavered, but when Maria Hill wandered up to where you were eating lunch and whispered something in your ear scandalous enough to make you blush, Wanda’s jealousy wouldn’t let her back out.

You didn’t mention that you’d caught her pouting, kept that tidbit to yourself for fun. Instead you smiled and flirted right back, ignoring Wanda’s clearly grumpy demeanor. It wasn’t nice, you shouldn’t have done it when the only girl you cared about was the one who’d made the lovely wrap you’d been eating before you got interrupted.

Once she was gone, you tried smoothing it over with a hug and an apology, but Wanda was smart enough to see right through it, shoving you hard back into your chair and calling your behavior gross. She was still huffy when you left her that afternoon, half expecting her to call off your plans, but she only mumbled out a warning not to be late and shut the door in your face. You only parted for a short while, but in that time, Wanda had a lot to do; she’d been nervous enough without having seen Maria’s little display.

As she sat at her desk, willing a steady hand to apply the eyeliner she so rarely wore, her brain fell back on what it did best: overthink. Visions of the two of you arriving as a pair, just for you to leave her as soon as you found someone better to dance with or talk to, or worse, the whole party being a front for some long game joke, poked at her fragile determination. You’re being annoyingly irrational, she scolded herself, recalling instead the times you stood up for her or held her hand when you crossed the street. Sure, Wanda might have issues with the easy way you lead some of the girls in your classes on, but she refused to let her mind turn you into something you’d never hinted at being.

The brunette checked the time on her phone before sliding her outfit over her head and as she popped her head and shoulders through the top, her eye caught the device screen light up on its own, a message from you appearing. Wanda read over your cutely apologetic words with a smile, laughing at the I’m sorry sticker attached and quickly typed a response promising forgiveness if you bought her coffee next week. To which you readily agreed and gave her one last minute reminder that you wouldn’t be mad if she decided in the past hour she wasn’t keen on seeing anyone she didn’t want to. No, you weren’t like Carol or Brock, nowhere close to Vision; Wanda didn’t think you could be if you tried.

You were right on time, wanting to tread lightly in case Wanda’s text was more her being polite than actually over your lunch shenanigans, knocking briskly even though you’d texted her you were coming as you locked your apartment door. You expected she’d maybe do her hair and makeup differently, something to fit the night; what you didn’t expect was a whole new Wanda opening the door. “Woah…”

The black dress hugged Wanda’s curves perfectly, accentuating places you’d only felt briefly before. She’d worn sleeveless dresses around you, but this strapless design wrapped around her arms paired with the long hair she’d tied back into a ponytail revealed her neck and shoulders completely… you realized you’d been staring too long when Wanda waved a shy hand in front of your stunned face. “Do I look okay? I think I have enough time to change-”

“Don’t you dare.” You tugged Wanda out the door before she could continue second guessing. And then, being the reassurance you didn’t know Wanda needed so terribly, you slung your arm around her, mostly in an excuse to touch newly exposed skin, speaking loud enough she was sure the whole floor could hear you, “You look hot and if anyone tells you different, they’re lying through their teeth.”

Hearing that, Wanda already felt like she’d call tonight a win.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

From the moment you stepped through the door, Wanda garnered attention. Not that everyone flew to her side immediately; most didn’t recognize her and if they did, they didn’t know where to even start talking. Most people she went to school with left her alone, a select few people having crafted and weaved stories about the brunette that meant everyone tended to keep their distance. Wanda didn’t mind, really she preferred it; amongst her peers she was completely out of her depths. Small high school gatherings were intimidating enough, and college only added more to the attendance list.

If you minded her clinging to your side you didn’t say it, relaxed and talking to whoever you pleased all while checking in on Wanda every few minutes. To her credit, Wanda did engage in conversation occasionally, commenting or laughing when something was funny enough. Sitting down, Wanda thought she’d get more time to talk to you, not about anything specific but just to keep your attention. You weren’t brushing her off, no, you were actively listening, nodding your head, everything… but she wanted you sitting closer, asking her to dance, anything.

Wanda wondered if maybe she was going about it the wrong way, working up confidence to ask you herself when mid-sentence, Maria plopped herself down in your open lap and wrapped her arms around your neck. “Hey you…”

For the first time tonight, Wanda felt ignored, her presence non-existent to the grinning girl who so easily disrupted the conversation. You didn’t play into her like you did at lunch, having learned your lesson that an angry Wanda wasn’t a Wanda you wanted to focus your way, but you didn’t want to be rude or cause a scene so you let her stay put for now and hoped Wanda didn’t hold it against you later. “A few of us are gonna play a little game upstairs if you want to join in?”

Wanda watched your face light up, seemingly ignorant to how much the other girl already reeked of alcohol. You loved a good party game, nodding your agreement without a second thought. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, we’ll be right up.”

“Oh yeah...” Maria finally glanced over, a pitying pout on her lips that Wanda felt the strangely aggressive urge to slap off. “Wanda, have you played Never Have I Ever?” The answer was a big resounding no and all three of you were well aware, a game she’d seen countless times on television and never sat down to play. You followed Maria’s lead, sizing up Wanda, but out of compassion rather than anything else.

In that split minute of silence, Wanda had two choices: be honest and back out or rely on her limited knowledge, go with you, and hope for the best. Maybe she’d have chosen the former if she could read your thoughts, know for sure you wouldn’t leave Wanda alone down here amidst strangers and wisps of smoke— but she didn’t.

“Of course I know how to play, don’t be silly!” The answer was enough for Maria who stood with a wobble and pulled your hand to follow, but your eyes stayed firmly stuck on Wanda. Her words might’ve been confident, but lacquer-polished fingers played with her new array of metal rings and you instantly knew she was lying. You wouldn’t call her bluff in the present company, but your furrowed brow gave away your worries. Wanda tried smoothing them away with a smile, polite as ever, beaming up at Maria who stood in front of you, annoyed that you hadn’t yet budged. “Like she said, we’ll be right up.”

Maria shrugged, not caring enough to disinvite Wanda upstairs. If she wanted to make a fool of herself, she wouldn’t stop her. “Five minutes or we’re starting without you.”

Left on your own for the time being, Wanda sprung to her feet and fixed her dress, letting out a deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It was your turn to take her hand, stopping her in case Wanda decided to sprint up the stairs without you. You did want to play with her, but not if she felt it was an obligation instead of a fun way to pass the time. “Do you really want to? I won’t be mad down here if that’s better.”

“It’s fine!” Heartwarming, really, and Wanda appreciated your sincerity, but you’d never see her as anything other than a friend to be babysat if she didn’t attempt to participate. At least, that’s what Agatha said. Besides, if it was anything like the movies, you could learn things about each other that Wanda was too shy to ask outright. “I want to play! It’ll be fun, please?”

“Wands…” You couldn’t say no to her, not when she looked so excited, swinging your arm back and forth in her hands and adding a pretty please to sway you further. There was a promise you made right then, silently to yourself, to be right next to her and not let things get too out of hand; it couldn’t be that bad under careful supervision.

Supervision you failed to remember would falter as soon as alcohol hit your system.

The game was enjoyable… until Wanda caught on to the point of the game, everyone taking shots and sharing scandalous stories while she was left with nearly all her fingers up. She’d taken exactly one finger down when Carol tried to put her on the spot with “never have I ever bought a vibrator offline” and she prayed the shot she was finally allowed to take dulled her embarrassment quickly. No luck.

“Can I see it some time?” Wanda nearly jumped to her feet when you leaned over, chin resting on her shoulder like you had so many times before. You’d had no problem with the game, only one finger left; a fact Wanda had to keep reminding you of after the double shots you’d taken.

She pushed you off and you frowned, but let her have her space, your dejected expression nearly pitiful enough Wanda almost felt bad for doing so. Then she remembered the question lingering in the air, the small group going quiet and watching your exchange play out, and suddenly the gentle rejection didn’t feel like nearly enough admonishment. “Why would you want to?”

You shrugged lazily, straightening up as you realized you were the only two left in the game. It was rare you lasted this long, to your recollection at least; Wanda’s nine remaining fingers meant she was unbeatable though. Such an innocent thing… you wished she’d be your innocent thing. Alcohol loosened your tongue, spiraling thoughts of Wanda carefully unboxing the toy as she did with all of her packages bubbling to the surface, running it over in her hands with that adorable scrunched up face she made whenever she focused, experimenting with the various settings. “Just to see how you use it.”

If you weren’t so inebriated maybe you’d have the presence of mind to keep your words a whisper, but if everyone’s laughs were anything to go by, the entire room heard. Wanda begged to blink and open them to exist anywhere but here, “You’re disgusting.” Basic flirting was hard enough; the last thing she wanted to do was have your first discussion about sex toys while there were people judging her every move.

“What’s the matter, Wanda? Bought it and couldn’t figure out how to use it?” Carol sneered, taking a swig of the vodka she’d brought up for the game straight from the bottle. Wanda wanted to fight her on it, but she couldn’t without exposing some of her most private times and well, they’re called private for a reason.

The blonde turned to you then, “I thought you wanted to fuck her… shame she hasn’t let you yet.” Wanda whipped around, her worst fears threateningly close to being the truth, but you looked just as shocked.

Maria joined in before you could tell Carol to take it back, leaning across you to really make sure Wanda heard, “You know there’s tons of videos that’ll show you how. All that studying you do, wouldn’t kill you to research something sexy once for a change.” Sober enough to deem that over the line, you pushed Maria away before she could continue her taunts, but words weren’t so easily taken back. Wanda was already mortified beyond belief and you were ashamed it was mostly your fault.

If clinging to you to hide the stinging tears budding at the corners of her eyes wouldn’t cause more attention, Wanda would’ve fallen into your shoulder in an instant. Not that she was particularly happy with you right now, but what other comfort did she have? Your expression screamed an apology Wanda wasn’t ready to immediately accept and she flicked your forehead in warning, “Don’t say a thing.”

You relented with a sigh, still disappointed with yourself, but resolving to do everything in your power to make up for it. But all Wanda wanted was this terrible game over with, anything to get her out of this cramped room full of people who regarded her like a party trick. Her one advantage was being the last to put a finger down, her turn to announce an action and choose one of the many things you’d done that she’d never gotten close to. Whatever she said would scream innocence, but at this point she couldn’t bring herself to care; Wanda needed you out so she could “win” and get far away from here. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

You weren’t fully drunk, buzzed enough to be careless, but not to ignore what everyone was saying. Stupidly, you’d taken Wanda’s earlier insistence to play as an excuse to do so just as hard, personal promise forgotten little by little with each shot you threw back, but one look at her clear distress was sobering. Wise decision making wasn’t your strong suit though, drunk or not.

She wasn’t that far away, close enough to kiss— so you did, leaning forward until your hands rested on either side of her folded legs. The moment your lips met, the little audience went wild, but you kept it short, only wanting to help, not embarrass her. “Silly girl, you can’t pick something you’ve done. Still won though, not bad for your first time.”

Wanda was stunned, frozen in place even as everyone broke their circle formation to clean up. Instincts screamed to pull you in for another one, but she knew she shouldn’t. You’d done it to make up for the earlier mess you’d started; you wanted to be nice, not spend your night sharing kisses she couldn’t reciprocate. It was only for the sake of everyone else, to temporarily shut them up… a first kiss to placate and entertain.

When you looked at her again, Wanda saw the beginnings of pity and she couldn’t stand it, not from you. Especially not after that. “I’m going to grab a soda, I’ll be downstairs.”

“Did you want me to go with-” She was up and out before you could get a word in and you sighed, standing slowly to save your head some pain. “Great, see you down there…”

Going off by herself was near the very bottom of Wanda’s smart ideas, but she didn’t have it in her to explain, to pretend to be okay when she wanted to shake you and ask why’d you be so stupid at the worst possible time.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Everything happened in a series of threes, good or bad; her father lived by that philosophy. The second Brock wandered into the otherwise empty kitchen, having been seeking her out, Wanda started believing him. First the never have I ever experience from hell, second, you playing said game, and now this way too drunk man stumbling closer; Wanda was more than ready for a good streak any time now.

“Wanda! There you are!” His words were slurred, strung together so messily Wanda wondered if he’d remember in the morning that he’d actually smiled at her. She tried to ignore him, looking at any variety of kitchen accessories she spotted around the room, but Brock was never one to be quiet when given space to speak. “Praying away your first kiss all alone in here?”

“You know that’s not how that works.” Wanda rolled her eyes, taking a step back only to meet the cold kitchen counter. And again, Brock came closer.

In a perfect world he wouldn’t intimidate her, not even a foot away, his obnoxiously loud laughter pushing his alcohol soaked breath her way, but she couldn’t help it, instinct inching her farther even as his big steps closed the distance. “What I do know is how rude it is to leave someone in the dust right after they kiss you. You ran off so quickly!”

Wanda’s hands tightened around her soda can, denting the aluminum as she counted down however long she had left to endure this. “I didn’t kiss you, it’s none of your business.”

“I could have once, remember?” Unnerved as she was, Wanda still hit Brock’s hand away as quickly as his calloused fingertips grazed her cheek, a hard slap that faded his smug grin into a glower. “You’re just too good at running away.”

“Hands off, Rumlow.” Where you’d come from Wanda didn’t know, but she was never more relieved to see you. It took you longer than you wanted to admit navigating the house, asking first if anyone had seen your date and then, where the kitchen was. Finding her just in time is what mattered most, speeding across the kitchen to put space between Wanda and your classmate slowly, but surely crowding her in.

You hadn’t heard their conversation, but it didn’t matter. There were exactly zero scenarios you could imagine Wanda willingly talking to Brock, much less with him as close as he was. Boorishly, he raised his hands in the air, backing away without nearly enough shame as he should’ve. “What, is she your girlfriend now? Like, for real?”

Wanda didn’t speak up to correct him, but neither did you, still unsure what you called someone you’d fantasized about more than acted on those with. This was Brock you were talking about though, and he out of anyone didn’t need to know another bit of information about Wanda than he already did.

Ignoring an answer, you held Wanda similarly to how you had a few days ago, arms about her waist, but this was more possessive, more urgent— another spectacle Wanda longed to hate, but the security your embrace offered left her swooning. She would die happy if she could stay in your arms like this forever; just preferably not in Carol’s kitchen. “Why, jealous?”

Your hand on her ass should’ve made her cringe; if it was anyone else, maybe she would, but this left her knees weak. To your shock, Wanda didn’t move and Brock’s hazy eyes bounced between the two of you, not willing to fight for someone he didn’t deem worth the effort. “Of your newfound celibacy? No thanks.”

“Well fuck off then, find someone else to piss off.” When you kissed her cheek, it was equal parts to drive him away as it was to calm Wanda’s nerves and by some miracle, it worked for both. Once he disappeared from view, you offered her another, two in succession when she didn’t twist away. “Sorry for taking forever, couldn’t find you… you’re really fast, you know.”

“The game was over so I left.” Wanda tossed her empty and squashed can into the pile atop the overfilled trash can nearby, needing her hands free to affectionately pat your arms. She expected you to let her go again, but you only held tighter. “What-”

Turning Wanda around, you leant against the counter, bringing her with you until she had no choice but to settle between your legs. “You have a cute ass,” Two hands cupped her backside now, squeezing covered flesh as if there weren't dozens of people that could walk in at a moment’s notice. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“Because you hardly look at me,” the brunette mumbled, willing herself to relax as you touched her. You only acknowledged her with a low hum, burying your nose in the crook of her neck, sighing as you caught the familiar light floral scent of her perfume. Curious fingers skirted over her hip, following the tight hem of Wanda’s dress along her upper thigh. She shuddered against you, fingers tugging at your shirt, grounding herself as she wiggled against your front. Wanda hadn’t expected to enjoy such shameless groping, but tonight was just full of surprises.

You’d be more than happy to spend the rest of your time here, exploring her at your leisure, all else forgotten, but your dream was over way too soon. The tired girl wormed her way out of your grasp, instantly missing your warmth, but needing to stop before you were discovered. She wanted to be the type not to care who caught you, wanted to let you hold her tight and kiss her hard right here in the kitchen, but her nerves got the better of her. “You’re drunk, don’t do that here.”

You could insist you weren’t that drunk, completely sober enough to know exactly what you’re up to, but you’d already pushed your luck being so bold after embarrassing her earlier. “Here? Sooo.. you’d let me do it somewhere else?”

Wanda ignored her hopes soaring at the prospect of you wanting to try again. Not for show or to shut anyone up, but because you wanted her. You saw it on her face, pupils blown wide and fidgeting hands; the girl wore her emotions on her sleeve, and damn if you didn’t want to convince her to let you drag her upstairs to some unoccupied room and have your way with her, but you tried to make peace with just knowing Wanda didn’t completely shut the idea down.

“I don’t know! Maybe…” This wasn’t the place to discuss how much she craved your touch, much less her feelings on the matter; for Wanda, parties weren’t right for anything she needed right now. Suddenly Wanda felt overwhelmed all over again, brain scrambled and wanting too many unrelated things at once, and the loud bass and equally loud house was too much.

She’d given it a real effort for you and it wasn’t all bad, but trying to fit in with a group of people who thrived on being high school mean girls even into adulthood? Wanda didn’t want to play that game and as much as she wanted to trust you, she couldn’t take anything you did around them seriously, uncertain if this was all just to show off or genuine interest. “I think I’m going to go…”

You couldn’t say it caught you off guard, not with how the night had gone. Hours ago when you’d first seen her, Wanda stood tall, happy and excited for her first real party; taking in her slumped shoulders and turned down gaze broke your heart. You hoped your disappointment didn’t show because none was for her, all towards you instead, feeling like you’d failed at every turn to keep her safe and relaxed. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk across campus alone in the middle of the night.”

“Well I can’t be here anymore, I’m done.” Staying in this house a minute longer made Wanda want to throw up; she wanted the cozy familiarity of her apartment and her bed, to sleep until tonight was a far off memory. She hadn’t come with much thankfully, only her keys you’d kept tucked safe in your jacket, but you tucked the pocket behind you as she went to reach for it.

“I never said you couldn’t leave,” Stepping forward, you took Wanda by the hand, but didn’t tug her closer, trying to let her have her space even when you wanted to give her the hug she looked like she so badly needed. If Wanda was leaving then you would too, having lost your interest in the party as soon as you saw hers vanish upstairs. “I’m walking you home.”

Guilt crept in quickly and Wanda instantly tried reassuring you, but you wouldn’t hear it, determined not to let her walk off this time. She was upset, you’d seen it on her before, a dark cloud dampening her naturally cheery demeanor; you wouldn’t leave her like that again. “You’re the hottest girl here, I’d rather spend time with you anyways.”

“Alright, but I’m going to bed.” Wanda hit your shoulder, turning her back to you before her smile gave her away. ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

It was cold outside with autumn rolling in, but Wanda was grateful for the quiet. The walk back to your building was short in theory, but grew longer with the brunette doing most of the navigation. You were just a bit too distracted to focus on where you were going, but you’d always remember to follow Wanda anywhere. While dragging along behind her, your eyes remained firmly stuck on her bare shoulders, illuminated whenever you passed under a streetlight, and when you caught her shivering, you were quick to rush in.

“Are you cold?” She wasn’t for long between your engulfing hug and the heat bursting through her body as your lips kissed along the expanse of exposed skin. It was impossible to walk like this, your hands splayed over her stomach as you clung to her from behind, preoccupied with the new opportunity to touch her rather than getting inside.

Wanda tried anyways, steps heavy on the sidewalk as she took your weight with her. “I won’t be cold if you let us go home.” She was right of course, often was, but it didn’t stop you from staying attached to her the rest of the way.

You’d run to the bathroom as soon as she unlocked the door and Wanda made a beeline for her bedroom— where she’d forgotten all about the short white nightgown she’d laid out right before she left. An outfit change planned for the version of her that returned from the party confident, a lot more drunk, and ready to fall in bed with you for a whole different reason than she was now.

Frazzled, Wanda grabbed the satin garment and shoved it to the back of her closet until it was hidden from view. Her typical safe pajama set was the new choice, shedding her party dress to pull loose shorts over her hips, buttoning the last button on her top just as you emerged from the bathroom.

Letting you do whatever you needed to do to be ready for bed, Wanda went to the kitchen, pouring glasses of water and picking up her bottle of ibuprofen she knew you’d need in the morning. When she returned, you were already under the covers, head against the headboard and absentmindedly scrolling your phone. “Glad to see you made yourself comfortable.”

You expected her to say more, either talking about the night or give you some random fact as she sometimes did, but after Wanda was firmly in bed, lights off, not even the television on, the typically comfortable silence between you two felt suffocating. “You’re being quiet.”

“I’m quiet a lot.” She said it plainly, not even a hint of emotion behind her words and when that was all, you had to do something about it. Sitting up once more, you scooted over until you were sat in front of her, sizing up the worry rolling off of Wanda in waves.

That nightgown was a painful reminder of how badly she felt she’d failed this whole party thing; there was no lingering high from buzzing events, no giggles or wandering hands like Natasha hinted might happen if she’d done any number of certain things. No, Wanda had run from you, pushed those wandering hands away, played off shoulder kisses as nothing short of an annoyance and now… now you weren’t touching her at all. If you went back to your place, she wouldn’t be surprised, but she dreaded being alone right now, left not only to wallow in self-pity, but properly unkissed. It was all too miserable to say aloud.

You waited until she conquered her visible hesitation, but when Wanda sighed, more interested in fidgeting with her blankets than speaking up, you decided it was time to step in with reassurance. “You did really well tonight. I hope you know you really didn’t have to come with me, but I’m happy you did and you looked beautiful.”

Wanda gave a bitter chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief, “You’re not upset you had to watch me all night and make sure I wasn’t completely falling apart?”

“What? No! I had a good time!” A different time than what you were used to, but not bad. Really you didn’t mind looking out for her, felt honored she even trusted you to do so. You’d gone home with the best person in that place; you’d love to be doing something different with her right about now to round out your night as usual, especially when you could easily remember how soft and warm Wanda felt against you, but you didn’t want to push her. Except… “Hey Wanda?”

She picked at the stray lint she could barely make out amongst her sheets, trying not to dread whatever else came out of your mouth next, “Yeah?”

“I liked kissing you earlier.” It was the truth, simply put between your exhaustion and intoxication, but honest nonetheless. “Was that really your first time?”

“Well…” She thought about it, wondering long and hard if she could count the years old close call that stuck in her head in her worst thoughts. No, Wanda wouldn’t pay that any mind. “Yes, it was.”

“Oh..” Before you could second guess anymore, you inched closer, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. Wanda was tired, that much was clear, but her eyes still stayed wide, gaze locked on your lips as she licked her own. If the desperation was mutual, one of you might as well do something about it. “Would you like a second?”

Wanda paused, not because she didn’t want it, she did so terribly badly, but it scared her. All of this, you, scared her. What if you changed your mind? If you only kissed her before to be nice, what did this count as? Back there, you’d been so quick about it, a peck to end the game in your own mischievous way; this time you were free to carry on and she had no idea how to handle that. Were you about to find out she’s a terrible kisser?

While her thoughts raced, you sat back, giving her space to decide properly. You wanted to kiss her, sure, and with any other girl maybe you would’ve just taken it, but with the careless way you’d taken her first, you couldn’t let Wanda’s second be something she woke up regretting. “You can say no, I won’t be mad-”

In a split second, your world went black, Wanda crashing into you with a strength you didn’t know she had. Her lips were clumsy against yours until you took over, shock dissipating as everything that was Wanda clouded your senses. She’d had enough pushing you away for one night. Here in the privacy of her bedroom, if you really wanted to kiss her, she’d freely admit she needed you to do so.

Wanda’s arms wound loosely around your neck, acclimating herself to the feel of your kiss. You were slow and inviting, skirting the tip of your tongue along her bottom lip so gently Wanda didn’t say a thing about your hands drawing up her bare legs. Eventually, you eased her back until she laid reclined, deft fingers undoing the bottom few delicate buttons of her pajama set.

“It’s not fair how sweet your lips are…” You chased her as she broke for air, shifting your weight to kneel between her legs; Wanda was about to ask you what you meant when you slipped. Still lacking all of your coordination, you leaned too close to the edge of the mattress, falling to the floor with a loud thud. When you regained your senses, Wanda’s laughter hit you before anything, loud and uninhibited, and as much as your head ached, you found yourself laughing right along with her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but…!” Wanda could barely breathe she was laughing so hard, your dramatic pout way too exaggerated to be real. You looked so pitiful curled up on the floor, rubbing the side of your head; she wanted to kiss you all better. “Come on, come up here. You need to go to sleep.”

You might’ve protested harder if the brunette wasn’t holding out her arms, covers pulled back to let you climb right in. It was an uncoordinated scramble from the carpet into her bed, but Wanda pressed a little kiss into your hair, smoothing it over before guiding you down. “At least I don’t have to sleep down there…”

Head laid heavy on her midsection, snuggled into what felt like the warmest blankets of your life in your drunken state, exhaustion hit you like a freight train. At some point Wanda’s hand snuck into your hair, brushing strays away from your face, nails lightly scratching at your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed. “You’re good at this for someone who’s never gone on nights out.”

“Pietro’s to thank for that,” Wanda laughed again and you heard it against your ear, the smooth, happy rumbling you’d missed all night. “Someone had to pull him back together before morning and it certainly wasn’t going to be dad. He always likes to remind me I’m twelve minutes younger, but I feel years older most of the time.”

She was a natural caretaker, always had been, especially after her mother died, but besides her family she’d never heard that type of compliment from anyone and it helped her relax in this otherwise unfamiliar territory. If nothing else, Wanda knew she could show her affection through some tried and true TLC, but looking after her loud and drunk brother was miles different from the clingy drunken behavior of the crush she’d just been making out with. If you weren’t so cute when you got sleepy, Wanda might’ve exiled you to the couch.

After a while of nothing, Wanda unintentionally lulling you to sleep with the gentle stroke of her fingers on your head, her thoughts drifted again. “Was Carol right?”

“Hm?” It was too late to have any discussion past something silly, but from Wanda’s tone, you knew it was anything but and you prayed you could keep it together long enough not to look like a complete asshole.

“Did you only ask to hang out to see if you could have sex with me?” Wanda nearly bit her lip to bleeding in the long silence that followed, wavering between thinking you’d finally fallen asleep and convincing herself you were pretending just to avoid giving an answer. She thought about waiting but if that stupid game taught her one thing it was the way alcohol stripped you of all filters; she needed to know for sure, but she couldn’t look you in the eye to ask. Her dark bedroom was the perfect cover for questions she’d never be able to ask after tonight.

“No, of course not.” Truthfully, you hadn’t drunk enough to be anything past buzzed; you’d been stupid earlier for sure, but nothing extreme. If you wanted to lie, you could easily, but you’d never think of it. Not when you’d already let her down repeatedly. “You’re hot though, I would if you wanted me to.”

“Oh… thank you?” Wanda stiffened and mentally you were kicking yourself, hoping she didn’t kick you out of her bed when you were so warm and cozy right where you were— but then you felt her thighs squirming against your midsection. You wanted to test your hunch so badly, but you knew better. Soon maybe, but not when you were both so painfully tired. Instead you hunkered down, pushed against her until she let you roll onto your stomach between her legs.

Wanda’s sleep shirt made the perfect cover for her soft tummy, a pillow you were scared you’d miss next time you fell asleep on your own. You dotted it with kisses, mostly the area under the buttons you’d undone, a gentle show of gratitude before laying your head back. “Mostly I wanted to see if you’re as cute up close. You are: mission accomplished.”

She wanted to shake you for calling her cute again, but it was too late to revert the conversation and she couldn’t exactly jump for her phone and text Natasha without looking obvious. Wanda sighed and settled for running her hands over your shoulders, hoping desperately her breathing stayed even enough to hide her personal panic. Soft snores finally made their way to her ears and her head fell back against actual pillows, waiting for anything to tell her how to make some kind of move. Talking wasn’t it, parties certainly weren’t it… Agatha’s advice was next up. Plan C, she’d called it— Wanda feared Plan C.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff series #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagine #confessions au.#motts writes.#maximotts

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tired-reader-writer · 3 months

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Finally, finally I am back on my ArSen bullshit. So starting from where I last left off (chapter 94):

Fr tho, Hilmes, where was this when I needed you to have the attitude? This just reads as copium ffs.

I normally don't give that much thought to Team Zahhak's philosophy, but this time I decided to sit down and mull on it a bit. Evil is the way of the world, the root and origin of all things, and humans have established “justice” to oppose it. The problem? Justice isn't One True Thing as many like to think— to borrow Narsus' metaphor it's actually like a thousand stars fighting to dominate the sky. And what this causes is conflict, everybody thinks they're right, and therefore the others must be wrong, and to prop up their own justice blood is shed.

One would normally associate bloodshed with, y'know, evil. Which makes me wonder if Team Zahhak thinks of justice as a hypocrisy— in fighting for their justice the pain and loss the fight inevitably causes is no different from that which evil would cause. In seeking to banish evil they just kept inventing evil itself over and over, with a prettier facade on top.

Maybe Team Zahhak sees it as a pointless, fruitless endeavor, and thus chases evil in its own right instead of dressing it up in pretty ideals that ultimately mean nothing.

That's my interpretation of these panels, I buy that line of philosophy obviously, but I think I can see where they're coming from, especially considering the origins of Zahhak himself (which, to make it as vague as possible, he was born from evil, so surely that must've shaped his worldview?).

I want to say, “what did you think was gonna happen when y'all went crazy like rabid dogs on the capital and let Bodin run free to do whatever he wanted???” because I am right— but my anger is tinged with dread/grief because the consequences. They're going to bite Hilmes in the ass.

Interesting. VERY INTERESTING. I'm spinning this in my head. What can I do with this, hmmmm~

They were conscripted, ey?

There's something about their faith taking the shape of brutality. That their “love” for their God wasn't characterized by, like, I dunno how to put it, a genuine connection with Yaldaboath nor spirituality nor anything like that if that makes sense, but rather in the form of... Gah, my brain isn't cooperating.

The way they were so proud of killing the defenseless and vulnerable (women and children) leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

“I think we've done our duty to God well enough to call it a day.” my god my fucking god, like, killing enough people means you did your job means you don't have to do anything more no meaningful deeds or introspection you don't need to do more you've murdered and that's apparently fucking enough shut uuuup.

I know they were manipulated by those above them, the clergy and the higher-ups who wanted this campaign but ugh. Ugh.

If one were to only look at the deeds of followers of Yaldaboath, I don't think it would be inaccurate to say that Yaldaboath is an ever-hungering bloodthirsty god who demands bloodshed and human sacrifice as worship.

Of course, it's not the case, I'm sure the faith means something else, something far less murderous, but there's a point where the original intent and purpose is lost and the twisted version takes over. It is the real, tangible impact it has on the world and the people in it that ultimately matters.

Of course, this is not a problem unique to the faith of Yaldaboath, the Parsian priesthood is pretty corrupt (@innerchorus made a post about that, I'll link it if I can find it again), and y'know, all institutionalized, big religions seem to follow the rough chops. Hell, in my homeland's history one of our kings went to war to seize Buddhist texts from another king!! Like what!! That's so antithetical to what Buddhism is supposed to be about!

Where am I going with this? Honestly, I've got no fucking clue. I just needed to rant, I suppose.

Everybody's big sister comes into clutch and nudges Arslan to not lose focus.

Also, is it just me or does Arslan's hair seem kinda long in this scene? Like,

Am I imagining things???? Was his hair always this long?

After two whole rants in the same post I no longer have the brain juices to dedicate any meaningful thought about the Royal Academy thing but I will say that I definitely want to know more about it. Who attends it? Is it a boarding school? Do other regions of Pars have similar academies? How do children of nobility and the wealthy in more rural areas learn? At home, with private tutors? This was never elaborated on and I'm left with a bucketload of questions.

They!! Alfarīd looks so cute here, look at that smile! And Farangis is so fond. I really love their bond, though I wish it was featured a little more (I guess it kinda is, but it involves Farangis pushing Alfarīd onto Narsus and I'm not sure how I feel about that so yeah).

And between and behind the two there's one of the dresses Alfarīd showed Narsus later on! The one she didn't end up buying, though I have to admit it's a cute design.

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queerpumpkinnn · 1 year

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What You Deserve

2.5k words

Summary: You come home pissed after a shitty ending to a situationship, and Sirius shows you how he should have treated you.

Pairing: Bestfriend!Sirius Black x reader

Warning: Reader goes on a date with a man (yeah that's a warning), body worship, lots of dirty talk, slight scratching, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, slight thigh riding, piv sex (unprotected, wrap it before you tap it) praise, creampie, squirting, cum eating, let me know if I've missed anything

While reading, I recommend you listen to the altar is my hips - a Spotify playlist by me!

"Fucking wimp-ass, lazy, selfish-"

"Woah, woah, woah. What's got your panties in a twist?"

You threw your wand on the couch with what was likely more fury than the poor furniture deserved. You'd been grumbling under your breath, slamming the door and stomping your feet around the dormitory. "Fucking Jack, that's what," you huffed to Sirius, shedding your coat and shoes.

"Oh? Talk to me." Sirius pushed off from his place leaning on the doorway, unfolding his arms to place his hands in his pockets. He opted to lean instead on the post of his bed.

"So basically, I was in his dormitory, alright, and things were getting heated. Long story short, he refused to go down on me. No protests when it was the other way around, mind you."

Sirius' nose scrunched in disgust. "Sounds like him, at this point. I hate to say I told you so-"

"Then don't. I waited too long for him to come around, I could have predicted this."

"But I told you so. He doesn't give a damn about you."

You rolled your eyes. One of the few times Sirius was right, and brutally so. He watched you move around the dormitory, searching for a sign of hurt. He knew you well, knew you weren't the type to allow people to mistreat you or beg for the bare minimum, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt you when your attempts at a connection were met with indifference.

"You alright?" He asked softly.

You turned around, passing your tongue over your top teeth and giving a long sigh. "Yeah. Just annoyed."

"You know none of this is your fault, yeah? He doesn't know what the hell he's doing, you're too good for him."

You give him a smile. "I know," you teased. You couldn't deny that the look in his eyes, the earnest sincerity in his words, sent a blush to your cheeks.

"I mean it. You don't deserve that shit. You deserve someone who'll worship you, be grateful to go down on you."

Now that was something. Just the thought of such adoration sent sparks shooting down to your lower stomach, but when Sirius said it? You couldn't ignore the image that came to mind, of Sirius worshipping you. His hands tracing every inch of your skin, tongue following, going lower and lower, then maybe back up again for adoration’s sake. You wondered what he would do, whether he would take his time and tease you or absolutely ravage you with his tongue, what he would say and how it would sound and Christ-

Your hands acted of their own accord. You reached for his face, pulling him by his face to kiss him. His skin was warm under your touch, blood racing under the brush of your pinky finger. He was promptly shut up and quick to respond, large hands cradling your face, delicately, softly. His kisses were slow, but no less passionate and intoxicating.

Now, this wasn't the first time you'd kissed your friend. There'd been casual make-out sessions when you'd been drinking or bored, or casual pecks every once in a while. But this was different. In the previous times, you hadn't been so overcome with lust. You hadn't ached for him, hadn't needed him so thoroughly and deeply as you had now. You didn't crave the taste of his tongue even though it was already in your mouth, grasp at the collar of his shirt with the need to be impossibly closer to him. Not like you were now.

Sirius' lips trailed to your jaw, kissing slowly across the bone, down to your pulse point, over the column of your throat. His hand found purchase woven into your hair by your neck, gently holding your head back so that he could have full access to your neck. His other hand squeezed your waist, fingers slithering under the hem of your shirt to brush against bare skin, sending shivers up your spine that tore a soft, breathy moan from your lips.

At the sound, Sirius pulled away to look at you. His lips were swollen and red, a slight shine of spit coating them. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

You nodded, breathless.

"Words."

"Yes." The word had barely left your lips before his were on yours again, pressing into you. With every step you took back to balance yourself, he took another forward, until you were backed against the wall. Your arms reached around his neck, holding him closer. One hand tugged at his raven locks, earning a delicious, downright sinful groan from him into your mouth.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, dove." He mumbled onto your neck, pressing deliberate kisses onto every patch of bare skin he could reach, licking and biting and sucking marks once he got to your collarbone, fingers tugging on the hem of your top to indicate for you to lift your arms as he pulled it over your head. His fingers trailed from your waist to the band of your pants, one finger from each hand hooking into a belt loop and pulling your hips forward, and over his knee, which made its way to being pressed between your thighs, causing you to gasp quietly. Your head was spinning from the excitement, your brain and body screaming for him. It was desperate, it was feral, it was hot.

"So pretty, love. Keep making those noises for me, sweet thing, love hearing 'em."

You could get drunk on the sound of him alone, but the feeling of his tongue trailing down your neck sent your body into overdrive. Sirius' hands found your thighs, where he grasped at the flesh before trailing up, up, and, to your partial and momentary dismay, up to your ass. Surprised by the sensation, you leaned into him, hips rolling in the process- creating sparks shooting down the pit of your stomach. A small whimper sounded in your throat at the sparks. Once you had a taste, you knew nothing but to chase it again.

Sirius, who'd heard the noise, was quick to oblige, guiding your hips against his until you'd found a pace grinding against each other. The bulge in his pants was unmistakable. Warm hands reached for your pants, unbuttoning so slowly it was painful.

"Sirius, please-"

You didn't know what you were begging for. You were too entranced by him to think properly, only knowing that it was so much and yet not enough.

"I know, I know. I got you." You could feel his lips pulling into a smirk against your shoulder, his hands tapping your thighs, followed by a quiet "jump". You were quick to oblige, leaping into his arms. His hands held you by the backs of your thighs, carrying you towards the bed before lying you down carefully.

"Fuck, you should see yourself. Stunning from this view." Sirius groaned, quick to hover over you, hands grazing your skin before hooking into your pants and tugging down firmly until they were discarded somewhere in the room.

"Christ, honey, you're gorgeous. Where've you been hiding this beautiful body?" Sirius seemed genuinely enthralled by the sight of you, eyes wide and lust-blown with his hands greedily reaching for your thighs, traveling up to your waist and groping your tits unabashedly. "Dunno how anyone could refuse you when you look like this."

Your chest instinctively pressed into his touch, breath stolen from your lungs when he kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip playfully before trailing his mouth down your throat down to your tits, where he was freeing them with one hand, easily snuck under your body due to the arch your back was making to meet him. His mouth was quick to latch onto your nipple, swirling his tongue around it whilst paying due attention to the other with his hand.

All you could do was whine and moan underneath him, in a heavenly haze fueled by his words, how enraptured he was with you. How openly admiring he was of you. His hands, how he touched you as if it was an honor. As if he were paying homage to you.

Speaking of his hands, they slipped from your breasts to find the band of your underwear, fiddling with it while his mouth was occupied sucking marks onto your tits and stomach, licking them over afterwards in an almost doglike apology for the pain.

Sirius pressed his palm directly to your clothed, crying core, causing you to jolt.

"This wet already? I haven't even done anything, pet, what's got you so worked up?"

He damn well knew the answer to his question. He flashed you a smirk, holding eye contact with you before sinking to his knees, hands tugging your panties until they pooled at your ankles, then lost like the rest of your clothes.

His eyes couldn't move from the sight of your legs, spread open by his hands, sopping wet.

"Hell, baby, you're perfect." He groaned, crawling forward until his lips, to your surprise, meet the apex of your sex in a hot, searing kiss that has your head falling back into the pillow and hands flying into his hair.

"You taste heavenly, he must be mental not wanting to taste this pussy." His words were muffled but they rang so clearly in your ears, only encouraging your face to redden and hands to grasp his long curls tighter. You nearly prayed for him to spur on the fuzzy, tingly feeling that set your skin on fire.

It wasn't often that your daydreams came true, but in this case, it was to the tee. He devoured you, tongue working ceaselessly against your cunt while he nosed your clit, causing your hips to buck up into him.

"So sweet, doll, and so wet. Could eat you for hours." His actions certainly highlighted his enthusiasm, fingers caressing through your folds before pressing the middle digit into your weeping hole, curling it to hit a spot that had you crying out for him, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

"There we are. You like that, baby? Show me how much you like it."

"Sirius, Sirius, please," you moaned, rolling your hips into his mouth.

"That's right, keep saying my name. Maybe Jack will hear, and he'll learn a few things. Hear how good you feel."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his words. You let out an almost pornographic moan when his finger, joined by another, found a quicker pace, rocking into you and pressing against that spot that had you seeing stars. Pressure was building up in your core, tumbling closer and closer.

"Yeah, just like that. Can feel you clenching around my fingers, honey, can't imagine how good it would feel around my cock."

"Siri, please, I'm close. Don't stop, don't you dare stop," You were cut off by a breathy chuckle, his fingers plunging in particularly rough that time.

"Wasn't planning on it, love, you taste so good I might not be able to."

With the thrilling combination of his voice, his tongue, and his hands, you were sent toppling over the edge, hips rocking slower and cunt gushing around him. Your moans became higher pitched and shorter, whinier, as you came undone underneath him.

You clutched onto his head like it was your lifeline as you came slowly down from your high, breathless and hazy and slightly sweaty. Even when the pleasure had subsided for jolts at the overstimulation, Sirius didn't stop licking every last drop from you. You whined, pussy clenching around nothing as he tongued your clit.

"Siri, please-"

"No, I'm not done with you yet. You've got one more in you, yeah? You can take one more."

You nodded, watching him through hooded eyes as he tugs his tee over his head hurriedly and does away with his pants, showcasing the impressive set of tattoos over his toned chest and the impressive tent that had long since been pitched.

"Gonna fuck any thoughts of that ass-hat right out of you," he grumbled, pulling his cock out before stroking it a few times, lining up with your pussy. He teased you with the tip a few times, pushing in just enough to stretch you, slapping it against your clit just to watch your face contort.

"What a perfect pussy. To die for, baby, 'm serious."

It took everything in you not to scream in pleasure when he pushed into you, deeper until he bottomed out. You both exhaled sharply before he started fucking you, slow at first but quickly finding a pace that was near animalistic. Slow, deep thrusts, hitting that damn spot in your pussy every. single. time.

"Fuck, keep milking me like that 'n I won't last," Sirius huffed, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, angling you so that he could go deeper. Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands scratching down his back as you moaned into the spot between his collar and his jaw.

Sirius' mouth was right by your ear as he murmured, "He can't fuck you like I can. He can't make you cum like I can. He doesn't deserve this pussy, my pussy."

You were breathless and dizzy, so overwhelmed by the sheer power of his thrusts, his hands going from your tits to rubbing deliberate circles against your clit. All of your senses were overwhelmed by pleasure, by him.

It wasn't long until you were approaching your second orgasm of the night, letting out shallow little gasps.

"Yeah, squeeze around me, just like that, milk my cock darling." His words were honey, addictive. You felt him throb inside of you. "Let go for me, love, cum for me."

Your cunt pulled his cock in, pulsating around it before spasming as you went right back into that glorious high, the one that made your hoarse voice go quiet and jaw slack in a silent scream before breaking into a gasp. Your spasming core couldn't handle it, squirting onto both of your thighs and surely making a mess on the sheets.

"Fuck, just when I thought you couldn't be any hotter." You felt him empty into you shortly after, his groans music to your ears. "So good, baby, so good for me."

The two of you lay there together, only the sound of heavy breathing audible in the room. The smell of sex permeated the room, suddenly warmer. Sirius gave your temple a kiss before pulling out, fingers reaching for your pussy to collect the cum oozing from it before bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean. He moaned around his own fingers, which was a sight in and of itself.

"Have I told you how damn good you taste?" He asks, a foggy smile tugging his mouth open.

"Yeah, but say it again."

Sirius gave you a devious look, one that you had come to know all too well.

"Or I could just show you."

Will there be a best friends to lovers series to come based on this? Yes, yes there will. Stay tuned and stay slutty.

Sirius Black Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #x reader smut #x reader #marauders era #marauders #the marauders #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter marauders

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tarmac-rat · 5 months

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WIP W/E but we're doing Sunday today

I've got a tag backlog of like 5 of these lmao so @ghostoffuturespast thank you for tagging me and waiting like 3 months before I had time lol 💜

Extra long one because hell I haven't shared anything in like 3 months and I wanted to assure everyone that I am in fact not dead.

From Rain in the Desert chapter 18. Mikoshi Chapter. Top 10 Conversations Held Right Before Disaster:

Whether she expected that to be met with laughter or annoyance, it hardly matters, because all Johnny gives her is one sagely nod. “Like I said, got all the time in the world now. Should think about what I told you last night, if you want a place to start, at least.” “Find my mom?” “Leave the city. Not just because you should and you’re too stubborn to see it yet— lotta heat’s gonna fall on you once this is all over. They’ll swarm your apartment, knock on some of your friends’ doors and give ‘em a shakedown, all the works. Sometimes, the best way to keep the people who care about you safe is to smash your holo with a hammer and fuck off into the desert for a couple years.” “Even without you in my head, I’m still finding ways to run through all your greatest hits.” “Say it like that’s a bad thing.” “No comment. And you, though? You come up with a plan yet?”

“Workin’ on it. Think it over for a bit, weigh some pros and cons, see if I like what I come up with. I'll burn that bridge when I get there.” “Just be careful.” “Always am, kid, but thanks for the pep talk.” “Will I ever see you again?” The words slip from her without thought. It’s like the one she asked on that overlook behind Westbrook, or in that booth inside the Afterlife, or shin-deep in the waves of the Pacific. A question born of pure, pathetic desperation— of a need for him to verify something in herself that she can’t even begin to explain. Because when the wall between them came crumbling down, there was no going back, all of her awful thoughts became his and all of his terrible dreams became hers. But now it’s been built back up and she’s left pounding on the bricks, screaming out for an answer that will never ever come. It doesn’t have to be loud, or resolute, or even honest. If she can just hear his voice join her own through all the miles between them, then could be she can find it in herself to live with that. Just something, a single word. Anything to prove that she isn’t on her own in this. But rather than give her that, the corners of Johnny’s mouth slowly draw up into a toothy smile. “Is that fondness I hear in your voice, princess?” he teases. It’s right around there V learns that code can, in no uncertain terms, flush, “Shut up.” “Sayin’ you’re actually gonna miss havin’ my shitty little thoughts ringin’ ‘round up in your head?” “Shut up. Johnny.” The look he throws her at that almost makes V wish that Alt would come back and Soulkill her all over again, “Always thought you wore sentimentality like a pair of shackles and a straitjacket, but this is somethin’ else. You mean I might actually see you shed a few tears when Alt starts cartin’ me off?” “Jesus, forget I said anything. Ask a genuine question and I end up getting grilled for it like I’m on some shitty daytime talk show,” V grits out, hand against her brow in an effort to shield her burning face, “Wanna toss jokes about me being ‘sentimental’, y’know, but here you are not even taking a lick of this seriously when I’m trying to be on the level. You want to know what you’ll actually see when you go, Johnny? How about me flipping you one last bird for the road, since apparently your gonk ass can’t bear to not make light about this shit for five fucking minutes.” “...I’ll miss your shitty little thoughts too, if it means anythin’.” V glances up. Johnny hadn’t been looking at her anymore but as if sensing it return, his gaze does rise to tangle up in hers again. His body betrays nothing, almost; she doesn’t miss the way his fingers have curled in tight around his latest cigarette, metal knuckles rasping some discordant song against the tabletop. And maybe that’s the thing she’d forgotten about being human. That words are incoherent things, and so rarely do they mean what we want them to. Well, when you’re stuck there pounding on a wall, what better way to say that you’re not alone in this than to pound back? “This won’t be the end, though, right?” the chain around V’s neck tightens; she’s got the pendant and dog tags locked in a visegrip again, “I mean, if I manage to find my way back to the Blackwall again, maybe Alt can…I don’t know, carry a message over? Let me through from time to time?” Johnny’s smile is small, and restrained, and probably speaks to something they both know can never really be, but for a moment, maybe pretending that it could can somehow be enough; “We’ll work somethin’ out, princess.”

If or when I have a new WIP to share, I'll probably do a WIP share tag then! But thank you again to everyone who's tagged me over the past couple of months!

#Cyberpunk 2077 #Rain in the Desert #Aldi speaks #Aldi Writes #I have workshopped so much of this chapter in particular lol and I have SO MUCH WORK TO DO ON IT #RIP me this is what I get for deciding that 30k chapters can be a new standard

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 year

Note

I require Frankie helping Jay with the bath or shower while she was pregnant please!

Thank you for the ask! That is a very specific - and delicious - situation! I wanted to make it sweet but it became a love song to the pussy, I guess??? Maybe not as much helping with showering as... well, you'll see.

I'm going with pregnant for the first time around, when they lived in an apartment, so no tub. (Or are tubs very common in American apartments? I honestly have no idea. I've only been to one, I think, and that one did actually have a tub. I haven't written them as having a tub before so I'm gonna go with no tub. But I digress!)

Warnings: Here there be porn. Pregnancy, pussy shaving, cunnilingus, squirting.

The shower has been running for a very long time and when Frankie hears a clatter, then a curse, he hurries to the bathroom. Through the mist and the wet of the cabinet glass, he sees Jay trying to bend down to pick something up. The nine month bump is, however, slightly in the way.

"Jay?"

Her head snaps up and he can see that she's pissed.

"I'm fine!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to shave but your child keeps getting in the way," she snaps, letting him know in no uncertain terms that it is his fault that she's in this predicament. "Not only am I unable to reach down there, I also keep knocking things over."

"Shave?" Frankie may be an accomplished pilot gifted with quick wits and lightning fast reflexes, but sometimes he just doesn't keep up with Jay. And his first thought when she talks about shaving is armpits.

Then he catches up, and frankly doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Do you have to shave down there? You're about to pop in a couple of weeks, can't it wait?" he suggests carefully, not wanting to piss her off even more - or let her know that he finds the issue moot and, truthfully, funny as hell.

"Would you prefer to have your mouth fill with hair every time you have a snack?" she points out, turning off the water and looking around for the can of shaving cream on the cabinet floor. Frankie shakes his head.

"You know I don't care."

"Maybe I do." Jay spots the can and takes a step back as she prepares to crouch. Frankie, in no mood to watch her slip and crack open her skull, puts a stop to it.

"Jesus fucking Christ, woman, stop it. I'll help you."

"Just what the fuck did you call me?" she asks acidly, but he can hear the relief in her voice. Shedding his clothes quickly, he opens the shower cabinet, picks up the can, then steps in, crowding Jay towards the corner.

"Hi," he tells her in a low voice, the sight of her big belly and swollen boobs making him a little lightheaded.

"Hi yourself," she replies, a little distant but with a lopsided smile on her face. "You've got a job, soldier, focus on that."

"Kiss me first," he asks, and he doesn't have to ask twice. Leaning in, her belly separating the two of them, Jay presses her lips to his in a sweet, long kiss. Knowing her so intimately, Frankie appreciates the apology for what it is, and plants a second, small kiss on her lips before she withdraws.

It's not in Jay's nature to ask for help, so he knows she's indeed incapacitated when she doesn't make any more fuss about him stepping in with the razor. Kneeling in front of her, he directs her legs apart to get a better view.

And what a view it is; his favorite one. Even in this mundane, slightly ridiculous situation, he has to focus on the task at hand instead of the alluring slit right in front of his face. His cock twitches in anticipation and he can see the delicate skin on the inside of Jay's thighs rise in goosebumps when he applies shaving cream on the bristles surrounding all the parts he wants to taste.

She doesn't speak, neither does he. Dragging the razor gently along her skin, he takes every precaution not to nick her, uses his fingers to stretch her outer labia to get as close a shave as possible, swallows hard when he sees the little bud at the very top of her slit wink at him. Jay's breathing seems a little labored, which pleases him a lot. When she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, he sees the slick seep out between her inner labia.

Madre de Dios.

"Little more," he tells her quietly, even if it might be himself that he has to ensure. A little more, just a little more before he can taste her, wet his lips with that sweet juice, bury his face between her legs.

Jay exhales in a subdued sigh, and Frankie finishes up as quickly as he can.

"Shower."

She takes the showerhead off its mount and hands it to him, turning on the water. He waits until it's warm enough, then directs it between her legs to rinse off what's left of the shaving cream. A tremble runs through her when the water sprays over her clit, and as soon as every last trace of cream is gone from her now hairless pussy, Frankie puts down the showerhead, grabs Jay's thighs, and presses his mouth on her.

She chokes on his name and grabs his hair in a half-hearted attempt to make him go slower, but Frankie is a man on a mission, and so Jay succumbs to him.

He really doesn't care what her pussy looks like, shaved or hairy, but he'll admit that there's something special about a hairless pussy, especially a newly shaven one. It's so soft and smooth, and obscene in how it reveals everything. Then again, hair has its own allure in how it frames and hides the wet heaven he just wants to plunge his tongue into. The contrast between the hair and the tissues is so stark, so intriguing. Frankie truly has no preference as long as the woman is the right one for him. And this one is the only one.

He hums his satisfaction, knowing how the vibrations of his voice will feel to her: as amazing he feels when she's groaning with his cock down her throat. Jay keens, and he digs his fingers into her butt cheeks as he licks into her, rubs his nose against her clit, uses his bristly chin to gather her slick, he wants to be drenched in it, wants to smell of her for the rest of the night. Freeing one hand from the soft flesh of her ass and thigh, he runs it up her inner thigh before slipping two fingers inside her. Focusing his mouth on her clit, he uses his fingers to really make a mess. Might as well make her squirt when they're in the shower cabinet.

She cums within moments, the gush of fiery liquid drenching his knuckles, her thighs trembling and her wail echoing between the tiles. Frankie hums his approval and goes on licking her, catching as much of the tangy sweetness as he can before Jay wraps her fingers into his hair and pulls him away. He sits back on his heels, catching his breath and looking triumphantly up at her disheveled, red-cheeked appearance.

"Don't... have to look so smug," she mutters. Frankie rubs his glossy chin.

"I think I earned the right."

She hums and offers him her hand to help him up. His rock hard cock bobs against the underside of her belly, and Jay catches it in her hand. Looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, she slowly strokes the girth of it, her fingers teasingly light.

"Want to do something about this...?"

He kisses her then, lets her taste herself and his own desire, cups her round tits, filling with milk for his baby. Tearing his lips from hers only to whisper one thing:

"Turn around."

#asks #miraclesabound #frankie morales #frankie morales x ofc #frankie x lady #lady jayne ray #my fic

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cats-and-confusion · 6 months

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"Adelaide" and the Honest Compulsive Liar

She’s woken by a heavy pounding on the door, rolling off the couch and onto the floor. Scrambling to her feet, she rips open the door to be met with a tall, burly man, wearing adventurer’s clothing. When he speaks, his voice is softer than she expected. "Pardon me, milady, but may I stay the night? There doesn't seem to be a tavern in this town, but I'll compensate you. I can just stay in the shed, if it's not too much trouble." He shifts his weight, and she notes the presence of a warhammer sheathed on his back.

Her face breaks into a cheerful grin. "Oh! I don't mind one bit! Come in, come in. Ooh, it's been so long since I had a stranger visit. New friends! How exciting. I think I'll call you Adelaide." She ushers him into the house, paying no mind that he has to duck to fit through the doorway as she practically drags him in.

"Oh, um…" He hesitates, unsure whether to correct her and properly introduce himself, or just let her do her thing. He’s met a lot of people in his travels, but this…this was new.

She guides him through the house, a decently sized home, clearly well used. Dirty dishes lie on practically every surface, and the floor is littered with clothes and quills and empty plastic bottles. "Now come here Adelaide, I've a spare room for you in the house! Haha, just kidding, I lied. But I do have a storage room that’s relatively well insulated, I reckon you could sleep in there!" She giggles.

The newly assigned Adelaide tries again to interject, not wanting to seem impolite by outright interrupting, but also having very little energy to deal with this eccentric individual. “I don’t, uh-”

“Ooh, take your shoes off before we go into the kitchen! I don’t like cleaning wood floors, you know. Actually you should sit down at the dining table, I’ll go ahead and get something for you.” She sits him at the cluttered table in a chair wildly too small for him, and she brushes aside the various trinkets and trash in front of him, effectively clearing a portion of the table.

She continues. “Y’see, my grandmum came over an’ gave me cooked squash in one of those bowls, but I hate squash, so I don’t want it. I reckon the roads ain’t too kind to you, you’re hungry, yeah? You want squash?” She gestures at him with a wooden spoon in her hand, taking things from the ice box already.

“...S- sure…” He agrees, resigned to his fate at this point. And, he may admit, he is rather hungry.

She beams, heating the bowl over the fire just a little. “Splendid! Anyway, I lied, it’s not squash, it’s carrots. Here you go!” She sets down a bowl of carrots and other assorted leaves in front of him, along with the spoon. It’s still mostly carrots.

“I don’t know what the spices are so just pray you aren’t allergic. Cheers!” She takes a seat back on the couch, practically the only non-cluttered thing in this place, and picks up a notebook from the floor. She fishes a quill off of the floor, too, and begins writing in the notebook. He wonders where she gets all that paper; it’s rather expensive, after all.

He fiddles with the utensil, much too small in his hand, and stirs his food uncertainly. Should he mention it? He shouldn’t mention it. His mouth is already moving. “Hey, um…I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but…what the hell is wrong with you?” He asks sincerely, cringing at his wording. This person is being so kind to him, why did he say that? How will she react?

Shockingly, she bursts into laughter, interrupting his anxious spiral. “Ehehahahahah! Yeah, I get that a bunch. Actually I don’t because I never talk to people. But I bet I would!” Her laughter dies down to soft giggles, and then stops, yet she remains smiling.

“...Oh,” is all he can manage to say. This woman is baffling. Insane, even, but she doesn’t seem harmful like some perfectly sane people he’s met, so…this is a fine alternative, he supposes. “...Can i still stay the night?” he asks hopefully, wincing.

“You sure can, Adelaide!” She affirms brightly. He resists the urge to rub his face in stress.

“That’s not my-”

“You sure can, Adelaide!” She repeats, in a lower tone this time, more firmly. He doesn’t know why this lady is so intent on calling a very burly masculine man ‘Adelaide’, but he doesn’t have the heart to argue with her. Adelaide it is.

He relents. “...Okay.”

Adelaide begins to eat, or at least tries to, but it’s rather difficult. Who eats carrots with a spoon?

#my writing #creative writing #writing piece #compulsive liar #unnamed character

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every-dayiwakeup · 2 years

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The One Where Eddie Doesn't Die

TW: unedited, THAT scene rewritten, mentions of abuse and N*il ofc is his own 🚩🚩

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Munson?" Billy Hargrove bellows over the thumping and screeching of the bats. "Are you a fucking moron?"

Eddie, with the look of a scolded child on his narrow, paled face, tries to fight out of Billy's killer grip, punching weakly at his stupidly broad chest. "Not... a... moron."

"You were gonna cut that sheet." Billy's voice is quieter now, albeit a bit hoarse from all the yelling. "You were gonna die-"

"What do you care? Dude, you don't even know me!" Eddie snaps, and Billy doesn't loosen his hold on him, but Eddie doesn't feel restrained. He's still pissed, though. Who wouldn't be?

Hargrove had done nothing but send him death stares and chew gum with his mouth open since Eddie had met him.

"Oh? I think I do. I was a coward, too. My whole life. I was never a hero. A hero saves people. I couldn't save my mom, I couldn't make her stay."

Eddie stops struggling, and Billy's grip weakens to match his shaky tone. "My dad, he was a... mean son of a bitch. Like, really mean."

Eddie nods, tight lipped. He was never good at conversation that wasn't about Ozzy or Metallica.

"He started hitting me when I was seven. When I broke his mother's clay pot. Knocked it over by accident, of course. I told him I didn't mean it." Billy subconsciously covers his left eye, and Eddie looks, truly looks at Billy Hargrove, for the first time.

And he sees everything, even the sharp yet beautiful edges, because ugliness and Billy Hargrove could not ever exist in the same sentence.

A scared little boy, so hated by a world that did nothing but watch as he suffered. A dutiful son. A brother who would kill to protect his sister. A child who hadn't felt a loving touch in so long, he'd forgotten the very existence of such. Love? Hope? Foreign to him. And how could someone who was treated so horribly ever know that there was any other way, if it had never been shown to him?

He gulps, willing himself not to cry.

These were not his tears to shed, and he wasn't a bitch, but he couldn't deny it; he felt sorry for Billy Hargrove. Still, he had a burning question, and his lips were not meant to be zipped this long.

"Your dad was a dick, and I'm sorry. But what does that have to do with me? You literally just met me, man."

"And I clearly have more of a respect for your life than you do," Billy says, a dangerous edge starting to return to his voice.

Ouch. He took it back, Hargrove was a huge dick. Was he right about his pointed assessment? Spot fucking on. Didn't mean it didn't sting. "Fuck you, man. Fuck you!"

"I'll pass. You're not my type."

Eddie growls, shoving at Hargrove, who apparently consumes a steady diet of concrete and human suffering, because he doesn't move an inch. Bastard. "Why did you bother, then?"

"That didn't sound like a thank you."

"Well, I didn't ask for you to!"

Billy rolls his eyes, and turns to Henderson, the fire in his eyes smoldering into something akin to concern. "Dusty, kid, are you alright?"

Henderson nods, wiping his eyes. "I think I just shit myself, but I'm alright."

"Kid's a trooper," Billy says fondly, ruffling Henderson's mop of curls. "I hope Robin, Nancy, and... Steve are alright."

Eddie narrows his eyes in suspicion and a tad bit of... jealousy? No, annoyance. Definitely annoyance. He has finally met his match, and not in rock n' roll hell."You call them by their first names."

"Yeah. I respect them."

"Wow. You're a fucking dick."

"So I've been told."

"Answer my question, Hargrove, or I swear to God, I'm gonna go out there and-"

"What? Sacrifice yourself for a town that doesn't give a shit about you?"

Again, right on the money. Hargrove wasn't as stupid as Mike said he was. "You don't understand. I left C...Ch...Chrissy there. I saw her and I-I ran."

"Seems like a normal, appropriate reaction."

"Too normal for me," Eddie grumbles.

Billy frowns, and lets him sink into the mattress. "That instinct kept you alive. You made it this far."

"But that-that thing killed her! You didn't know, you didn't see-"

"The same fucker that killed your girl, he made me his bitch. Gave me these." Hargrove pulls up his shirt, revealing gnarly purple scars littering his upper torso. "Ugly, I know. They're the only scars that can never go away." Billy shakes his head like a wet dog, the same thing Eddie does when he wants to ward off pesky thoughts. "I thought I was ready... to you know... kick the bucket. Bleeding out, and all I thought was how... disappointed my mother would be. If she was there, waiting. The doctors said my heart stopped twice. That I wouldn't have made it... if it weren't for Steve and his band of Rugrats."

"Are you two just gonna sit on your asses or are you gonna help me?" Dustin huffs as he closes the last possible entry.

"Your screeching is gonna aggravate them, Henderson." Billy snickers as he ducks a soda can, and Dustin flips him off. Yet there's a clear connection between them, almost parental. Albeit, an unconventional father who definitely needed someone to reel him in at times.

Not that Eddie would know much about that.

"I didn't think I was worth fighting for. I didn't think I had anything to live for. Truthfully, I'd felt dead inside since my mom left. But it does get better. Granted, it takes time-"

"You're talking in circles, buddy."

Billy rolls his eyes, muttering, "Jesus fuckin' Christ" as he ties his matted curls into a sloppy bun. "You don't have to be the hero right now. This? This is a battle. Losing your life won't avenge Chrissy." His blue pupils switch from Henderson to a yellow sweater on the floor, dilating slightly. Harrington's sweater. "Your death won't help anyone. This is a war. So..." Billy holds out Eddie's makeshift trash lid shield, staring at him intensely, "are you gonna fight?"

Eddie takes the shield with a surprisingly steady hand, gripping the metal. His jaw sets in newfound determination. " 'Till the final countdown," he replies, and Billy half laughs, half groans.

"Good. Then don't pull that sacrificial bullshit, this isn't your time."

He smirks; he's starting to figure out the land mine that is Billy Hargrove. He'd even go as far as to say he'd like h-

Like annoying him, that is.

He gives Billy a mock salute, winking, and underneath the muck, he swears he sees a hint of redness on the blonde's freckled cheeks.

Oh, he's going to stay alive for a little longer. There are so many more people left to annoy.

#harringrove #billy x eddie #mungrove #billy x steve #this is exactly what happened #fanfiction #harringrove week #billy would have saved eddie #rat boys gotta have each others backs

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3pirouette · 1 year

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Fic: In the Bleak Midwinter (1/1)

Title: In the Bleak Midwinter By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: takes place during CA: TFA, but can be considered AU. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Read it on AO3

Story Summary: @steggyfanevents Secret Santa gift for thesokovianaccords. A quiet moment in the snow with Steve and Peggy. Set mid- CA: TFA.

A/N: For the Amazing @thesokovianaccords! I hope this meets your expectations. I got the compass, some dramatics, some mid-mission events, and some good old Steggy snuggling in there… I’m not really sure why it turned so bittersweet, but I hope there’s enough sweet that it makes you feel good. I had hoped to come up with a good Rom Com idea, but I’m just not a Rom Com writer sometimes…

Title is from the poem “In the Bleak Midwinter” by Christina Rossetti.

Please forgive any typos- I'll go back and re-edit, but for now I've looked over it obsessively and can't look at it any more!

~*~

“You should have let them take you in the transport.”

Peggy snuggled closer to Steve. Normally he gave off quite a bit more body heat, but considering the small shed they’d managed to find had little the way in insulation and even less in the way of glass in the windows, he had little to share at the moment. “What, and miss this?”

He clicked his teeth, and she felt more than heard his groan as a rumble in his chest. “Peggy—”

She leaned back, brushing the stray hairs that escaped her chignon out of her face. “I was not, under any circumstances, going to endure a two-hour, bumpy as hell ride sitting on laps.” She shook her head and snuggled back down into him. “And you know as well as I do that the back of that jeep would have been as cold, if not colder, than our current accommodations.”

Steve gently pushed her to the side, standing. “We’re lucky we found these accommodations and you know it.” He started wandering around the small shed that held only the remnants of farm equipment, ticking off a mental list of their current supplies. “You should have—”

“Say that one more time and you know I’ll start walking back on my own,” Peggy threatened, sitting tall against the small divider wall they’d huddled themselves against. The remnants of a bale of hay behind it had made it the least chilled structure in the small shack and more than inviting for a rest compared to the howling winds outside as the sun set low.

Steve looked over his shoulder at her, scowling, but went right back to his search. “Oh, don’t I know.” He shook his head as he dug through a pile in the corner. “You know those guys wouldn’t have tried anything and they—”

“That’s not what I was thinking and you know it!” Peggy stood, righteous in her anger. “It would have been cold and uncomfortable, to start.” She stepped up next to him and started helping sort through the pile of odds and ends. “Of course, Bucky and Dugan and Morita would have been pure gentlemen.” She grimaced, pulling out a mess of what looked like animal leads and leashes. “It was the Hydra men tied up next to them that would have been making lewd comments the whole way back that I wasn’t looking forward to.” Steve opened his mouth to rebut, but closed it quickly when he saw her eyes. “Those German soldiers do have the filthiest of mouths,” she muttered, sliding a shovel out of the way.

“I understand,” Steve said quietly, sorting through a bucket of screws and nails.

She sighed at the tension she’d unwittingly created, but knew it was more the adrenaline of the mission and the firefight and the anxiety about making it back to base in the morning more than anything else. She looked over at him from under her lashes, voice carefully even, “You could have sat on laps, you know.”

He laughed, a single bark of lightness in the dark and cold shed. “Yeah, Buck and Dugan would have loved that.” He shifted the bucket back against the wall and finally unstrapped his helmet, his hair standing on edge, sweaty and dry in patches, as he pulled it off. “What? And leave you to have all the fun here?”

She chuckled lightly, pulling her fingers deftly away from something she was sure had once been a pile of manure. “We both passed the same outdoor survival training and you know it.” She pivoted in her squat, turning towards him. She ran her fingers through his hair, settling it to something that was almost tame. “It also didn’t escape my mind that I haven’t seen you for more than five minutes in the last month and after this mission debrief it is quite possible it will stay that way for the next few months, as well.”

He gently pulled her hand from his hair, holding it in his, eyes darkening. “Yeah, there is that.”

“Oh, don’t go all sappy now.” She took her hand back and turned to the pile. “We can have dramatic declarations of love once we get a fire going.” She carefully set what looked to be a broken saw blade aside. “A cold and bumpy ride in a jeep followed by a cold and lonely night on base worrying about you is much less desirable than our current situation.”

Steve shrugged, turning back to the task at hand with just a hint of a smile enough to let her know that he saw their situation in the same light. “I think there’s enough cracks in the ceiling and broken windows that the smoke won’t be a problem…”

“But?” she asked when he trailed off.

He shrugged. “Even if I can get a fire pit dug through that,” he tipped his head to the crumbling concrete that made up the floor of the shed, “I don’t know that we’ll have enough kindling to keep it lit through the night.”

Peggy stood, kicking the dust on the floor. She took a few steps, humming as she looked at the hay remnants in the corner. She looked at him, but his only reply to her unspoken question was a raised eyebrow. She smiled back suggestively, licking her lips. “If it were colder…” She let the sentence fall away.

“It’s worth it to keep to sleep in,” he supplied quickly, ignoring her innuendo. “It’ll keep us insulated from the floor, at least.”

“A roll in the hay?” She chuckled at his eye roll, kicking through the bottom edge of the hay. “Could you be slightly less than stoic for a moment?”

He lifted the shovel and took a few quick steps over to her, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. “Sorry,” he moved back to the center of the small room and started kicking debris away from the center of the floor, “I still feel like we’re not alone.”

“We’re never alone,” she grumbled, watching as he sized up the hole. “You get started on the pit,” she pushed off the small wall and moved to the door, “I’ll see what I can find in the way of kindling outside.”

Peggy slipped out of the shack into the chilled night to the sounds of Steve setting the shovel against the concrete. He could have used his shield, and she figured if it didn’t start crumbling under the shovel quickly, he would, but she wasn’t going to make a fuss. He was still on edge, as was she, about how the night had gone. A slim win was still a win, but the casualties still stung. She just wanted to spend the few hours they had together, however they’d managed them, in relative peace. The sun had completely set and the moon was rising high in the sky, making it was easy for her to start picking small twigs and long blades of dry grass from around the abandoned shed.

She stopped for a moment, looking up, and wondered if she should take her chances in the bombed out remains of the house just a few hundred yards away. She’d made a good argument for it, but Steve had looked at her with such a haunted look she knew there was a reason he told her no. She set back to picking up small sticks, her arms soon filled. She knew he saw things. They both had. The longer the war went on, the more desperate each day got, the more gruesome the scenes, the more violent and angry the men, the more desensitized the got to the losses and death. She prayed for an end to it every day, and knew Steve did, too.

She wasn’t sure what would happen to them when there wasn’t a war on, but they never quite looked to that tomorrow too closely when one wrong bullet or bomb could change all of their plans.

She slipped back into the shed, arms laden. “How’s it going?”

He didn’t look up from his work, on his hands and knees, forming a bowl in the dirt of the ditch he’d dug. “Fell apart pretty easily. How’d you do?”

“Should be enough for a bit, and there’s plenty more out there.” She set her small pile down next to him and went to her pack, digging around for her waterproof matches as he started arranging the sticks. “I can go—”

“No,” he was quiet and firm, and didn’t even look up from where he was precariously balancing some of the larger sticks into a cone. “I’ll go out if we need more, but we should be okay for a while.”

Peggy squatted down next to him, holding out her tin of matches. “Care to share why you are melancholy at turns?” The words were sharp, but her tone soft. “I’m getting a bit of whiplash here.”

He held her hand for just a second as he took the tin of matches, then went back to getting the fire going.

His silence was more than enough for Peggy. “It’s been a bad month, hasn’t it?” He paused at her words, but didn’t say anything as he resumed settling the kindling against the small flame as the match caught the twigs around it. “I suppose I could read the reports,” she started gently, settling down cross-legged next to him, “but you very well know I’ve seen the same things you have.” She waited for some kind of reaction, and finally reached out and stopped his hands from playing with the fire that was no longer in need of such tending. “Stop being dramatic and talk.”

He slumped back, keeping her hand in his. “it’s just…” He took a slow deep breath. “It’s just starting to get to me. The death, the destruction, the innocent people…”

“Not what you signed up for?” she asked gently, sliding closer so she could meet his eyes.

“No,” he nearly laughed out. “No, I don’t think this was what any of us signed up for, do you?”

She let their beaths sync, let the quiet crackling of the growing fire calm their anxious minds. It was always too much: there was always another mission, another communique, another secret to uncover, another battle to be fought. They were living in harrowing times, in a constant state of kill or be killed, and neither one of them often got to express just how tiresome, how stressful, it could be: there were too many people counting on them, too many people looking towards their leadership, to show signs of fatigue.

She had two choices: she could push and try to get him to open up, or she could move past it, let it get buried, and maybe one day they’d talk about it or maybe they wouldn’t. He was usually good about opening up on his own, and when she’d pushed in the past, he had clammed up further. It was an easy decision to make.

She smiled, standing. “Well, I know none of us signed up for K-Rations.” His chuckle, somewhere between surprised and amused, was enough sign to her that she’d made the right choice. She dug through her pack and held up the two cans. “Can I interest you in ham and cheese or ham and cheese?” She held them both out, posing like she was presenting them on the USO show stage with a smile.

A tiny glint lit up his eyes as he pretended to weigh his options. “I think I’ll take…the ham and cheese.”

She gave a brief curtsey as she handed him the tin he’d pointed towards. “Excellent choice, sir!” She turned back, rooting in her bag for the two tiny spoons she kept in there, and grabbed the little box of crackers. She handed hers over to him to open as she sat next to him, the fire finally something big enough to start radiating warmth towards them.

Steve popped the top off her can quickly and handed it back. “Bucky’s mom makes the best ham,” he mused, opening his own can and staring at the contents, “Christmas Eve we would all sit and watch as dish after dish came out of that kitchen. There wasn’t enough room on your plate for all of it.” He paused; cracker stopped in mid-air on its way to the tin. “Is it… what day is it?”

Peggy laughed around her spoon, swallowing before speaking. “You’re not that far out of touch, darling. Christmas isn’t until next week yet.”

He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile and resumed dipping his cracker into his tin of meat and cheese. “Sometimes days feel like years…”

“And sometimes they feel like minutes,” Peggy finished. She scraped at the edges of her tin. “Did you always do Christmas with the Barnes family?”

“Mostly,” he shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “Buck and I have been friends since we were little.” He looked down at his tin and scooped another mouthful with a cracker. “She was the kind of person who cooked for the whole neighborhood, everyone was always invited in.” He smiled. “The house was crazy, kids all over, running and playing and if it was snowing out—” he laughed at the memory, “there would be snowballs outside and inside. Pure pandemonium in the best way. We got there in the early afternoon and didn’t leave until it was time for midnight mass. Ma and I always went home with big plates of leftovers and cookies and cake.” He bumped her shoulder, warmed by the memory. “How about you?”

Peggy set down her emptied can and picked up a cracker, running her nail along the jagged edge, eyes wandering into the past as she spoke. “Oh, Christmas was always quite the formal affair. We’d get dressed in our Sunday best, then we were paraded in front of grandparents and Aunts and Uncles. Michael and I were expected to be quiet and dutiful during formal dinners.”

Steve smirked, raising his eyebrows. “How’d that go?”

She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow. “About as well as you’d expect.” Peggy was searching for a story to tell when Steve’s voice surprised her.

“When we get home,” his voice was soft, using a phrase she’d never heard him use before, “I’m sure Mama B is gonna have the biggest Christmas dinner ever.”

Peggy stilled, watching his eyes glaze over as he spoke. She reached out, covering his hand with hers as he talked.

“Bucky will insist you come, you know. And she’ll have invited half the neighborhood, like usual. There will be at least two hams, and whole tables of gravy and mashed potatoes and the greens and sweet potatoes…” He closed his eyes, a soft smile taking over his lips. “I can almost smell it. And the pies!” His shoulders sagged. “Rebecca, his sister, makes the best pecan pie.”

“Tell me more,” Peggy whispered quietly.

His eyes opened, almost like he’d forgotten where he was, and he smiled. He slipped the two empty tins to the side and slid himself around Peggy, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Well, to start with, their house is small: a little brownstone around the corner from my apartment. But inside? You can’t imagine how many people they fit in there.” He chuckled as she melted back into him. “She starts cooking the day before, Bucky’s Aunts and cousins all come over, and they try like hell to keep all those kids out of the kitchen. I remember each year running these little… missions… I guess you could call ‘em, with Bucky and Rebecca and all of us just trying to steal little morsels out from under her nose and she never got mad just chased us back out while we laughed until our stomachs hurt, you know?”

“Sounds delightful,” she whispered, watching as the lightness of the memory melted the heaviness of the war and years away from his face.

“So, I’m sure there will be kids running around, and everywhere you look there’s just chairs shoved here and there so people can sit and eat and laugh. And it’s hot… it’s always hot no matter how cold it is outside.”

“From the ovens or the people?” She asked, running her hand through his hair.

“Both,” he chuckled, taking her hand and holding it in his. He snuggled closer to her, wrapping her in a tight hug. “By the time we were older Buck and I always had jobs- setting up extra tables, making sure the decorations were just-so, running errands for last minute ingredients.” He laughed, a memory bright in his tone. “Didn’t mean we stopped trying to steal bites, or that she ran us out of the kitchen any less.” He buried his nose in her neck, dropping a soft kiss there before turning serious. “The Barnes’ are the only family I have left. I can’t wait for you to meet Mama B.”

“I would be honored to meet her,” She replied gently, tucking her head under his chin. It was almost cozy now, by the fire in their small shed, the cracks in the roof pulling the smoke up and away while they were still able to take advantage of the warmth of the fire. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say next: they didn’t often talk about the future, so instead, she said nothing and threaded her fingers through his, holding his hand tight.

“You were right,” he said softly before he kissed her hair, “We needed this. I needed this.”

“Can’t ever be alone on a base.”

“It’s never quiet on base.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this comfortable on base.”

He looked down at he, teasing, “Well, I’d hope not.”

She laughed, pulling from his arms and reaching over past him, setting a few more sticks into their fire. “You think it’ll make it through the night?” She settled on her knees, looking over their dwindling pile and the small flickering flames.

He sat up, scratching his head. “Probably not. I can—”

“You keep it going,” she kissed him quickly before he could stop her. “I know exactly where I’ve picked over and where there will be more kindling. I’ll be back in half a mo.” She stood and was out the door before he could object.

She wasn’t sure what it was about the way they were bouncing through emotions, about the heaviness that seemed to settle over them tonight, but she needed a break from it. It was suffocating in both the best and the worst ways. The idea that there was going to be a Christmas where she was laughing with the mysterious Mama B and Bucky and his houseful of friends and family… it seemed like a promise and a curse. She didn’t make plans, not during this war. It seemed as soon as anyone she knew made plans, there wasn’t any life left for them to live them. She bundled the sticks in her arms, hurrying around until she couldn’t balance another on her pile, before struggling her way back into the shed.

“Goodness,” she shivered, shuffling over to the fire. “It’s quite biting out there. This fire’s doing its job.” She settled her pile carefully before crouching down and rubbing her hands together, holding them out to the flames. “We did get very lucky.”

Steve’s reply took just a second longer than she was expecting, and it had a hint of honey in it that made her turn to him. “Very lucky.”

He was sitting against the wall, elbows on his knees, rolling his compass over and over in one hand, eyes warm and drowsy. She sat into one hip, smiling. “What are you on about?” She chuckled, standing and closing the distance to sit next to him, “Because I know it’s not this shack.”

“We got lucky,” he repeated softly, taking her hand in his and draping them over his knee. He squeezed it gently for a second before flipping his compass open.

Peggy shook her head, looking away. “You still have my picture in there?”

“Take it everywhere I go,” he replied proudly. He smiled and tipped his head on hers just for a second at her blush. “What? It embarrasses you?”

“I just,” she twittered lightly, looking for the words, cheeks still a bit red, “I just never imagined myself the kind of woman a man would keep a photograph of… I’m nothing special, Steve.”

He leaned back, surprised. “Nothing special?”

“I’m not a pinup,” she rebutted, slightly incensed she had to explain, not wanting to say how her former fiancé had never carried her picture around and she’d been prepared to spend the rest of her life with him.

“No,” he carefully trod, “You’re ten times any of those girls. Beautiful. Smart. Sharp. Way more than just a pretty face, Peg.” He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to him. “You know why I keep you in my compass?”

“Because you haven’t a pocket for a billfold in those pants?”

He laughed at her surprising joke. “Uh, no, I guess I don’t. But, that’s not the reason.”

She snuggled down against him, turning her body into his side. “Well, then?”

“My dad left me this compass.” He turned it in his hand, showing her the well-worn age. “I never met him, he died in the war before I was born. When I was a kid, I was so mystified by how it would point North no matter where I went. When I was a boy scout, I learned how to use it to find out where I was going, how to chart places…” He sighed with the memory, his words falling away.

“Useful, that,” Peggy encouraged.

“I made a few… wrong decisions,” he started cautiously.

“You? Never!”

He leaned into her playfully. “Not just impulsive like I tend to be now, but downright wrong. I was letting other kids influence me. I wanted to be seen, wanted to be bigger than I was.”

“We all do,” she whispered gently, laying her hand on his arm.

“So, my Ma, she sat me down and made me put the compass on the table. She knew how much it meant to me.” He set it on the floor and gently spun it. “She told me… she told me that a compass will always tell you which way is North,” he paused, watching the compass spin in the dim firelight, “but it cannot tell you what is right.”

She watched as he set the compass back to him, her picture staring up at them. “That’s pretty profound.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, lifting the compass back into his hand. “She took it from me for the night and made me think about what she’d said. The next morning, I had to apologize and she gave it back.”

“That explains why you have it on you all the time, but not why my picture is in there.”

Steve shifted, tucking the compass in his belt before he reached for her hips, setting her straddle over his knees. He pushed back a few stray hairs, eyes thin blue rings in the dark light. “Doesn’t it, thought?”

She shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she leaned forward, kissing him gently.

He nudged his nose against hers, wrapping his arms softly around her waist. “Sure, it does. My compass tells me what’s North. You tell me what’s right.”

She pulled back, surprised. Her chin quivered with the tightness that suddenly took over her chest. “Steve—” she barely whispered out.

His voice was soft as he met her eyes. “You know I love you, Peggy.”

“And I love you,” she replied quickly, still trying to find a way out of her shock at his words. “You’ve always been a good man,” she whispered, running her hand down his cheek. “You don’t need me to tell you your course.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied firmly. “Every day it gets harder to do what’s right, to remember what’s right. Every day out here there’s another thing that I don’t want to see, another horrific reminder of the darkest pieces of humanity,” he closed his eyes tight together, shaking his head before looking back up at her. “I need something to look at every once in a while, to remind me that there are things worth fighting for, that the easy thing to do isn’t always the right thing, that…” He took a deep breath, softening. “To remind me that there are family Christmas Eves back home still happening that I’m going to take you to after all this is over.”

Peggy stopped his rant with her finger pressed gently to his lips. “I’m honored that I can do that for you,” she whispered, “but you mustn’t put me on a pedestal quite that high. I’m liable to fall.”

He moved forward, kissing her gently. “Never,” he whispered against her lips.

She kissed him for long minutes, finding solace in the warmth of him, of the feeling of being so close they were almost the same being. His lips soothed the raw edges his words had left. He always managed to surprise her in how he saw her, and while she knew her value, so rarely did she ever think she was worth that kind of praise or worship. Tonight, she wasn’t going to argue with him.

She pulled back, swinging one leg over so she could sit across his lap, settling against him better. At his look, she shrugged. “Cement was hurting my knees.” She stopped him before the apology in his throat could leave his lips with just a look.

“You know,” she started lightly, playing with the strap across his chest, “I’ve often thought about keeping your picture with me.”

“Have you?”

She smiled at the way he tried to keep the interest out of his voice. “But it wouldn’t do for a spy to be caught with her boyfriend’s picture in her pocket.” She felt his disappointment when he hummed in agreement under her. “But the thing is, I don’t need to.”

“’Cause you remember my face?” Steve asked, only half joking.

“Because I see it everywhere,” Peggy replied, sincere. “Captain America is a bastion for all that is good in the War. I see you on posters and in newspapers.” She took a deep breath, readying her confession. “My last assignment, I was so lonely, I kept a paper for weeks and weeks just so I could look at your picture at night. If anyone noticed it, I was going to say I kept it to help start the stove in the little flat I was in.” She shrugged. “You’re right. It’s hard to remember some days.”

He held her tighter, tucking her under his chin. “Every day we get closer to an end.”

“Do you really believe that?” She asked, eyes focusing on the flickering of the fire beyond them.

“I have to,” he whispered, “I have to.”

She was comfortable in his arms, as comfortable as she’d been in months watching their small fire flicker away. The fire was keeping the chill at bay, enough for her to forget they had a long slog on foot in the cold back to base as soon as the sun came up. She could almost imagine they were in a little house, on the floor of the living room, a couch at their backs and a hardwood floor underneath them, fire flicking away in their fireplace. She didn’t often fantasize about the future, found it too painful to hope for things she couldn’t control, but her eyes started to droop as she indulged in imagining that scene. A yawn escaped her lips, and before she could hide it, he cradled her closer.

“Tired?”

“I suppose,” she deflected, “But I’ll manage a watch.”

“Sleep,” he whispered, brushing his hand over her head before kissing her temple.

Her words were still heavy with fatigue. “I can—”

“I know you can,” he gently stopped her, his voice calm and warm like honey. “I know you can.” He rubbed his hand up and down over her shoulder, soothing her closer and closer to sleep. “You’re comfortable, and I won’t sleep either way.”

“I should fight you on this,” she mumbled, cuddling closer to his chest.

“Shure you should,” his voice seemed so far away now. “But you won’t.”

The fire light faded to black as her eyes closed, the chill of the shack fading away in the comfort of Steve’s arms.

~*~

“Peg?”

She hummed at the sound of his voice, trying to turn away from his hand that was smoothing her hair down, the other rubbing over her leg, wishing desperately she could stay like this for just a few moments longer.

“Peggy?”

“I didn’t mean to sleep all night,” she croaked out, slipping from his arms and sliding to the cold floor next to him. The sky was lighter outside of the windows, and the fire was dwindling to almost nothing.

“I wanted you to.” He smiled softly, stealing a quick kiss. “I know how much trouble you have sleeping at base.”

“And off base, and on missions.” Peggy stood up, brushing the dirt off her pants and reaching out for him. “If there’s one fault of mine, it’s surely that while I can manage nearly any condition you can throw at me, I much prefer a warm soft bed and the peace of the indoors any day.”

He smiled, pushing off the ground to stand next to her, watching as she leaned back with her thumbs against her spine until he heard a satisfying pop. “Wanting comfort isn’t a fault, Peggy. Especially after all we’ve slept on.” He moved over to the fire, fanning it and adding a few more sticks to attempt to make some coffee. “I thought you were a tomboy?”

She smiled, bringing over an armful of supplies to sit next to him. “I was. I could rough and tumble with my brother and the boys without a problem. Didn’t mind playing in the dirt or climbing trees or getting messy- much to my mother’s chagrin, mind you.” She set out the two tin cups and starting pouring the water from their canteens in. “But no matter how much I begged, she never let me go camping or stay out to sleep under the stars. There was a routine every night, and there were some things my mother suffered, but me not having a lady’s toilette every night was not one of them.”

Steve laughed, “I can only imagine.”

“Oh, very often there was kicking and screaming involved, at least when I was little.” Peggy smiled, poring the instant coffee powder in and stirring. “But it’s ingrained that so fully now, it feels wrong to go without it.” She met his downturned lips with a bright shake of her head. “Last night was much better, I assure you.”

Steve took the two cups and set them next to the fire, as close as he could manage. “I’m sure I’m not nearly as comfortable as a bed would be.”

She waggled her eyebrows, sitting cross-legged next to him. “I was more than comfortable,” she was interrupted by a yawn, but continued, “and you are much more enticing than any old bed.”

He shrugged shyly, and just like so many other times, she could see that skinny man he once was, the man whose confidence bloomed just as much as his muscles did when he stepped in that machine. “I still find that hard to believe sometimes,” he muttered, sticking his pinky in one of the cups to test the temperature of the water.

“You shouldn’t,” she replied, sliding over a fruit bar ration. “You’ll be tired of hearing it from me eventually, I suspect.”

Instead of the ration, he took her hand and slipped her into is arms. “Never,” he whispered, kissing her fervently.

It was easy to melt into his arms, to fall into the kiss and wrap herself around him. They didn’t do it often enough. It was still a novelty, still something that was new and exciting and somewhat taboo because if they were every found out by the wrong person, well… she wasn’t sure what the repercussions would be. They were in Allied territory, they were warm, they were safe and they were alone. She wrapped her arms tight around him, trying to eliminate any space she could.

It was the snap and pop of the fire, their coffee sputtering over as it boiled that separated them. Steve heard it first, his sensitive ears tuned to the fact that something was wrong. He pulled away, grabbing what was left of their coffee from the fire, sputtering and cursing at the searing hot cups.

Peggy wiped at her lips as she sat back, expecting there to be lipstick on her fingers before she remembered she’d last applied it over a day ago. They were tingling and swollen, something she hadn’t felt in so long.

It made her want more, but there wasn’t time for that now.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been lost in one another, but it was long enough for the sun to be creating rays through the cracks of the boards in the walls. She was sure they’d be granted some grace period, but neither wanted to push Phillips’ temper, or gamble with the thought that neither one was needed somewhere.

Seemed they were always needed somewhere for something.

Steve passed her a cup, somewhat cooled, and dug into his fruit bar. Peggy could imagine he was thinking the same things she was. It seemed almost wrong, forbidden, like they were teenagers afraid of getting caught snogging in the movies.

“You think it’ll ever feel alright?” She asked, eyes set on the boiled remains of her coffee.

He smiled up at her, a silly joke on his lips, before he stopped and turned serious. “I hope it will. One day.”

She looked over, nodding. “Yes. One day.” Without preamble, she drank her coffee like a shot and grabbed her still-wrapped fruit bar. “Come along, soldier.” Peggy stood, moving over to her pack. “Best get it over with, yes?”

He threw the rest of the bar in his mouth and crumbled the wrapper in his fist as he stood. Without a word he set about shoving the pile of dirt he’d pulled out of the hole right back in, smothering the fire. He was at her side, picking up his shield and handing her the other tin cup to stow by the time she’d repacked her things.

She stood, shouldering her pack as he set his shield on his back. With a soft smile she reached up on her toes and let her lips meet his. It was soft and swift, but it was enough. “Ready?” She asked, a brave smile pasted on her face to belay the emotions swirling in her stomach.

He nodded, his own mask of emotions something she was far too familiar with. “Ready.”

Without a look back, they left the small shed, Peggy following as Steve pulled out his compass and set them on course back to the base.

~*~ End Notes: Steve’s line is inspired by this post: https://at.tumblr.com/suallenparker/the-compass-will-also-not-tell-you-to-buy-my-book/vfai6twhq7tp

#steggyfanevents #thesokovianaccords #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic #Steggy Secret Santa #I'm sorry it's taken so long #and my eyes are crossing from trying to edit #but here it is!

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 5 months

Text

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 6

*Warning Adult Content*

- Carlos -

Clutching the plastic evidence bag containing my belongings, I shake my head.

"I'm not working with him."

We stand under the harsh fluorescent lights in the station's lobby, which except for a few dusty fake plants and a row of plastic chairs along the wall, is empty.

It's nearly midnight.

The chief of police angles a hawkish gray brow at me.

"Standard consultation fee."

"I think you have me confused with someone else," I say.

"I don't consult with the police. You should contact Julian Hart if you want a psychic."

She puts her hands on her hips, reminding me of how Aunt Toni used to look when she wanted me to do something and there was absolutely no way I was getting out of it.

"First thing I did when I saw those symbols at the crime scene," she says. "He's busy. Out of town with Hunter on some thing."

"Hunter, as in the former detective?"

This comes from John Turner, who hasn't stopped scowling since his boss rescued me.

"One and the same."

"He works with a psychic now?"

The tiny lift at the corner of his lip reveals his disdain for the idea.

"Well, he married one, anyway. Speaking of, don't you go stealing this one on me, Martinez," she nods at Turner. "I can't afford to keep replacing them."

The flush and look of horror on the detective's face tells me there's a better chance of a snowstorm in Hell.

"Don't worry," I say. "I'll tell you what I know but that's it. I was just tryna help Kyle, not play cop."

The chief eyes me critically.

"All right. Answer two questions for me, Martinez. Is this some warlock wannabe who found those symbols on the internet somewhere or is this the real deal?"

I swallow.

I'd rinsed my mouth out in the bathroom but the taste of vomit lingers, stirring my nausea anew.

"It's the real deal," I say and she nods. "And is this the end of it? Or should we be worried?"

"It's just the beginning," I whisper.

She releases a heavy breath and smooths a hand over her gray hair, which is bound in a neat, single braid.

"Listen, Martinez. There are indications that Kyle knew his killer. I can't reveal more details until you're onboarded as a consultant but it might shed light on things. Meanwhile, you've got expertise my team needs. You wanna help Kyle, don't you?"

"Yes but..."

"Think about it. Call me when you change your mind."

She turns to the detective and nods.

"Take him home."

Turner blinks, taken aback.

"What?"

"Do you need your hearing checked? I said take him home."

Turner bristles.

"With all due respect, Chief, I've got a long report to write up and I don't have time to play taxi driver."

Chief Coleridge is a good twelve inches shorter than Turner but as she draws herself up, she seems to grow taller while he shrinks.

"With all due respect, detective Turner, tell me if I've got the facts straight. According to the statement that you yourself took, Martinez left his vehicle on the other side of town. His phone is dead. The buses stop running at eight and it's past midnight. The man has no shoes, his clothes are wet and it's forty-eight degrees outside. Am I wrong?"

No, but..."

"So, take him home."

Without waiting for a reply, she turns and marches up the stairs to the second floor offices.

Turner mutters a word under his breath.

"Bitch."

I shift awkwardly from side to side.

"It's okay, really. It's not that far. I can walk."

The detective looks at me and rubs the back of his head, making me accidentally appreciate the sculpted bulk of his shoulder and biceps.

His expression softens a little, as if he's seeing me for the first time without his cop glasses on.

"Nah. I fucked up big time tonight and the Chief's got both our balls in a vice. Least I can do is give you a ride. Come on."

He leads the way outside and I follow, wincing as my sore feet encounter freezing concrete.

I got scraped up pretty bad when Prince Charming here hauled me out of the stream.

He glances over his shoulder at me and frowns, probably annoyed that I'm not keeping up.

"Wait here," he says. "I'll bring my car around."

He strides off at triple speed and I sigh.

Yep, he's annoyed.

A moment later, a black, unmarked sedan pulls around the side of the building and comes to a stop.

The passenger side door pops open and I see Turner at the wheel.

I get in, shut the door and shiver with relief as I feel warm air blasting from the vents on the dash.

I reach for one, intending to angle it more towards myself and for some reason Turner reaches for the same vent at the same time.

His hand brushes mine and he snatches it back as if burned.

"It's not contagious," I say, rolling my eyes and hunching in my seat.

"What?"

"The Gay or whatever it is you're afraid of. You're not my type."

The only lie I've told so far.

"Besides, you're married, aren’t you?"

He clears his throat.

"Divorced."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He turns his attention to the road and I figure the conversation is over.

He startles me when he speaks again.

"I'm sorry, too. I crossed a line, showing you those photos. I'll be lucky if the chief doesn't write me up for it."

I shake my head.

"You were just doing your job."

"Not very well, it seems," he sighs. "So, what's the deal, anyway? What did you mean when you told the chief this was 'just the beginning?'"

I glance at him but he's facing forward, eyes on the road.

He's got a sharp jaw and a strong chin and his nose looks like it's been broken at least once.

A thin scar bisects one brow and a shadow darkens his hazel eyes, as if he's seen too many things he can't un-see.

"I don't know. I'll have to verify some things with my aunt."

"Your aunt? What, is she a ghostbuster, too or whatever you are?"

"Asesina. My family are 'asesinos.'"

"I thought you said you weren't a murderer?"

I glance at him again in surprise.

"You speak Spanish?"

"Just a few words. I know that one."

"Oh. Well, yeah, it means killer or murderer. In this case it's 'slayer.' Asesinos de espíritus malos, killers or slayers of evil spirits. That was the, er... the 'family business,' traditionally. My aunt's the last one and she's given it up. She still knows all the shit, though."

"And?"

"And..." I take a breath.

I recognized the symbols and given what happened to Kyle, there's almost no doubt in my mind as to what they are and yet it still feels like a dream and like saying it aloud will make the nightmare real.

"It's part of a ritual," I say. "A ritual to summon a powerful demon and gain it's favor."

"A real demon?"

"No, an imaginary demon."

He glances over and narrows his eyes at me.

"Fine. Let's say I believe in demons. You said 'part of a ritual.' What's the rest of it?"

A traffic light changes and he comes to a stop, engine idling.

I stare at the bright red signal, as if it can burn the memories of what I'd seen in those photos from my mind.

"There are three parts," I say. "Three 'feasts' or offerings held at specific times. That was the Feast of Pain. Next is the Feast of Blood. Finally, the Feast of Betrayal, in which the demon possesses and takes the life of a human host."

I shiver so violently i bite my tongue.

Turner notices and turns up the heat.

"Okay. So what I'm hearing is this killer isn't done."

I shake my head.

"What's he get out of it, anyway? I mean, assuming this 'demon' is real."

I shrug.

"Power, youth, longevity, wealth. Something along those lines, usually."

Turner grunts, but says nothing more.

The light changes and he drives on, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

A few minutes later, we arrive at the garage.

He pulls around the back, close to the stairs that lead up to my apartment and parks.

"Thanks for the ride," I say, opening the door. "And don't worry. I'll let you know if I have any helpful information to share but otherwise I want nothing to do with this. In fact, I want to stay as far away from it as possible."

He nods.

"Good. I respect the chief but I've already got a partner and no desire to run around playing Scooby Do."

I get out, wincing as my bare feet encounter cold, sharp gravel.

Turner reaches over and opens his glove box, rummages within and extracts a business card.

"Call me if you've got something real for me."

I resist the urge the flip him off 'barely' and take the card, slamming the door shut with a little more force than needed.

He drives away.

Wearily, I climb the stairs, unlock my door and let myself in.

Then I toss his card in the trash, take a shower and fall into bed.

I wake, early the next morning, to something tickling my face.

I brush it away.

I'm tickled again.

I brush it off again and roll over.

Spiders don't bother me, little eight-legged freak can go fuck itself.

Meanwhile, my alarm hasn't even gone off yet and I had a late, traumatic night.

A sharp slap has me wide awake and bolt upright in bed.

"What the fuck?"

I peel something off my forehead.

It's Detective Turner's card.

Meanwhile, my phone, which I didn't take the time to plug in the night before, is fully charged and placed helpfully beside my bed.

"Are you fucking with me, Kyle? You want me to work with the cops? Is that why you led me under the bridge?"

The temperature in the room drops a good ten degrees and the light in my closet flicks on.

"Are you kidding me?"

The light fizzles and pops and I raise my hands in surrender.

"All right, all right. Don't burn the house down. I'll call him. You happy now?"

The light flicks back on.

Great.

I make a mental note to pick up some warding supplies in town, set some basic roommate bounds.

I don't mind Kyle sticking around but I don't want him watching me sleep.

In the meantime, I study the name on the card.

"Well, Mr. John M. Turner," I sigh. "Looks like you and I get a second date. Set up by a ghost. Too bad you don't bat for my team."

The light in the closet goes out.

I admit defeat and reach for my phone.

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buckysimp101 · 2 years

Text

And They Were Roommates- Part 10

Roommate!Bucky x original female character

Series Masterlist

Olivia's POV

Earlier

You watched him go. Olivia. You let him go. Helovesyouhelovesyouhelovesyou. "Holy shit!" I exclaimed, my brain finally catching up with what had just happened. By this point Bucky had disappeared down the stairs and out of sight. I gathered my dress as I ran as fast as these stupidfuckingheels would let me, looking everywhere to see if I could find Bucky, with no luck. Our friends were still at the bar so I ran up to them, all I could manage to sputter was "Bucky! Where?" most of them shrugging their shoulders, except for Steve who managed to point at the front door. Thanking him profusely, I ran out the front door but no luck. The luck I did have? To run into Anna.

"Hey, you're Anna right? Have you seen, Bucky?" I asked in between gasps of breath.

She made eye contact with me, her face screwing up in confusion as she answered, "who?"

I rolled my eyes, I didn't have time for this, and practically yelled, "James fuckin Barnes, also known as Bucky. Do. You. Know. Where. He. Went?"

Anna's eyes widened as she nodded her head yes. I waited for her to answer but she must have been too stunned to speak because I had to prompt her with a yelled, "WELL!?"

"He went home! He said he was going home!" she responded, I thanked her and immediately hailed the next cab I could to make my way to our apartment for the first time in two weeks.

Stan, our night-shift door man, greeted me with a smile and a brief, "it's good to see you kiddo!" as I waved and thanked him for holding the door. The elevators were busy. Because of fucking course the elevators were busy, when were they not in this godforsaken apartment complex. I bolted for the stairs and took them as fast as I could. When I reached our floor I was out of breath. My hair had started falling out of its formal setting and into my eyes halfway up the stairs, but I needed to get to my apartment. Once I reached the front door I froze.

Shit. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck. Take a deep breath, Liv and just fuckin knock already. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Waited a minute. When I didn't get an answer or hear Bucky's voice I knocked again, practically pounding on the door this time, only to hear Bucky yell "alright, alright. Hold onto your fuckin panties, I'm he-," the door swinging open at that point to reveal my best friend and the fucking love of my life, his sentence stalling out as he stood in the doorway.

I didn't even notice the tears that had been welling in my eyes since I first stepped in front of the apartment and without a chance to chicken out I looked James Buchanan Barnes square in the face and said,

Present

"Bucky. Say it again."

He stood there looking like a fish. His mouth opening and closing, his hand running through his hair like it always did when he was nervous or didn't know what to say. I took this moment to get a better look at him. He looked great, cause of course he did. He had obviously shed his jacket at some point after he got home and judging by the slight redness of his eyes he'd had at least one drink too.

This is it. It's time.

I took a deep breath, looked into those steel blue eyes and said, "Bucky Barnes I love you more than all the stars in this universe," I watched said eyes widen and his breathing stutter but he didn't respond, so I took that as a sign to continue, "I'm fairly certain I've loved you since the moment I saw you. These last two weeks have been literal hell on earth. You are my best friend and the love of my life. If I so much as try to imagine a life without you in it I feel like I'm going to throw up. I love you and your ridiculously handsome looks, the way you cut the crusts of my fuckin peanut butter and jellies when I run out of Uncrustables. I love the way you smile when you see Wanda and Vision's cat, when you quote The Lord of the Rings in any situation for no apparent reason. James Buchanan Barnes, you are the fucking sun at the center of my universe and the gravity that binds it all together and I am hopelessly adrift without you." I finished, finally taking a breath for the first time during this whole monologue.

Bucky looked at me in awe, for a brief second, and then quirked one of his eyebrows questioningly, causing me to stare back in confusion. Bucky seemed to take note of my confusion because he finally said, "You done with monologue, Livvie? Cause after nine years of waiting, I really wanna kiss you right now."

HOLYFUCKINGSHITBUCKYBARNESJUSTSAIDHEWANTSTOKISSME!!!!!!

I shook my head yes and quietly whispered, "mmhmm. all done," just in time for Bucky to wrap one arm around my waist and use the other to guide my face to his, pulling me in for a deep kiss.

You know how in the movies they detail first kisses as being fireworks and explosions and nothing else exists except the couple? Well they got the last part right. But kissing Bucky Barnes? Felt like home. It didn't give me butterflies, well it did a little I can't lie, but it didn't feel like the Fourth of July. No. It felt warm, comforting, and passionate. It felt like something I never wanted to go a day without in the future, something that I'm surprised I made it this far in life without ever being treated to. Bucky moved one of his hands into my hair to guide the kiss, ultimately leading to a very steamy kiss that caused me to whimper into his mouth. Bucky took that as his cue to snake his tongue into my mouth and deepen the kiss even more.

When we finally broke for air, realizing we were still in the doorway, Bucky held the door open for me to enter our apartment. As soon as the door closed, he had me pressed against the door to kiss me again, these kisses were light, almost teasing, until finally he rested his head against mine. Looking me in the eyes, Bucky smirked and whispered, "hopelessly adrift, huh?" causing me to roll my eyes and laugh at the dramatics that had just taken place.

"You didn't realize that? Honey, you've been the light of my life for nine years." I added thoughtfully, moving a hand up to stroke his face.

Bucky nuzzled into my touch before whispering, "guess we've both been some pining idiots, huh?" his frankness causing me to burst out in laughter.

"I guess you're lucky you're cute, Barnes."

"I think you mean, ridiculously handsome," he growled jokingly, throwing my words from my monologue back at me before kissing me lightly once more.

As I sighed into the kiss Bucky slowly pulled back, a more serious look gracing his features before he said, "Olivia, I need you to know that I am so sorry about what I said two weeks ago. I'd been denying my feelings to myself for so long and our friends were just trying to get me to admit to them. I meant none of the words I said, and I promise I will spend every day of my life to come making sure you realize just how much I love you."

Tears welled up in my eyes for what felt like the millionth time tonight as I answered him. "I know, Bucky. I'm sorry I ignored your calls and left the apartment immediately without trying to talk things out. If you'll have me, I'd like to make that up to you."

Bucky's eyes widened at the accidental innuendo and I had to huff out a laugh and slap his arm, "not that, you perv! I meant make breakfast in the morning. You know, after we snuggle all night," I stated with a wink, a huge smile taking over Bucky's face.

"Just to make this abundantly clear for myself, and you of course if you need this clarity as much as I do...you love me...and I love you...wanna be together forever?" Bucky asked cheekily, with a light blush overcoming his cheeks at the question.

"My sweet, sweet, Bucky. Of course I do. But let's date first, yeah?" I answered, the smile returning to his face as he quickly scooped me up and carried me to his bedroom, the two of us making out and cuddling the rest of the night, not even hearing when Steve came home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky's POV

It had to be a dream. Had to be. When my eyes opened this morning, I rolled over, hoping to find Liv sleeping next to me but she was nowhere to be found. The side of the bed she had slept on was cold. But then I smelled it. The pancakes, the bacon, the coffee. That's when I noticed the purple dress from last night on the floor and my t-shirt drawer open. I yawned and stretched, throwing on my robe before heading to the living room.

Music played over the speakers, it was fucking Madonna's Like a Prayer. I rounded the corner to see Liv singing into the spatula she was using to flip pancakes. Her hair was all over the place and she was wearing one of my tshirts and a pair of her sweatpants that had been left in her room. I leaned against the wall, just enjoying the moment when she finally spotted me. She pointed her finger at me and crooked it in a come hither motion causing me to roll my eyes and walk towards her still dancing figure. She laughed at my reluctance and stood up on her tip toes to press a kiss to my lips, a kiss I gladly reciprocated. We probably would've burnt the pancakes and bacon too if we the kiss hadn't been interrupted by someone obnoxiously clearing their throat.

We turned around to see Steve standing at the entrance of the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow cocked, and a cheeky grin playing at his lips. "Good morninggggg," he said in a sing-song voice causing Olivia to giggle and hide her face in my chest, the action bringing a smile to my face. "The two of you seemed to have made up," he stated, almost questioningly as he seemed to take in the fact that Olivia was wearing a shirt that very obviously wasn't hers...and the fact that he had just caught us making out in the kitchen.

I rolled my eyes, knowing that Steve was trying to get us to confess. He'd been doing that since we were kids. I looked at Liv and she looked up at me, a grin tugging at her lips. I knew what she was doing. So to make it better I grabbed a piece of bacon and looked Steve in the eyes and stated, "we're just roommates, Stevie. That's all."

Steve's eyes widened causing Olivia and I to burst out in laughter at the look on his face. "Just roommates my Star Spangled ass!" he yelled, barreling into the kitchen to wrap us both up in a group hug. This was home alright. With these two idiots, my best friend and my best girl? I knew I'd made the right choice finally.

The happy silence was finally broken by Steve, "Man I can't wait to tell everyone. Sam owes me twenty dollars."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: the end! I hope y’all enjoyed this fic! there may be an epilogue in the future, so keep an eye out!

#bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes is a dummy #roommate!bucky #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #ceo!bucky #BuckySimp101

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