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[lycheepocketwitch]

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jaz . twenties . she/her . sapphic

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[as-syllable-from-sound]

you come around, i'm ruined (baran al-hashimi x wife!reader) wc: 4k .ೃ࿔* this is the part of loving a doctor nobody warns you about: the missed dinners, the late nights, the absence. you miss your wife even when she's around you. you miss her more when she's not.

tags: domestic arguing, angst, communication issues, kind of bad!wife baran but also deeply stressed out and overworked baran, established relationship, married, 80% hurt 20% comfort, probably the most out of character i've ever written baran but angry angst isn't my strong suit so bear with me

note: this was in fact based on an ask but i can't find it :(( shout out to whoever requested this!!

It's nearing ten o'clock when you finally hear the tell-tale signs of Baran slotting her key into your apartment door. It opens and Baran comes in bringing the cold with her, the cold air swirling into the semi-heat of your apartment.

The heat’s been weird all week (it’s barely working in your home, in the hallways and in the lobby it isn’t working at all) and it only grates on your already poor mood that Baran keeps the door open as she shrugs off her coat and slides off her shoes when she could have closed the door first. It doesn’t make you any happier that she doesn’t call out your name, or even announce that she’s home. She enters as a mute.

You watch her come around the corner, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the apartment that you keep luminated strictly with candles and warm-toned-lightbulbed lamps. Brown eyes sweep across the table, the food. You, sitting there.

"Hi," she says, a little out of breath, a little surprised. It pisses you off even more. Why should she be surprised that you made dinner? You always make dinner. She’s going to come home two hours late and act like it’s out of the ordinary for you to go out of your way to welcome her home?

"Hello," you reply shortly, stabbing at your room-temperature asparagus forcefully, pushing it into your mouth without even looking at her.

"....It smells great in here,” she tries, setting her bag down on the counter slowly. The hair on the back of her neck sticks up as she senses your terrible mood. “I sent you a message."

You glance at your phone. The screen is still dark, as it has been for the last two hours. "That’s weird, because I didn't get it."

She pulls her own phone out and frowns at it, pressing something. A beat later yours buzzes on the table. You look at the time stamp: nine forty-one. Six minutes ago. Running behind. Don't wait up.

You scoff at it, tossing your phone back down on the table where it clatters noisily. Baran raises an eyebrow at your petulance, already unimpressed.

"What?"

"Well, it’s not really helpful to send a message when you’re six minutes away from home when I’ve already been ‘waiting up,’"

you say. Baran makes a throaty sound, pulling her hair tie loose from her hair, letting her curls, messy from a long shift, tumble down her back.

"I know. I'm sorry. We had a stroke victim and a polytrauma back to back and it just—"

"Compounded?" you supply.

Her hands come behind her back, fingers laced in that formal, slightly braced posture she gets. "Yes."

"Right."

You push back from the table and pick up your plate, crossing to the kitchen. Your food has gone so cold that there’s a chill condensation on all your vegetables, so you won’t even try with the microwave. Plus, the action gives you somewhere to go and something to do while the thing you're not saying works its way up your throat. You scrape the plate into the bin.

Behind you, you hear Baran open the refrigerator. The soft sound of a container being taken out followed by the microwave door. This is the part where you're supposed to ask her how her day was, where you welcome her home with softness and care, where she stands at the counter with leftovers and you sit on the other side and she tells you the anonymized, de-identified version of her day and you tell her about yours.

"You could've called," you say instead, to the sink.

She hums the same pitch as the microwave. "I’m sorry, I know."

"Before nine-forty-one, I mean."

"I know." A tightening in it. "It was a busy shift."

"They're all busy shifts, Baran."

The microwave beeps one high tone, followed by several staccato notes that are piercing and annoying as fuck, but neither of you move to kill it.

"What does that mean?" she asks, tone inviting conversation. She's being careful. You turn around. Baran’s standing at the counter with her arms crossed and her food forgotten in the microwave. Her face is wearing the same careful open invitation but careful blankness she brings to patient rooms and team meetings and it makes your blood boil that she dares to shut down her emotions at you.

"Don’t do that," you huff, "You know what I’m talking about. It’s always a busy shift. I have been eating dinner alone at that table for three weeks and you don't — you didn't even — you didn't call! You didn't text until six minutes ago. I didn't know if you were even okay."

Baran's jaw tightens. "I'm clearly okay."

"No shit, I can see that now." You gesture at her. "Don’t patronize me. I didn't know that at seven o'clock!"

"You know what my job is," she says. "You've always known what my job is."

"I know." And you do and have never once asked her to be anything other than what she is. But it feels like she’s issuing a reminder and it sinks under your skin in a way you can't talk yourself back from tonight. "I'm not asking you to quit your job, Baran. I'm asking you to send your wife a goddamn text when you're going to be two hours late."

"I sent you a text!"

"When you were basically already home!"

"I was in a trauma bay before then, Y/N!"

"You weren't in a trauma bay from five-thirty to nine-forty, when you could've—"

"I was managing a department," she cuts you off and you can hear the cold settling in, the temperature dropping in her affect as she start to feel cornered. "I was covering for a resident who called out, handling a consult that should have taken twenty minutes and took ninety, and then yes, a trauma at seven. So no. I didn't have time to provide a running update on my whereabouts."

"A text. One text. At some point before nine forty-one."

"I'm sorry I didn't send it sooner." Offered the way she'd offer a concession across a conference table.

"Are you?" you ask.

The blankness falters. "What?"

"Are you actually sorry? Because you sound like you think I'm being unreasonable and are just saying that to get me off of your back."

"I think," she says, and you can hear the aggravation rising in her voice, "That you understand the demands of my job, and that we've had this conversation a thousand times!" "

“That's kind of my whole thing, Baran! We keep having it!"

Baran's chin comes up a fraction in indignation. You've learned to read her the way you learn the layout of a house you live in, the places where the floor dips, the light switch that's around the corner instead of beside the door. That small upward tilt of her chin means she's about to defend herself. "I am doing the best I can," she says. "I work twelve, sometimes fifteen hour shifts in a department that is chronically understaffed and I come home to you every night—"

"Oh, right, I’m sorry that that’s such a chore.”

Her eyes swarm with anger and confusion. "That is not at all what I just said."

"Pretty damn close to it though, no? This is a thing you do for me? On my behalf?"

"I was not—" She stops. Presses her lips together. When she speaks again the careful management is fraying at the edges, like she's having to hold the even tone with both hands. "I was making the point that I show up. Every single night I'm here."

"Congratulations that you come back to your home to your wife," you snap. "Oh my god! What the fuck was that even supposed to mean!? You come home to the life you set up and you're pissed about it?"

"Y/N—"

"It doesn’t actually count because you're not even here."

Baran's eyes flash red. "You keep just throwing that type of shit out. What is that supposed mean? Use your actual words!"

"I sit across from you at dinner and ask you how your day was and you give me bullshit," you cry out, hands flying up. "You don’t trust me to help you carry any of it so you dumb it down. And take out names because you don’t trust me to hold them. I ask you about your co-workers and your friends and your highlights only for you to give me shit because you don’t want me to know them! You keep your whole job in a separate room and then wonder why I feel like I'm on the outside of your life."

She stares at you incredulously, eyes darting around your face as if looking for a sign you’re kidding. "Y/N, I am legally and ethically obligated to protect my patients' privacy.”

"I know what HIPAA is, Baran."

"Then you know I cannot come home and narrate my shift to you! I am not ‘keeping my job in a separate room’ from you. I have professional standards to maintain that exist for very good reasons."

You scoff and watch a stronger kind of anger wash over her face. “It does, Y/N!"

"I'm not asking for patient files when I ask you to tell me about your day." The shaking starts somewhere in your hands, but quickly reaches your voice. "I just want to hear about you because I fucking miss my wife. You come to bed after I'm asleep and you're gone before I'm up. I miss you, Baran. When you're right here I miss you."

Baran stays silent and you feel your stomach turn with rage and sickness. "Say something, Baran."

"I don't know what you are looking from me right now,” her voice trembles. "You want me to tell you things I can't tell you, and when I find a way to protect the people in my care while still coming home to you every night, you tell me I'm not present enough? What's the right answer? I've already cut down my hours. What exactly else am I supposed to be doing differently?"

"I know you're trying," you say. "I know you work incredibly hard, Baran, I see it. I have never once asked you not to, but there's a difference between being busy and making me feel like the last thing on your list."

Her face drops from frustration to hurt. You both stand in that narrow kitchen for a few moments, puffing out heated breathes. Baran gets her act back together first.

"Eshgham, you could never be the last thing on my list."

"Baran," you say her name and watch her stop. "When did you last ask me how I was doing? Not how my day was. How I am. When did you last ask me something about my life that wasn't perfunctory just to get through a meal?”

Baran looks at you with something that could be the beginning of understanding, but there’s still something missing from your usually so emotionally intelligent wife. Maybe it’s the late hour or the grueling shift, who’s to say, but you are stunned by what she replies: "I think we need to stop. We’re just exhausted and this is turning into something larger than it is."

You know that she knows that’s a fucked up cop-out. That chin rises again and she squirms (as much as Baran Al-Hashimi ever squirms, anyway) with a little readjustment of her shoulders, a slight turn of her head. You can see her looking at you out of the corner of her eye, watching the first flicker of shock morph onto her face when your eyes start to water.

"Right," you whisper.

"I'm not dismissing you," she adds, eyes going a little softer, a little nervous at your reaction. "I’m just saying we're both tired, and maybe this isn't the right time to talk about this."

"Maybe this isn't the right time to talk about this," you repeat, feeling a humiliating burn rise in your throat. "Uh-huh. You've said that before."

Baran's jaw tightens again, getting defensive. "Because you tend to have these conversations when we're both depleted and nothing productive comes out of it."

"Well you never start them at all! I always have to. And every time you find a reason the timing is wrong, and then the morning comes and you're gone."

Baran scoffs in offense. "That is not what I do."

"You just told me I was making it into something larger than it is," you say, and your voice breaks on it this time, actually breaks, and you hate it, hate that you've gotten here, hate that this is the version of you she gets right now. "You literally just said I’m blowing this out of proportion but you won’t even let me finish."

"I didn't—" she starts.

"Yes you fucking did."

The microwave has been done for ten minutes and the food you made for your wife is getting cold again inside it. You are standing in your kitchen with your wife and you have never felt farther from her than right now.

Baran runs an exhausted hand over her face. "I just came off a twelve-hour shift, I walked in the door ten minutes ago, and—"

"And I've been here all night," you shoot back. "Waiting for you."

"I didn't ask you to do that!"

You gape. You have absolutely no response to that, and she falters at your shock. Those lips part slightly, brown eyes go a bit wider.

You breathe out a laugh. "Wow."

"Hold on. I didn't mean it like that."

"Okay."

"I was just—I'm saying you don't have to wait up—"

"Believe me, I heard you." You reach up and press your fingers against your eyes for a moment, breathe in through your nose, drop your hand and turn away.

"Please, Y/N, just pause for a second," she straightens up to follow you, and it's the most raw she's sounded all night. "I didn't mean that you shouldn't—"

"I know what you meant," you say, picking up your phone and storming out of the kitchen. "I'm going to bed."

"Y/N," she rounds the corner and is immediately on your tail, tone edged with panic. "Wait, please. That was entirely out of line. I cannot believe—I should not have said that. Can we just talk for a few more moments, please?"

"I'm tired." And you are. Past words, past the point of anything useful. "We'll talk in the morning."

You hear the silence behind you. She knows that you've borrowed the line. You go to the hallway and pause at the linen closet, pulling out the extra pillow and the blanket from the top shelf.

"What are you doing?" Baran's voice is upset behind you, thready and raspy.

"Getting some things," you say.

You hear a sniff and see her shadow moving from its reflection on the wall in front of you. She’s either wiping her eyes or anxiously running her fingers through her hair. "Are you not sleeping in our bed?"

You look at her over your shoulder. She's standing closer than you expected with her arms crossed over her chest like she's self-soothing. Her hair is tousled and tangled around her worn face. Her lip is trembling slightly from where she’s moving her mouth around in that familiar fidget you used to soothe with your gentle thumb over her soft lips. The most familiar person in the world to you. But also the most painful right now.

"I think I need some quiet right now," you say.

She opens her mouth and closes it, and it's so unlike her, that small faltering, that your chest aches with it. "Y/N," she whispers, taking a half step toward you. "Please. Don’t— don’t go down the hall.”

“Why not?”

Baran looks crushed that you even have to ask her that. "Because I do not want us to go to bed angry, and I said some very awful things I need to apologize for. That I want to apologize for.”

You purse your lips partially to look tough and partly because if you don’t your bottom lip with quiver again. “So now that I'm threatening to go, you want to be around me?"

Baran’s face crumbles. “I always want to be around you, azizam. That—that was never what this was about. You have to know how much I love you."

It comes out almost like a beg, or maybe bewilderment, like she can't quite fathom that you might have lost the thread of it. "You have to — even tonight, even when I was — you have to know that. Right?"

"I know you love me," you sigh.

She takes another step toward you and then seems to catch herself, she's not sure she's allowed. “I want to be around you. I chose this life with you. I will always choose this life with you,” She swallows her words and it hurts your heart. Baran always knows what she's going to say before she says it. She usually doesn’t hesitate. "I’m sorry. I was just trying to get through the shift and get home and I forgot that getting home isn't the finish line.

Her voice dips into a fragile octave. "You're not just— you're not just the place I land."

You tilt your head, swallowing around the thick, burning clamp in your throat. "But I can be if you’d let me."

Baran shakes her head immediately. “No. I mean you’re so much more than that to me. You're not just some… I don’t know. Soft surface meant to absorb my stress when I need it.”

Her hand comes up and she presses her fingers over her mouth for a second. "That is a horrible thing for me to make you feel," she says softly. "You are the only place I actually want to be. I've done a terrible job of reminding you of that, honey. I am so sorry."

Her eyes hold a wet, heavy brightness. She reaches out, the backs of her fingers dragging high and light against your arm, leaving the exit wide open. She leans in when you don’t pull away, her weight settling against you as she pulls you into her arms, cradling you to her body. The familiar scent of her (hospital sanitizer and the faint, warm amber of her perfume) floats around you. You are exhausted, and you are still so hurt, but Baran exhales—a long, shuddering breath that deflated her entire posture against you:

"I'm so sorry, eshgham. Please, please come to bed with me. At least for a little while. And then after, if you decide you still want to sleep in the guest bedroom, I'll help you set it up."

You pull back just far enough to look her in the eyes, breaking the comfort of the embrace before it could soften you too much. "Okay," you finally say, your voice quiet, flat, and entirely unembellished. "But I need you to know that you’re not just dragging me to bed so we can pretend everything is fine."

Her eyes, dark and pooling with unshed tears, scan your face. The exhaustion was there, but so was the hard line you had just drawn.

"If I come with you, we are dealing with this right now," you insist. "For real."

"Yes," she promises, her voice rough. "I am not looking to dodge this conversation, aziz. All we'll do is talk. I promise."

But promises to talk are cheap, and you know it. She hasn’t promised to actually change her behavior, and the sting of how easily she had brushed your feelings aside for most of the night was still burning. Her fingers slide down your wrist to find your hand, her grip tight and pleading. You don’t squeeze back. You let your hand stay limp in hers.

"I was really lonely tonight, Baran," you say into the dimly lit hallway, "And I feel like I can’t talk to you about that without this happening.”

Baran’s hands come up to cradle your face, tilting it toward what little light there is, like she needs to look directly at the damage she caused. "I am so sorry,” she breathes, eyes full of molten sorrow. “You should never have to navigate my exhaustion just to tell me you miss me.” She’s quiet for a second, biting at her shaking lip. “I don’t think I have said it yet, but I missed you too. I missed you the whole day and the whole drive home and I walked in the door and just—”

“I want to believe you,” you interrupt like a plea, “But, Baran. You couldn’t even send me a check-in message? And now you’re saying you missed me the whole day? I don’t know what to make of that. I don’t know how to believe that.”

Her thumbs are still against your face, so very still that you can see her actually working through it. "I think I compartmentalize in a way that isn't fair to you. I tuck you away somewhere safe in my head while I'm at work so I can get through it."

“But I can’t see that," you defend, "I guess it’s sweet to know you do think about me, but if you just lock it all inside of you, how am I supposed to know about it? You’re asking me to trust something invisible and that just isn’t fair."

Baran closes her eyes for just a second. "I’m sorry," she says. "You’re right. I bring that same containment home to you. That’s—"

"Fucked up?" you suggest.

Baran laughs, watery and lovely and relieved that you're opening up to her once more, even just a little bit. "Yes, very, very fucked up."

Her head tilts down to look at you more directly. You let her do her little analysis. You know that beautiful, brilliant, spinning brain inside that gorgeous head needs a few moments to finish its churning.

You count to ten-mississippi before taping your fingers where they’re still around her neck into the base of her skull. "Talk to me. That’s kinda the whole point here."

She exhales, slow and shaky. "I wasted tonight," she says quietly. "Well. Not just tonight, but I think you know what I mean."

You nod. "I do."

“I am so sorry. You keep making dinner and waiting up and asking me how I am and I just…" her voice goes small, "I took all of it and I gave you nothing back."

Her eyes trial down to your lips and she tilts her head down ever so slightly, telegraphing every micro movement. Her kiss is as soft as rain, meant to reassure and also repent, before she pulls away and continues.

"I have been so careless with you," she whispers into you parted mouth, and her first tears fall. You let fall into your arms. You rub a hand over the bumps of her spine, keep your other hand on the back of her neck.

"Baran," you say, into the side of her head.

"Mm."

You pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are wet and raw with an openness she doesn't always let out of its enclosure, and on any other night it would undo you completely. Tonight you hold onto yourself.

"You know I love you more than anything in this entire world, but I'm not doing this again. I can't keep having the same fight and going to bed with the same apology and waking up to nothing having changed. This is — I need you to understand that this is me telling you that I'm running out of road here."

"I understand," she says seriously, squeezing your head.

"Do you?"

Brown eyes meet yours and they do not waver, they do not flinch. They bare themselves completely to you as she replies, firmly: "Yes."

You look at her for a long moment. "Okay," you say finally. "Then come to bed."

໒꒱ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •

ao3: lieutanttrouble | masterlist

[kakirokero]

Dr. al....?

[alliewrights]

Black Tie

Baran Al-Hashimi x wife!reader

Summary: Baran has always kept her personal life separate from work, life is easier that way. Unfortunately for her, PTMC’s annual gala requires an exception and you’re all-too eager to participate.

CW: fluff, established relationship, traditionally fem reader (reader wears makeup and a dress), possessive!Baran, insecure!Baran, kinda pervy!Baran, obsessed wives, coworkers meet the wife, reader is loved by all, smut (explicit sexual content), top!Baran, semi-public sex, fingering (r!receiving), little bit of a praise kink

WC: 4.3k

A/N: celebrating hitting 1k followers last night with this! My first real Baran piece that isn’t just headcanons 💛 Hope you enjoy!

✿ ───────── ✿ ───────── ✿

“You’re going to make us late if you don’t stop.”

The scold lacks heat, and you can’t even stop yourself from laughing when Baran’s lips find the side of your neck again, your hand pausing hallway through sliding the last pin into your hair.

“Maybe I don’t want to go anymore,” she murmurs against your skin as her hands settle on your waist. 

“You can’t skip,” you snort. “You’re an attending, it looks bad.”

“I’ll call in sick.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“And yet I suddenly feel very unwell.”

That pulls a warm laugh out of you and Baran swears under her breath in Farsi like the sound of it does something to her. Because this right here is why she’s kept you away from the hospital for so long. It’s not because she’s ashamed of you, never that, but rather because she knows what happens to people when they meet you. 

You finally finish with your hair, setting your products down before turning in her arms to face her. “You’re being so weird tonight, what gives?”

Baran sighs through her nose, just a hint of annoyance settling on her face as she looks at you. “I do not want to share you with them tonight, azizam.”

“Your coworkers?”

She nods in confirmation. 

“You don’t want them to meet me?”

Her eyes narrow as her grip on your waist tightens possessively. “I do not want my coworkers looking at my wife.”

The way she says my wife sends heat blooming into your face, and though you try to hide it, you fail miserably. Baran notices immediately and her lips curve up into a smirk, obviously pleased with herself as the tips of your ears tinge.

“You’re blushing.”

“Shut up.”

The drive over is quiet in a comfortable way. The city glows outside the windows of the uber, streaks of gold and white sliding across the glass while music plays through the speakers. Your heels rest against the floorboard, one ankle crossed over the other, and Baran’s hand hasn’t left your thigh since the moment the two of you climbed into the backseat together. Not that you’re complaining, of course.

Downtown is alive tonight. Restaurants are crowded and the sidewalks are busy. And somewhere ahead, towering above the traffic, the convention center comes into view.

You can’t believe hospitals even have galas.

“You know,” you say, “when you first told me about this, I thought it was going to be in, like, a hotel ballroom or something.”

“It usually is,” Baran replies casually.

“Wait, really?”

“The hospital is celebrating some anniversary this year.” Her fingers squish the skin of your thigh beneath your dress. “Apparently they decided to go all out because of it.”

“That explains why the invitation looked like a wedding invite.”

The uber eases to a stop beneath the overhang of the convention center, and the driver bids you both a polite goodnight while Baran helps you out onto the curb with a hand at your waist. The night air is cool on your skin, and you’re suddenly jealous of the long sleeves on Baran’s pantsuit keeping her warm.

People crowd the entrance to the building in clusters of black-tie gowns and tailored suits, and you can hear laughter echoing off marble and glass as the hospital staff filter inside. You recognize a few faces from pictures on Baran’s phone or stories over dinner, but most are strangers in a sea of faces.

Baran stays close to you, her hand on the small of your back as the two of you navigate through the lobby together toward a bank of elevators down a small hallway.

“You okay?” she asks quietly as you wait for an available one.

You turn toward her, your face scrunching in confusion. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because this is a lot of people in one place and I know how you feel about crowds.”

You purse your lips, but in thoughtfulness rather than upset. “I’m okay. It’ll be better once we’re upstairs, I’m sure.”

The elevator arrives with a soft ding, the doors sliding open. Several other attendees step inside with you, conversations between coworkers overlapping. The fifth floor lights up as you reach it and the doors open to spill the gala out before you in gold.

Chandelier light glitters across floral arrangements and linin-draped cocktail tables. Warm jazz music drift through the massive ballroom beneath towering ceilings, and full-length windows overlook the Pittsburgh skyline. It’s elegant and expensive in a way that only a for-profit hospital could be.

You’re busy taking it all in when a voice catches your attention, even though it isn’t aimed directly at you.

“Dr. Al-Hashimi.”

You can feel Baran sigh next to you.

A woman in an ivory suit approaches with a comfortability that most people don’t have when approaching your wife. She’s older and polished, with nails manicured and decorated in a way that tells you this is not an emergency room doctor, but likely some sort of administrator.

“Gloria,” Baran says politely.

Gloria Underwood, you know that name. Some sort of big wig for the hospital, she interviewed Baran before your wife took the attending position, and you’ve heard Baran complain about her at least once a week ever since.

“It’s good to finally see you outside the emergency department,” Gloria says, smiling before her attention turns on you. “And you must be the elusive wife.”

Baran’s hand is on your back again, but she isn’t urging you forward and you can’t tell if it’s to ground you or herself. “My wife,” she repeats, and you can hear the undertone of pride in her voice.

You offer your hand with a smile, introducing yourself while Gloria shakes it warmly.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says. “I was beginning to think Baran had made you up.”

“Probably because she never lets me come to work with her,” you laugh.

“Smart woman,” Gloria says with a knowing look at your wife. “The ER would probably stop functioning.”

You don’t have time to ask what that means before Gloria turns her attention back toward Baran and the conversation drifts into hospital territory. You let yourself fade beside them, listening without really listening as your attention begins to wander.

There’s gold ribbon curled around centerpieces and champagne glasses in everyone’s hands. People are laughing too loudly near the bar already even though it’s barely dark outside, and there’s a string quartet setting up in a corner of the ballroom.

Eventually, during your trip to outer space, Baran gives Gloria one of those polite smiles you’ve only ever seen her use at work during her time at the VA.

“Well,” she says smoothly, “before you trap me into discussing staffing ratios for the rest of the evening, I should probably make the rounds.”

Gloria laughs at that. “Go socialize, Doctor. You’ve earned at least one night off.”

Baran nods in farewell before guiding you deeper into the ballroom with a slide of her hand into your own.

“Staffing ratios?” you giggle.

“This job is as much politics as it is medicine, azizam,” Baran sighs, scanning the room. She snags two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waitstaff, handing one to you.

You smile into the glass just another voice cuts through the crowd.

“Baran!”

A group standing around one of the cocktail tables waves her over and you can feel the change in her posture immediately. It’s not tense, exactly, but you feel the way she straightens up next to you.

These must be the coworkers.

“This,” she says quietly to you, “is the part I was worried about.”

Still, she leads you over to the table.

The group is an interesting mix, that’s for sure.

One man stands slightly apart from the others, older than the rest with tired but intelligent eyes and an air of authority about him that’s hard to deny. Beside him is another man with easier posture and a warm smile, with a drink balanced loosely in one hand. A younger man than the other two lounges against the edge of the table with the restless energy of someone who’s incapable of standing still, and the redheaded woman standing beside him looks far more composed than he does. And then there’s another woman watching the room over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip, the look in her eye almost seeming like she’s above this entire get-together.

Baran stops at the table, her eyes scanning over each of them as she greets everyone. “Dr. Robinovich,” she says first, inclining her head towards the older man. “Dr. Abbot. And Dr.’s Langdon, McKay, and Garcia.”

You know she isn’t greeting them by name because she needs to, but rather for your sake.

The older man immediately tilts his head toward the ceiling and waves a dismissive hand. “Absolutely not, Baran. If you introduce me like that, I sound old.”

Baran deadpans, “Maybe that was my intention.” 

He smiles tightly at that before turning toward you and offering his hand. “Michael Robinovich. You can call me Robby.”

You shake his hand politely, but immediately dislike him. Not because he’s rude, he actually seems very nice. But because this is the man who made your wife cry after her first shift at the hospital. 

You remember it vividly, Baran’s tear-streaked makeup and exhausted fury as she returned home to you hours later than she was supposed to be off, insisting she was fine while also admitting that she’d not only had her first seizure in over a year, but two. You’d held her all night, staying up long after she’d fallen asleep, both for her comfort and out of fear of a third focal seizure.

So really, you think your dislike of him is justified.

“Wow,” the one your wife called Langdon says suddenly as he blinks at you. “You weren’t kidding.”

Baran’s eyes narrow. “That sentence already concerns me.”

Langdon ignores her completely, looking at you with intrigue. “Hi, Frank Langdon. I was beginning to think she made you up.”

“Frank,” three different people say at once. 

“What? I’m being respectful!”

You laugh warmly, and the small group seems to relax around you as conversations break into groups. You smile at McKay when she compliments your dress, ask Abbot about the drink he’s holding, you even laugh at one of Langdon’s dumb jokes despite Baran muttering at you to quit encouraging him. And every time you laugh, every time someone’s attention lingers on you a little too long for her liking, Baran’s hand settles lower against your back. You can’t tell if she’s grounding herself or if she’s trying to stake claim.

Whichever it is, Robby takes notice right away. The smile he hides behind his glass is downright evil.

“So, he says to her as your attention is taken by a story McKay is telling. “This is why you’ve kept her hidden for so long.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Baran says dismissively. 

“Sure you don’t.” He gestures between her and you. “After refusing to introduce her to us, you brought your stunning and charming wife to a party, dressed up to the nines and looking like a walking sin. Pretty irresponsible, don’t you think?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Langdon blurts from Robby’s other side.

“You weren’t invited into this conversation,” Baran says flatly. 

You laugh at something Garcia says, attracting your wife’s attention once more as you lean into her side. Her chin rests on your shoulder as she turns toward you, her eyes scanning around the ballroom.

“Where are the baby ducks?”

McKay laughs. 

“At the bar,” Abbot says.

“All four of them?” Baran asks.

“Unfortunately,” Garcia says. “Someone spilled the beans to Trinity that they have tequila. We haven’t seen them since.”

Baran closes her eyes like she’s in physical pain. “And you left her unattended?” But before she can continue mourning the fate of her unsupervised residents, a burst of loud laughter sounds out from somewhere nearby.

You turn in time to see four younger people approaching the table carrying drinks, all of them mid-conversation as they reach the group.

The woman in front stops as she reaches the table, squeezing between Garcia and McKay and setting down the second drink in her hand in front of the surgeon before turning her eyes on you.

“What the hell?”

Baran sighs like this is exactly the reaction she expected. “Behave, Dr. Santos.”

“What?” Santos says, looking mildly offended. “Your wife is hot, you didn’t say she was hot.”

Dr. Abbot coughs into his drink to hide a laugh, and the only man in this group of baby ducks (as your wife had so eloquently called them) loses the battle and snorts. 

Your cheeks heat as you laugh, and you aren’t sure if it’s from blood rushing or the alcohol. Or both. “Thank you.”

“Trinity,” Santos introduces herself with a hand extended to you over the table, which you take. She then turns to Baran. “I get it now.” 

“Stop that,” Baran scolds her.

“Okay, mom.”

Baran turns to Garcia then, her tone accusatory. “Just how many has she had?”

“This would be her third,” Garcia replies with a roll of her eyes. 

Questions fly from the group collectively known as ducklings. How did you meet? How long have you been married? Is Dr. Al this intense at home too? And with each question, your wife looks increasingly perturbed. 

She knows you don’t do this on purpose, and it’s almost never bothered her before, but…you fit too well. Don’t get her wrong, she loves your charm. It’s one of the things that drew her to you first, your ability to get along with everyone, the way you naturally convince people into loving you. And at the VA, it didn’t bother her. Maybe that’s because her coworkers there were older, older than her even, and they weren’t -

They weren’t a threat.

Does Baran feel threatened by her ER coworkers? She wants to say no, of course not, but as she watches you talk to Trinity, watches you smile at Javadi, laugh at something that Langdon does, or Abbot, or Whitaker -

With every word, your wife looks one compliment away from spontaneously combusting, and you can’t help but laugh. And unfortunately for her, you’ve become the most interesting person in the ballroom. And through it all, you notice something. Every single time someone else has your attention for too long, Baran touches you. Her hand on your waist, or your elbow. Her lips on your bare shoulder. It’s not enough for anyone to comment on, but it is constant enough that you take notice.

Especially when Langdon talks to you. It’s harmless; he’s charming in a sort of cocky way that probably works very well on patients, and he clearly finds you attractive. And at one point you laugh at something he says and Frank grins, a sparkle in his eye at the sound of your laugh.

You can feel Baran tense up next to you and it cuts your laugh short as you turn to her. “Are you okay?”

The concern in your voice makes guilt flicker through her. Because she knows you haven’t done anything wrong, you’re just being yourself. Which is, unfortunately for her, the entire problem.

She lets out a heavy sigh and then presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I’m going to get us another drink,” she murmurs in your ear.

You smile at that, tapping your empty champagne flute. “Okay.”

Baran’s hand leaves your back as she makes her way toward the bar at the far side of the room, loosening the tension in her shoulders only once the crowd thins out around her.

“Another champagne?” the bartender asks, nodding toward the flute still in her hand.

“And a whiskey,” Baran says.

She leans one forearm against the edge of the bar while he works, her eyesight drifting back toward your table.

Bad idea.

McKay is talking to you now while Santos is gesturing animatedly beside her, and somehow the entire group has subtly turned towards you like flowers turning towards sunlight. Even from across the room, Baran can tell you’re glowing, beautiful and open, charming in a way she’s never been immune to herself.

“Rough night?”

She recognizes Jack’s voice without even having to turn to look at him. Nevertheless, she does as he settles against the bar at her side.

“You followed me,” she says.

Jack shrugs as he flags the bartender down with two raised fingers, nodding toward his empty glass in wordless communication.

Neither of them speak for a moment, but as Jack glances back toward the table, following Baran’s line of sight, he smiles a little. “You’ve got a beautiful wife, Baran.” His tone stays easy and casual even as she tenses at his words. “You had to know this was going to happen eventually.”

Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek. “I did know.”

“She seems nice.”

“She is.”

“And everyone likes her.”

She turns to look at him then, but only halfway, like she can’t really afford to lose sight of you. “And that’s a problem?”

“You’re sure acting like it is.”

Baran turns fully back toward the table just in time to catch you throwing your head back laughing at something Santos says, and her expression tightens. 

Jack notices. “You know,” he says, “most people would kill for a marriage where their biggest problem is their wife is too perfect.”

Baran tsks as she glances at him out of her peripheral. “You’re being very annoying right now.”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Hey, I’m just saying, it seems like the obsession goes both ways.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She keeps looking for you.” Jack nods subtly toward the table, and he’s right.

Even while smiling at everyone else, even as you carry on conversation with her coworkers, your eyes are drawn to the crowd in the direction toward the bar. Looking for her. 

By the time Baran and Jack make their way back across the room to the table, crowds have thickened around tables, conversation louder now beneath the swell of music and alcohol.

Your face softens when your eyes land on your wife again. “There you are,” you say, reaching for her as she sets the drinks down in front of the two of you.

Baran’s arm wraps around your waist as she reaches you. “Miss me, eshgham?”

Your own arms settle over her shoulders, fingers tangling together behind her head. “Of course I did.”

The group falls back into casual conversation around you as you sip your drink, half-listening and half paying attention to the knowing looks Dr. Abbot seems to be sending your wife, which she’s pointedly ignoring.

After a while, the ballroom lights dim and the sound of microphone feedback echoes from the speakers overhead, drawing attention towards the stage at the front of the room where a podium now waits beneath a spotlight.

“Oh no,” someone mutters from the opposite side of the table. “Politics.”

“Too late to fake an emergency?” Langdon asks.

“We work in an emergency department,” Robby says. “That excuse won’t hold much weight.”

Gloria steps out onto the stage a second later to polite applause from the crowd. The room settles as she begins speaking, her voice echoing through the ballroom as she talks about the hospital’s anniversary, community outreach, budget expansions, new wings, and a variety of other hospital-speak that sounds like a language you don’t know.

That’s when you feel Baran’s hand close around your wrist.

Around the room, people nod along politely to Gloria’s speech while waitstaff weave between tables collecting empty glasses and plates.

“And finally,” Gloria says after about twenty minutes, “I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge one department in particular.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the table that houses most of your wife’s department. “The emergency department has seen one of the most significant increases in patient satisfaction scores in the hospital over the last year. The Press Ganey scores alone have risen dramatically, and while every member of the department deserves recognition for their hard work, there’s one whose compassion, leadership, and dedication to patient care has had remarkable impact.”

Robby groans quietly under his breath. Individual callouts are always a nightmare.

“Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi.”

Applause starts up, people turning toward your table, searching for Baran among the cluster of emergency department staff.

Except Baran isn’t there, and neither are you.

✿ ───────── ✿ ───────── ✿

“Shh,” Baran whispers hotly against your ear. “Not a sound, azizam, you don’t want anyone to hear you, do you?”

Her hands are up your dress, which is bunched up against your hips by her impatient hands, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your lace panties. She yanks them down your thighs in one swift motion and you step out of them obediently, the cool air hitting your soaked core and making you shiver. She brings them to her nose for a brief second, inhaling deeply before stuffing the damp lace into the pocket of her pantsuit with a satisfied smirk.

Her fingers immediately return between your legs, sliding through your slick folds with firm pressure that has you whimpering enough for her to press her lips against yours to keep you quiet.

“So wet already,” she murmurs against your lips.

She slips a finger inside you without warning, her middle finger sliding in to the knuckle easily. A whine catches in your throat, muffled by Baran’s mouth. Her free hand roams, squeezing your ass, pulling you harder onto her hand as a second finger pushes inside you, stretching and curling deep while her thumb finds your clit with delicious pressure. 

The web, lewd sounds of her fingers pumping into your soaked pussy are the only sounds in the empty coatroom, loud to your heightened senses, and your hips rut to meet her hand.

Baran grinds her thigh between your legs for leverage, her own arousal evident in the way she rocks against you. Her breath comes in hot and shaky pants against your lips, more breathing into each other’s mouths than actually kissing.

Her hand trails up your back to your hair, gripping at the base of your head to try and not mess up the pins in your hair (lest she feel your wrath) as she tilts your head back. You break from her mouth and she immediately begins kissing down your neck, stopping to suck a mark just below your ear. You feel the faint sting of her teeth and the heat of her mouth almost makes your knees buckle.

“B-ah!-Baran, you couldn’t wait?”

“Need to feel you cum on my fingers,” she pants against your neck. “Need to know this pretty cunt is only for me.”

The pace of her fingers turns frantic. Her fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, her thumb abandoning your clit in favor of her palm grinding against you with every stroke. You clutch at her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric as the fire in your belly builds, pressure coiling tightly inside of you. The risk, the possessiveness, the whines you’re doing your best to muffle - it’s all overwhelming.

Baran leans in closer, her forehead pressing against yours as her eyes lock onto your own. “Cum for me,” she demands. “Cum on my fingers, show me who you belong to.”

The orgasm rolls over you like a wave, crashing through your body and Baran has to shove a hand over your mouth in an effort to contain the loud moan you let out. Your walls clench around her thrusting fingers, slick coating her hand as pleasure floods you. You shake against her, whining into her hand while she keeps fucking you through it, drawing out the feeling until you’re boneless and gasping for air against her palm.

Slowly, she withdraws her fingers and brings them to her lips, licking them clean with a low and satisfied moan, her eyes locked on yours the entire time. Then she kisses you deeply, her tongue sliding inside your mouth and over your own, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

You whimper at the taste, fingers bunched in the top of her pantsuit.

“Good girl,” she whispers against your mouth as she smooths your dress back down with hands that are too tender for what they’ve just done to you. 

With one final possessive kiss, she straightens, offering you a hand. You take it, allowing her to pull you off the coatroom wall, leading you back toward the gala like nothing happened, though your slick thighs are evidence of your escapades, as are your panties tucked safely in her pocket.

You barely have a second to breathe as you step back into the ballroom, because one of the younger doctors - Javadi,you think you heard someone call her - is the first to spot you.

“There you are,” she says immediately, both relief and confusion mixing together as she looks between you and Baran. “You missed it, Gloria just called you out during her speech. Like, publicly. In front of everyone.”

Baran’s expression sharpens. “She did what?”

“Yeah,” Javadi says with a roll of her eyes. “It was…very flattering. Awkward timing, though, because you weren’t here.”

There’s a pause then, enough for the group to really take the two of you in.

“No fucking way,” Trinity says with a smirk, arms crossing in front of her chest as she appraises you. The slightly disheveled state of Baran’s hair, the smudge of your lipstick, the trace of redness at your throat. “Oh my god.”

“Trinity,” Garcia warns, but the warning goes ignored.

“We - we were getting drinks,” you stammer, even as your cheeks heat with the lie.

Trinity looks unconvinced, and your head swivels to your wife, desperately looking for backup. 

You catch Langdon leaning toward Robby in your peripheral, whispering, “They weren’t getting drinks.”  

Baran, on the other hand, looks totally unbothered, a stark contrast to the tense woman she was before the two of you disappeared. In fact, you’d dare to say she looks pleased with herself as her fingers wrap around the untouched whiskey glass and she takes a small sip.

“Anyways,” she says calmly, as if the last ten minutes haven’t fundamentally changed the light her coworkers see her in. “What did I miss?”

✿ ───────── ✿ ───────── ✿

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✿ ───────── ✿ ───────── ✿

Taglist: @person-005 @fishyikes @newyork1215 @somemetallyillbitch @baransdoe @maximoffwitch @lavendar-smiles @slutforabbyanderson @geekyandgay98 @a1c1nas @wildly-free-bee @red1culous @professorsapphic

[emilys-bangs]

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟) | 𝐛.𝐡

Tags: nurse!reader, injured baran, mentions of blood scalpels and cutting, stitches, medical inaccuracies, ogilvie mentions (unfortunately), protective!reader, bit of flirting, reader is whipped, no use of yn

Summary: Ogilvie has a field day with a scalpel. Baran reaps the consequences, and you—you find your hands damp with her blood.

Word count: 1.8k

You're used to strange sights in the ED. Foreign bodies of all kinds, sticking out from all sorts of places; oozing fluids; questionable objects sticking in; experiments and extreme stupidity and fits of rage and everything in between. After years of working in emergency medicine, hardly any of it phases you. You're, put simply, quite desensitized to all of it. 

Still, the last thing you would've ever expected to see is the chief of PTMC—neat, controlled, perpetually unruffled Baran Al-Hashimi—hunched in front of the sink, lips pursed, holding a paper towel to her heavily bleeding forearm.

"Woah!" Your voice echoes against the bathroom tiles, as sharp as your surprise. 

Baran startles. She blinks as you make your way over to her, willingly giving you her arm before you even realize you're taking it. You're no stranger to blood or gore, but you still wince at the soaked paper towel she's holding down, nearly translucent with red. "Jesus. What the hell?"

You realize in hindsight you were not the most articulate.

Baran's exhale is just the slightest bit shaky. She swallows, letting go of the tissue when you nudge her hand away. "Ogilvie was…a little bit too enthusiastic with the scalpel."

You still. "What?"

"It's nothing." She hurries to say. "An accident, he wasn't looking."

"Well, he fucking should be. Does he think that shit is made of plastic?" You say tightly, your voice slipping louder than it should. Too harsh, all at her, and she's hardly the source of your frustration. 

Get it together. 

You swallow against the flare of anger, fingers careful as you peel away the blood-soaked tissue from her arm. Your stomach drops at the depth of the cut. 

"Jesus Christ."

"It's really fine." Baran says weakly. She goes silent at the look you give her, more of a glare than you can help.

"This needs stitches, Baran."

It's still weeping. The blood runs down her forearm, soaks the bunched sleeve of her jacket. Her pristine, spotless jacket, as clean as it would be if she plucked it straight from its 130 dollar rack. Her eyes flitter down to it. She doesn't push back; her lips thin, throat bobbing with a swallow you feel in your gut.

Fucking med students.

The cut is a few centimeters long, maybe an inch. Its edges are smooth, her skin flayed open like butter. "Was it contaminated?" You ask.

"No." She lets out a breath. "He hadn't started cutting yet."

Your jaw sets. You toss the bloodied tissue, rip out a fresh one, and hold it to the cut. The red bleeds through instantly, a violent, blossoming flower. You don't miss Baran's wince from the corner of your eye.

You force in a slow breath to calm the churning in your gut. When you speak, your voice is softer. "Come on. South 21 is empty."

Baran hesitates. She smooths down the short hairs at her temple—a tick, you've realized. "A patient could need it more than I do." She says sensibly.

A huffed breath escapes you, a humorless laugh collapsing halfway through. "Sorry, Doc, but you are a patient now." She frowns at you for that, nudges your hand away and takes over holding the paper towel. You gently grip her elbow. "Hey, c'mon. You know me. How long's it gonna take for me to fix you up?"

Her eyes weigh heavy on your face. They're flat under the fluorescent lights but nowhere near less alluring, a warm vortex of deep brown. "What about your patients?" She murmurs.

"All stable. 21 just got discharged." You say. Your eyes drop to her forearm, the blood now slow going beneath the tissue. Your fingers tighten around her elbow, skipping on the silky nylon of her jacket. You're about to say please when Baran inhales and nods, finally, muttering an okay that loosens the knot in your chest.

You know you shouldn't, but you still keep your hold on her elbow as you walk out of the bathroom. She's lost a fair bit of blood, you tell yourself. Just until you get to the gurney, which isn't far, just a few steps before you reach the curtain and pull it back, letting her in. She settles at the very edge of the bed and looks up at you with a small, faintly amused smile.

"I'm fine," she says softly.

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, silently cursing. You've always been told you have a terrible poker face. Every annoyance, every worry—it all shows, whether you want it to or not.

You don't even want to imagine what your face looks like right now.

"I know you are." Your voice is falsely nonchalant. You shove your hands into your pockets. "I'll be right back. Stay put," you tell her. "I mean it."

Baran's lips twitch. "I'm not going anywhere."

Your throat is dry when you swallow. You nod once and turn on your heel, the heat of her gaze following you out.

Dana finds you as you're gathering your supplies. Sometimes you think she's got a tracker on you. On everyone, really.

"Hey," she says, fingers tapping against her tablet. "What's the news on your pneumonia patient?"

"Discharged with antibiotics." You reply. "But the room's occupied."

Dana frowns. "By who?"

"Al-Hashimi." You say. The rush of anger swells up again, a tight ball clogging your throat. "That Ogil-fucker took a stab at her with a scalpel."

"He what?"

"I don't know the details, but she needs stitches. It's small, maybe 4 or 5. Fucker's lucky he didn't nick an artery." 

"Jesus." She mutters. 

"Yeah." You double check your supplies, then look back at her. "If you find him, kill him for me."

Dana's mouth twitches. She leans back against the wall, a smugness overtaking her features. "Your girl wouldn't like that, now would she?" She chides, patting your shoulder. "Go."

"My wha—?" You splutter, nearly dropping the kits in your hands. "Dana. She's—she's not my—" Your girl.

Your mouth dries.

Dana grins at you. "Yeah, right. Go be a knight in shining armor."

"You're not drunk, are you?" You finally fumble out.

"Oh, you wish, honey. I see everything in this ED." She winks, and sends you reeling. "C'mon now, she's waitin'."

-

She's stripped off her jacket. It's folded somewhat haphazardly at the foot of the bed, one sleeve hanging off the edge. The effort sparks a ridiculous warmth in your chest. 

The effort, you remind yourself. Not the long lengths of her skin suddenly on display.

You clear your throat, dispelling the roughness from your voice. "Has the bleeding stopped?" You ask as you arrange your supplies. 

"Mhm." Baran hums. Her composure is both admiral and baffling. Not out of character for her, certainly, you just…Jesus, you can never imagine being like that. She's a saint.

You settle on the stool next to her. She shuffles closer to the edge of the gurney and sets her arm down for you, a perfectly model patient. She stays that way as you clean out the cut and sanitize the skin around it, not a hair moving out of place, not even when you flush the cut with saline. Admittedly, it looks a lot less dramatic without all the blood.

You still curse out Ogilvie in your head. 

"So," you twist a little on your stool as you look up at her, waiting for the anesthetic to set in. "Ever been on the receiving end of this before?"

"Never."

"Well, shit."

Baran smiles reassuringly. "I trust I'm in good hands."

Heat flames under your skin. You try your best not to fiddle with your gloved hands, gnawing instead on the inside of your cheek to tamp down on a smile. "Appreciate that, Doc. Pray I don't scar you."

"I'm aware of your skills." She says, as ever damningly earnest. "Why do you downplay them?"

You flash her a smile. "It's a coping mechanism."

"Are you nervous?" She frowns.

"That's not the word for it." You murmur, dropping your eyes and gently feeling along the cut. "Feel that?"

"No." 

You grab your needle holder and forceps, force in a deep breath, and pinch the edge of the cut. Baran doesn't flinch.

"For the record," her voice is quiet, "I trust you completely."

You trust yourself, too. It's just. It's her. 

So maybe you don't, really.

"Thanks, Dr. Al." You say, just as soft. You get one stitch down in no time. It's ugly against her warm skin, a dark intrusion amongst sweet brown and the dots of freckles. God, she has so many of them. In the dip of her elbow, on the base of her thumb, the middle of her wrist, everywhere in between. You'd gotten a good look at the ones dusted on her chest, just above the V slit of her scrub top—too good a look, far too many good looks—but it just. It makes your heart irrationally soft to see all the rest. You finish up another stitch, still deep in thought when her voice pierces through.

"You know, I didn't realize I had to be a bleeding mess for you to call me by my name."

What? Is your first thought. Your second is, this needs stitches, Baran.

Of fucking course she caught that.

You pause as you look up at her, forcing ignorance. "I do call you by your name."

She gives you a little smile. You don't miss the tightness in it; it echoes in your chest, a squeezing fist around your heart. 

Jesus, just stop being such a coward.

"So," you look back down—Baran, call her Baran again—"how the hell'd this happen?"

Baran.

"The patient had an abscess, it was a simple enough procedure for him to try. I just startled him. He hadn't even started cutting yet."

Yeah, you doubt it was this simple.

Your lips purse. "He needs to be more aware of his surroundings. He forgets he's not the only one in the room."

"Come on," Baran's endlessly gentle. "Don't you remember what it was like to be this eager?"

"No," you say flatly.

"I do." Her voice is soft. You still again, looking up to catch her eyes. Beautiful, you think, far from the first time. "I don't approve of his attitude, but I can understand his hunger. Too well, actually."

She looks back down, suddenly shrinking back like she's said too much. You hit this wall with her sometimes. You've never tried pushing past it.

You drop your eyes, too.

"I'd hardly think you were ever as callous as he is."

Baran inhales. "He could work on his bedside manner, yes."

"Not just bedside." You mutter. You have to force your hands still when you hear her laugh, a low, genuine thing.

You can still hear it in her voice when she says, a little teasing, "You're a strict judge, Y/N."

Well, when they hurt my girl.

You shove that thought down and clear your throat, tying off another stitch. 

Damn you, Dana.

"I think you might be a far too lenient one, Dr. Al-Hashimi."

Ps. My taglist has been updated to include Baran <3

[lotties-ashwagandha]

MY RESOLVE IS SINKING LIKE A STONE

ex wife!baran al hashimi x fem!reader, 1.7k words. chapter one of… ???

NSFW! mdni. your divorce from baran was supposed to be final, all said and done. but things change when she makes herself a little bit too at home in your new house, and new promises are made. title from buckle by florence + the machine.

Baran was always entirely too soft with you in the heat of conflict. It’s a trait she used as a tool to get her out of your worst arguments, and you were always so pissed at yourself for allowing it — but she would pull you into her arms no matter how upset you were, whisper that she was sorry, and you would always bend. 

Now, as she closes the front door behind her, you think back on those moments. You remember the feeling of her arms around you, the warmth of her hand on the back of your head and her voice so soft in your ear. It’s okay, she would whisper, and you would believe her. Everything is okay. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. “You can’t just walk into my house, Baran.” 

“Our son forgot his backpack when you picked him up this morning,” she says. She takes off the dark purple backpack slung over her shoulder and sets it near the door. 

“Why do you say it like that?” you ask. “Our son, as if I’m-” 

“Not aware that he’s mine too?” Baran interrupts. She shrugs, shoving her hands into the pockets of her lilac jacket. “There are times I think you forget. You were extra snippy picking him up this morning.” 

You bite your tongue. You can’t do this today, you’re too tired. You want her out of your new house as quickly as possible. “Is that all you came over for? To drop off the backpack?” 

She nods, giving a small hum. 

“Then I think we’re done here.” 

Baran walks around your living room, taking in the space. She walks over to the mantel of the fireplace and picks up a framed picture of you and your son that you carefully cut her out of, and she smiles down at it as if she thinks it’s funny how hard you have tried to remove her from your life. 

“Put that back,” you say weakly. 

She does, though only after another moment of considering your sloppy work. Then she shifts her gaze to meet yours, and her smile fades. “How have you been, by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask.” 

“Have you?” 

She nods and sits down on the couch. She is too at home in your new furniture, and you hate it. You also hate the superiority in her tone when she speaks, the sharpened edges of her words. “I know the divorce was rough on you. Are you hanging in there?” 

“I’m managing just fine without you.” 

“If you say so.” 

You sit down next to her on the couch, keeping a comfortable distance. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Baran doesn’t answer. She just holds your gaze. 

You’re desperate to shift the focus. “How are you liking your new job?” 

She looks down. You seem to have found a weak point. “It’s fine. It can be a lot to handle.” 

“You’ve always been very capable.” 

“Thank you,” Baran says. She wasn’t expecting the compliment, and you weren’t exactly expecting to give it. “I meant it, by the way. I was really asking. How are you?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“That’s it?” 

You run your hands over your thighs anxiously as you sit there. You’ve been struggling in this big house alone with your son only spending a few nights per week with you due to the custody arrangement, but you don’t want to say that. It would feel like letting her win. “This has all been a lot to adjust to,” you manage. 

“I know. It’s not the easiest arrangement." 

You nod. A small silence settles over the two of you, and you lean back against the couch cushion as if it might swallow you — you might be better off if it did.

“I know we have talked about this, but I really think things could have been different,” Baran says eventually. “I know you don’t agree, but I think we could have worked things out.” 

“How could we have worked things out when you-” 

“I’m not trying to argue with you,” she interrupts again. “I just had to say it.” 

You want to agree, despite your anger. You want to lean toward her and let her pull you into her arms like she used to and tell you that everything will be okay. And she must see that desire burning in you, the loneliness that chokes you, because she reaches out a hand and lets you move into her embrace. 

You missed the smell of her perfume, deep and warm and heady. You missed raking your fingers through her curls and the softness of her hold on you. Now you have it, and it makes your throat tighten and your eyes burn as you blink back tears, and even so, you are still fucking furious at her. 

“We can fix everything,” Baran whispers. “All of this can be undone, baby.” 

“It can’t,” you say. “We got divorced. We sold the house and I bought this new ugly fucking place.” 

She smiles softly at that. Her voice is soothing. “We can figure it out, just say the word.” 

You pull back and run a hand over your face, trying to take a deep breath. “I don’t know. I’m still angry at you.” 

“I’m angry at you, too. Do you have any idea the amount of shit you put me through during the divorce?” 

I’m sorry, you almost say. The words are on the tip of your tongue. But you’re not sorry, not really, and neither is she for the things she said and did. “We have a lot to work out. I don’t even know where to start.” 

“I do.” 

“Right, because you always fucking know what to-” 

She kisses you then, sudden and sure. It only takes you a moment to return it, pulling her closer, and it’s like all of the regret that has been pulling at you suddenly lifts. It is gone as long as your lips are on hers, and even when you part to catch your breath you can feel it still suspended. 

“I always know what to do,” she says. “Is that what you were going to say? It would be an accurate statement, wouldn’t it?” 

You answer by kissing her again. Instinctively, you push her down until her back hits the couch, and she pulls you down with her. 

“You can be as angry as you want, but you can’t say we weren’t so fucking good together,” Baran says breathlessly. She pulls off your shirt and then sits up a little to push off her jacket and top, gasping when you immediately lean down to run your tongue over one of her nipples. 

You only part from her for a second. “You missed me more than I thought you would.” 

Her hand finds the back of your head to press you closer to her, and she sighs softly when your other hand comes up to her chest. “Please,” she begs, squirming under you. “Please, I need this.” 

You shift to kiss down her abdomen, reaching down and undoing the button of her pants. “Maybe not everything is about you.” 

“Oh, come on,” she says. “You always act so high and mighty.” 

“And you’re always so mean.” 

Baran helps you pull down her pants, and you toss them down onto the floor. 

“Do you think I don’t notice the little comments you make?” You ask, and bite down on her hip — a little too hard, maybe, but she doesn’t push you away. You soothe the skin with your tongue, running over the indents left by your teeth. “You treat me like I’m some poor little loser you can’t get rid of.” 

“Are we really going back to your poor self-image again?” She asks. “Put that mouth to better use; this isn’t couples’ therapy. You wouldn’t go with me to couples’ therapy, do you remember that?” 

Before you can respond, Baran pushes your head down and guides you between her thighs. She groans when you finally run your tongue through her folds, and the taste of her makes you hum against her. 

“I missed you so much,” she breathes. Her thighs press into your head and you have to push them back a little. “Fuck, you’re so good.” 

You missed her too, but you’re not quite ready to admit that yet. You keep your mouth occupied with her, running your tongue over her clit and sucking it gently into your mouth. 

Baran’s back arches against the couch cushions and she moans breathily, biting down on her bottom lip. She’s more sensitive to your hands than you remember, but you are, too. You chalk it up to the time lost. 

You wonder how many women she has been with since you divorced. A pang of jealousy surges through you as you picture her picking up some random woman at the bar, someone who resembles you enough to give her a little more closure when the bedroom door closes behind her. You press your tongue more firmly against her, feeling every twitch of her hips and the way her legs shake around your head. 

“You’re still mine,” you say, only parting from her briefly. You dip your tongue down into her entrance, and you feel her tighten around you. “You always will be.” 

“I’m close,” she whines. 

You have to fuck with her a little bit. “Already?” 

“Shut up and keep going,” Baran tells you sharply. She bucks her hips up and chases the feeling of your mouth, and you have to pin them down to keep her steady. 

Her orgasm rips through her hard, sudden, in a way that steals the breath from her lungs. You feel her tense wholly, and she moans from somewhere deep in her throat, and then bit by bit the tension releases. 

You pull back to lick up some of the wetness sticking to the insides of her thighs. Your movements are careful, soothing, until eventually she reaches down and guides you back up her body. 

Baran kisses you more gently now. There is a softness to it that you only experienced from her before the divorce. You feel it when she pulls back and looks at you and you hear it in her voice when she speaks — “What do you say? How about we make things right?” 

You kiss her once more for good measure. You let your guard down now, and she can win. “You have no idea how much I missed you.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

You shift down to rest your head on her chest. You hear the rapid thrumming of her heart as she waits for an answer. 

You wait a few more seconds. “Yes.” 

Suddenly, your new house doesn’t seem so bad anymore. It’s not as ugly or lonely and you don’t want to cut anyone out of the pictures on the mantel. You have everything you need, and both of you are on the lengthy road to forgiveness. 

this was proofread by the amazing incredible wonderful @27spoons THANK YOU SPOONS I LOVE YOU. I will not lie I get so nervous I almost shit my pants whenever someone proofreads my writing but you were very kind and insightful and I appreciate it. there’s a semicolon in this fic because of you and that makes me feel like a fancy little hoe.

the pitt taglist: @slutforabbyanderson @babyblueb3ll @thursdayygrrrl @postflash @poseiden12345 @bobbybeyonce @azishimi

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[emilys-bangs]

𝐈 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 (𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬?) | 𝐛.𝐡

Tags: ex!reader, injuries (reader has a fractured rib), unresolved tension, probable medical inaccuracies (i tried my best), v brief non sexual nudity, mild angst, softness (it’s there, trust), they're still in love your honor!

Summary: You end up in the ED with none other than your ex-wife as your physician. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Word count: 2.9k

It seemed inevitable. Not because you're particularly accident-prone, but because you're not usually in the universe's good graces, and if your ex-wife happened to be working at the closest emergency department to your home—well, then, you'll just so happen to be delivered right to her doorstep. That's the way of things. Distance tries to separate you—it puts up a mighty fight—but eventually, one way or another, you'll chase Baran. Baran will chase you.

It's a loop you've come to rely on.

You sit yourself in the seventh circle of hell, get your vitals checked, get sent back to the waiting room, follow a young nurse into a fluorescent-lighted maze, behind a curtain, and onto a bed—all without seeing her. But you know you will, sure as the sharp throb that echoes in your chest. Some delusional part of you thinks you can feel her, distantly, moving from room to room, skirting the space around you without her feeling it.

"A doctor will be with you in a minute." The nurse tells you. She props up the gurney so you can sit upright.

You nod as you lean back into it, managing a smile through the pain. It's already hard enough to breathe without the uncomfortably sharp smell of disinfectant, just barely blanketing the rusty scent of blood underneath. 

You've always hated that smell. Hated how it clung to her curls, how you'd find it burrowed deep under her skin long after she'd leave the wretched place.

Really, you hated all of it. But mostly how it called to her. How she couldn't stop herself from answering.

The curtains swish open, stirring air. You lift your head, unable to stop the twitch in your mouth when your eyes find hers. 

Bingo.

Baran's eyes widen, just the smallest bit, then dip down to comb over you. You feel every inch of her assessment as if her hands were prodding here and there, searching for wrongness she could fix.

"This is Y/N L/N." The nurse announces. "Came in for pain at the ribs, some trouble breathing."

Baran's gaze snaps back to yours. She blinks. You blink back. 

The doctor beside her gives her a sideways glance before she steps up to your bedside. "Hi, Miss L/N." She smiles. "This is my attending, Doctor Al-Hashimi. I'm Student Doctor Javadi. We'll need to take a look at your lungs, if that's okay."

You nod, pulling yourself straighter as she unwinds the stethoscope from around her neck. Discomfort prickles your skin, the kind that follows a heavy, prolonged stare. Your eyes dart to the figure still looming at the foot of your bed.

Baran clears her throat. You just barely catch the short breath she takes in, steadying herself. "Have you suffered a blow to the chest? A fall, maybe, or an—"

"I fell." You say shortly. Her head tilts, eyes sharpening. 

The silence grows. You reluctantly go on. 

"I was going down the stairs, my son's toys were everywhere. I slipped. Landed on my chest."

"Take a deep breath for me, please."

You take one and wince, the inhale cutting off midway through. Pain flares in your side, a sharp throb that lingers even after you breathe out. It beats white-hot. The med student apologizes, but she prods for another one, the metal of her stethoscope cold as she shifts its position on your chest. Your fingers curl into a fist.

"Anything to break the fall?"

You shake your head, your voice coming out wheezy. "It happened fast."

"No absent breath sounds." She says, leaning back. Baran's nod is stiff. 

"You'll need to check the area."

The med student turns to you. "Can I lift up your shirt?"

You do it yourself. The cold air of the ED is a small relief against your skin.

"Where does it hurt?" 

You don't know if it's the roaring in your ears, but Baran's voice is dulled. Softened. You don't look at her as you gesture to your side, careful not to touch the sore area. It doesn't matter anyway. The girl does it for you, feeling gently along your abdomen until her fingers find the spot. 

Your breath hitches. "Faint swelling," she murmurs, "…around the seventh rib… Let me know if you feel any tenderness." She hardly presses, but the pain responds anyway, too loud, too hot.

You inhale sharply.

"Stop." Baran's voice rings out. The girl snaps back on her heels, her hands raised. You sag back onto the gurney, letting your shirt down as Baran clears her throat and nods at the med student. "That's enough for us to know it's at least fractured." Her gaze shifts to you, not unkind. "We'll need to take you for an X-ray."

"Fun," you rasp. "Lead the way."

"I'll get you a gown." The nurse pipes up. The med student follows her out, saying something about coming back when the scan is done. 

The curtain swishes closed around them, leaving you alone with your ex-wife. She hasn't moved from her spot—still rooted to the foot of your bed with her arms crossed, like she's standing guard. There's tension along her shoulders. The familiar glaze of concern in her eyes.

Silence crowds, but you don't have the stomach for it.

"Hello." You say tiredly, a headache starting to pulse at your temples. This is not how you wanted today to go.

She seems to unfreeze with that one word. Arms dropping, she clasps them behind her back and takes two steps closer to your bedside. Her voice loses its edge. "How bad is the pain?"

"It's fine." You mumble.

She gives you a look.

"A seven," you relent. "…and a half."

A small fissure blooms on her face, faint cracks rippling through her composure. She sucks in a deep breath—quite mean to do in front of you, if you're honest—and swallows, her mouth set.

"Usually, for rib fractures, there's nothing we can do except prescribe medication. Your scan will tell us more, however the fracture will likely heal on its own. Extreme cases require surgery, but otherwise it's ice packs and rest—no heavy lifting, no lying down."

"Okay." You say blankly. "Good to know."

She continues as if you haven't spoken. "I can have them give you a shot of—"

"No." You shake your head. "No shots."

You have too much shit to do already. You'd planned on making use of your son's absence by getting the house in order, running the errands you've been putting off for weeks—but of course, of course, you had to end up here. The last thing you need is to have some medication messing with your head, slowing you down further.

Baran lets out a breath, her hands curling around the rails of the gurney. "The effect won't last long. Clearly, you're uncomfortable. You might as well take something while you're here." You stay silent, and she pushes, knuckles poking sharp through her skin. "Karim is with my parents, there's no reason why you should be refusing—"

The sigh is out of your mouth before you can stop it. "I have shit to do, Baran." You snap.

"How exactly do you suppose you're going to do anything if you can't even take a full breath on your own? What's so important, anyway?" Her eyes blaze. "Laundry?"

The curtain swishes open.

"Oh—" The nurse shrinks back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Baran lets go of your bed as if she'd been burned. Her eyes are still blazing as she turns and forces a smile, stiffer than the hand she lays on the nurse's shoulder. "Thank you, Emma." She says, deliberately even. "Please let me know when you get the result back."

She leaves without sparing you a glance.

-

You know the Pitt is notorious for its horrendous waiting times, but you still hadn't expected to wait an entire hour for the result of a simple X-ray. Hell, the actual scan itself had taken mere minutes.

You perk up when the curtain swishes open again, but Baran doesn't make for the laptop screen against the wall. Instead she approaches your bedside, a glass jar in one hand and a cup of tea in another.

"I don't suppose you've eaten." It's not phrased as a question. You hate that it's not, because she knows, and she's right. "The cafeteria food is terrible." She continues without waiting for your answer, her tone peevish. "Here."

You're not above accepting her offerings. The tea smells like the kind she used to make at home, minted and sweet. Its steam works up a lump in your throat.

It hurts, seeing her. It always does. Whether you've fought or not, whether you're civil or not. Just her presence is hard to swallow down. You still haven't gotten used to the distance, miles of oceans between you, no matter how physically close you are.

It's ridiculous. You've lived most of your life without her, and yet a decade and some have ruined you for the unforeseeable future.

The tea scalds your tongue. Baran is notably gentler as she sets the jar down on the bed along with a tissue-wrapped spoon. Overnight oats, if you had to guess.

"Thanks," you mutter.

She inclines her head in a nod and perches on the arm of the chair next to your bed. "I'm sorry you've had to wait so long. There's a holdup with the X-rays."

"I didn't expect to get special treatment." You give her a tight-lipped smile. She doesn't return it until you say, "This place seriously sucks, though."

"Yes, well." Her laugh is more of a huffed breath. "We're unfortunately not the most punctual." She frowns down at her hands for just a second before she looks back up at you. Her eyes dip to your gown.

"Do you need help getting that off?"

"I'm good."

Not.

She stands. "Baran."

"Button downs will be easier to wear," she says, reaching for your folded clothes. You'd managed your pants on your own, but you couldn't untie the gown without your vision flashing white. "Anything you don't have to pull over your head. At least for the first two weeks."

"Noted," you say, "but I can—"

"Can you stop," she breathes, fingers bunched in your shirt, "being so goddamn stubborn?"

Her eyes are always mesmerizing when she's angry. They darken several impossible shades, turn into shards of glassy obsidian. 

You drain the last of your tea, hand her the cup, and silently lean forward. Her exhaled breath hits the shell of your ear, low and desperately trying to stay controlled. You feel her finger hook into the messy bow at your back. Feel her tug it loose.

You peel the gown away. It's a scratchy, awful thing; you toss it further down the bed, quietly grateful as you turn back to Baran and take your bra from her.

"This could count as harassment, you know." You meet her eyes, hold the cups to your chest.

She only raises a brow.

It's enough to make you flush, your teeth grazing your bottom lip. Her hands are warm as they fasten your bra. The brush of her fingers nearly makes you shiver, but you hold it, force your shoulders back to keep the tingle from running down your spine.

And if goosebumps rise up on your flesh—well, the ED is cold. Your skin is sensitive. Baran's hands smell like sanitizer, harsh and clinical as she stretches out the collar of your shirt, helps you fit your head in. There's a brief flash of pain when you have to guide your arm through a sleeve, but it dissipates as you fully shrug the shirt on. You don't care to attribute it to the way her fingers linger on your abdomen, gently splayed over your side. They stay there even after you settle, fully clothed.

"Baran." You murmur, your heart kicking faster. Her head is ducked, eyes on your torso where her thumb draws circles.

"It will be…difficult to get around," she says, still looking down, "for a few days. The meds will only get you so far. You shouldn't overexert yourself."

"I won't."

"You could stay." The words are soft from her mouth, nearly mumbled. Baran doesn't mumble. "With me. Until it gets better."

She's looking at you now. You almost wish she isn't.

"Because that won't fuck with Karim's head."

Her lips thin. 

"You're hurt."

"I can manage."

"Karim can stay with my parents. They won't mind, they never do—"

"And when do you get home, Baran?" You wonder. 

She doesn't shy away from your eyes. "At least you'd have someone."

"I don't need someone." Your throat is unbearably scratchy. Your attempt at a laugh doesn't ease the ache—worsens it, actually, right where your pulse beats. "Jesus, you make it seem like I'm dying. I'll be fine."

Your conviction weakens with that last word, crumbling beneath Baran's gaze. Even years down the line, you could never quite get used to the intensity of it. She has warm, kind eyes—bottomless, all-consuming eyes; you've drowned in their depths, been warmed by their heat and burned from their fire.

Baran is unsmiling as she reaches for your face. She cradles your jaw in her hand—that rough, soft hand, antiseptic and long-washed lotion, cuticle oil rubbed around her short, clean nails, a freckle at the base of her wrist. Your breath hitches, comes out shaky through your nose.

You may be stubborn, but you're also unbearably weak. She's like a big, tender bruise imprinted onto your flesh. Just the press of a thumb—and you give, mouth open, gasping. It's been years, and the bruise hasn't healed. It hasn't shrunk. Sometimes you think it's only gotten bigger.

"Please." She says quietly.

Somewhere, beyond the curtains, you hear someone yell, "I need an attending!"

Relief and dread spread through you in equal measure.

You lean away from your ex-wife, tilt your head to the source of the sound. "That's you."

-

The med student comes back alone. You feel bad for not remembering her name.

"It's just a simple hairline fracture, so you won't be needing surgery or anything. Just ice it a few times a day for twenty minutes or so and make sure to rest, definitely don't lift anything heavy or do hardcore exercises."

You smile. "Got it."

She says a bunch of other things, only a few of which filter through. You thank her, pocket your prescription, and speed-walk out of the emergency room. You really almost make it, only three steps from the door when she calls your name.

And you, stupid you—you turn.

"Oh. Good," you blurt out before she can say anything. You take out her jar from your purse—emptied, the spoon rattling inside—and shove it into her hands. "Thanks for this, by the way. It was good. Didn't expect the chocolate."

"It balances out the acidity of the yogurt," she says, almost automatically as she takes the jar from you. It registers on her too late; she gives her head a small shake, a move that's, unfortunately, never stopped being endearing. "You have your prescription?"

"Yep," you answer, trying not to prickle. "We've got aspirin at home, so." You shrug, making room for a frazzled looking woman to pass through.

Baran nods. "Can I…" She pushes her shoulders back, the slightest bit. "Is it okay if I escort you out?"

You blink. "Sure," you say, too drained to argue.

She nods again. Holds the door open for you. You walk through, and despite your shallower breaths, you still smell the traces of coconut from her curl cream—the same one you'd lathered on your hands, raked through her hair when she'd be too tired to do it herself.

You rub a rough hand into your eyes, pressing hard enough to hurt, and make for the parking lot.

"Wait a minute—" Baran's shoes crunch on the gravel. "Did you drive?" She demands.

You let your hand fall. "Calling an ambulance seemed overkill." You say dryly.

Her face grows disbelieving. God, you wish she wouldn't do that, wish she'd stop caring, just stop it Baran, stop it, stop it, stop—

"I'll—"

"You'll what?" You murmur, pulling out your keys. "Take me home?"

She can't step out. You both know she can't.

"Call someone." She pleads. You can hear the underlying shake in her voice, you can feel it rattling your bones. She takes your hand, traps the car keys in your palm. "As your physician, I can't—Y/N, you shouldn't. You'll hurt yourself."

You let out a throbbing breath. Jesus, you just want it all to end. This day, this stupid distance between you that never seems to lessen, never seems to widen, never does anything but hurt. "There's no one to call, Baran," you say quietly. "I made it here, I can make it back."

She shakes her head. The sun catches in her curls, threads along her highlights and sets them on fire. You want them around your fingers. You want everything to go back to the way it was, but the closest you can do is say okay when she says she'll order you a car, because can you even say no? She's pulling the keys from your grip, her pleas warm against your face; she's saying azizam, azizam, come inside, I'll wait with you, and you feel your bones crumble and your resolve die and you do what you could never stop yourself from doing.

You follow her where she goes.

Hi, thank you so much for your support on my first Baran fic! If you liked this one, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging to lmk!! I'd love to know what you thought <3

@newyork1215

[lotties-ashwagandha]

ex wife!baran x fem!reader headcanons

i want to write a full fic w these concepts eventually but let’s start with headcanons. there’s an NSFW section of this so minors dni. 761 words <3

ex wife!baran shows up uninvited to your house occasionally. she rings the doorbell until you answer, because if you car is in the driveway and you’re clearly home then what’s keeping you from opening the door? and once you do she says she was just in the neighborhood, your new neighborhood considering the two of you sold the old house, which she makes sure to bring up.

ex wife!baran makes too many comments implying that you must miss the money she contributed to your household in the past. she makes comments that your house looks a little… empty. a little sad. she asks if you’re having any trouble with the bills, or if you just haven’t turned the air conditioning on yet this summer.

ex wife!baran is intensely competitive when it comes to your son. she buys him the most expensive gifts, plans the most extravagant birthday parties, and makes sure his closet at her house is much more packed than his closet at yours. she just wants him to have everything she could possibly give him — and she wants to rub that in your face a little.

ex wife!baran calls you sometimes late at night and you can tell she’s had too many drinks when she tells you she misses you. you always let her talk, you’re not cruel enough to hang up, but you also don’t try to start anything. you know she gets lonely, and while that is not your problem to fix anymore, you want to make sure she is okay.

ex wife!baran sees you in the hospital one day and nearly passes out. she immediately runs over and asks if you’re okay and if your son is okay, and is endlessly relieved when you tell her that you are there because your son’s friend twisted his ankle while they were playing in the yard.

ex wife!baran not-so-secretly wants to get back together with you. the two of you ended things too hastily, and she has a feeling that you think so too. but she is still so fucking angry at you for everything that was said and done in the divorce that she still feels the urge to be subtly cruel to you sometimes if she can.

NSFW below <3

ex wife!baran still remembers how best to touch you. she remembers how you used to tremble under her hands, how your breath would hitch as she whispered in your ear everything she had been dreaming of doing to you. she closes her eyes sometimes and she can still feel your lips wrapping around her fingers as she shoves them into your mouth, the vibration as you hum around them.

ex wife!baran has wet dreams about you frequently enough to really piss her off. she doesn’t know what to make of the fact that too often she goes to sleep only to be met with memories of you pinning her down to the bed and slipping your fingers into her, or you meeting her at the front door after a long shift and getting down on your knees for her.

ex wife!baran hooks up with too many women in order to forget about you. it never works though, and she has embarrassed herself too many times by calling out your name while some random woman she picked up at the bar (who resembles you a little too much) makes her come.

ex wife!baran shows up at your door uninvited one night while your son is at a sleepover. she has a bottle of wine in her hands and is dressed in her finest while you’re fresh out of the shower in a robe alone, and she tells you that you look beautiful. she invites herself in for dinner and you’ve only taken a couple sips of wine before you give in and tug her over to the couch. it’s your first time having sex with each other again since the divorce — it’s rough and hungry and part of you is so fucking angry that you let her back into your life so easily, but you can’t deny her anything when she’s underneath you on the couch begging for your mouth and telling you that no one can eat her out quite like you can.

ex wife!baran asks if she can stay the night afterwards. you have already given in once, the dam has already broken. you say yes. and then you say yes again when this happens the second time, the third, the fourth, on and on.

thank you for reading!!! <3 sorry for posting SO MANY fics lately, I don’t know what has come over me but I can’t stop. I might be a bit slow this week tho bc im on my period AND I have a cold. wth man.

the pitt taglist: @slutforabbyanderson @thursdayygrrrl @postflash @poseiden12345 @babyblueb3ll @bobbybeyonce

I’ve had a couple complaints that there have been issues with my fics showing up in notifs when i tag people! it’s something that im looking into, and I might start tagging people in comments instead of in the fics themselves. In the meantime if this is happening to you, please check your settings and make sure you have allowed people to tag you in posts!

[lycheepocketwitch]

im so yellowjackets x the wilds pilled jasmin savoy brown has no idea what she did to me by posting this

[oneandonlynat]

lottienat x spider-verse!

[silkchiffoner]

on mari ibarra's death as pit girl and shauna's aggression towards mari

i understand the whole "she's supposed to be spiraling, let women be evil" argument in defense of shauna, i understand that yellowjackets has been a dark and gory show from the get go, and i understand that mari's death/sacrifice was necessary. but when you are releasing media into the world, you are sending out a message. every choice made in a piece of media is intentional.

mari was stripped of her clothes and dignity, dragged naked through the snow, hung upside down, carved, cooked, and served as food to the team, with shauna demanding to wear mari's hair as a trophy.

mari was also one of the best written characters on the show, taking her from an annoying jv side character to an important part of the story (her last name reveal i cheered so loud). she never once took shauna's bs and made it clear from the start that she was just the decoy. she was loved by all her friends and teammates, and it's evident when you realize that the hunt was a ploy to keep shauna distracted from nat's venture to get help, and that none of the yellowjackets actually wanted to hunt mari. mari's sacrifice for the sake of the team (despite her pulling the queen card being an accident) was one last act of defiance in the face of shauna's tyranny and the dictatorship that came with her reign.

idgaf about the fact that all the victims have to be naked to be cooked and butchered, and i don't care that shauna was seen using hannah's old hair as a fidget toy in ep 09, every choice made with mari's slaughter was an intentional one, and it leaves such a bad taste when you view it in the context of how every other woc in the show was treated.

i don't know what the writers were plotting in the writer's room, but there were better ways to handle mari's death/slaughter.

[lycheepocketwitch]

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | Six: Epilogue

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART FIVE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You never really thought about Wanda other than the fact that she's your best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. It just wasn't in the realm of possibilites, so you never let yourself develop feelings. At least until someone points out that you have a very specific type when it comes to dating, so maybe it is all subconscious? Reader's POV

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: Mini Series is completed! Thank you so much for tagging along with me <3 Explicit version available in a week.

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~3.1k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You rarely think about sentences that could change your life.

There are too many instances that could change your life; therefore, it would be moot to think about.

You have a terminal illness. 

You've won 69 million dollars.

Someone you love has horrifically died—no, there were no remains.

It's all too overwhelming to think about; therefore, you don't. Yet, somehow, if you ever did think about life-changing sentences, you didn't think it could ever be, "Hey, have you noticed how you seem to exclusively date girls who look like Wanda?"

And it was like the ground crumbled underneath you. It was such a sickening realization—not that Wanda was in any way sickening—it was the fact that you might just be subconsciously a pervert. 

The more you thought about the words, the more horrifying it became. Every one-night stand, every situationship, every girlfriend—god, they all looked like Wanda. 

You're too scared to think about it deeper in fear of what it would reveal subconsciously every time you kissed or fucked a girl. Were you thinking of Wanda? God, you just couldn't think about it.

This was all Bucky's fault. You wished you had never gone out onto that balcony that night. 

3 months prior to that night at the bar with Wanda & Steve

The cool air felt better, and the breeze settled on the back of your neck. There was definitely too much wine going around, and you only managed to escape as Tony brought out the hard liquor. 

The crowd dispersed after several shots you didn't partake in. You stared into the distance, thinking idly how Tony had way too much money. Old money was ridiculous. Why does someone need a garden fountain as big as a pool?

Movement caught the corner of your eye, and you saw Wanda and Vision walking through the dimly lit garden. You smiled fondly at your best friend as she laughed at whatever charming thing Vision had managed to say. 

Vision was...just okay, in your opinion. You thought he was too nonchalant about Wanda, and that was why they were so on and off rather than consistently being together. Wanda deserved someone who loved her fiercely, and you couldn't imagine Vision always putting Wanda first. 

You watched with slight melancholy when Wanda linked her arms through his as they sat on the ledge of the garden fountain. You wished you had also brought someone along for this party. 

"Hey, thought I saw you sneak out here."

You turned around and saw Bucky holding a glass of beer. You smirked at him with mirth. "You know what I must do when Tony starts bringing out the grey goose."

Bucky shuddered, clearly having been roped into a few shots. He came and stood next to you, catching the scene you were staring at. "Guess they're back on then?"

You shrugged. "Guess so. We'll see how long it lasts. I'm betting 3 months."

"Be realistic. It'll be 2 and a half months," Bucky snorted. 

"Ye of little faith," you teased and then sighed. "I wish I also brought someone along. I should've brought that girl I met at my photoshoot."

"The brunette with green eyes?" Bucky asked, and you nod. "You know what I've noticed?"

"Hm?" you hummed in response to Bucky's casual tone. 

"You seem to have a very specific type when it comes to dating," Bucky mused. "They're always brunette—save those two girls from university—and they always have green eyes." 

You furrow your brows in serious thought. "I suppose so."

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, his tone still casual. "They always remind me of Wanda, especially from the back. I always have to make sure I'm careful not to mix up your date with Wanda." 

Bucky ended it with a chuckle, stating he was getting cold before he left without another world, leaving you alone outside.

The connect dots snapped into place almost instantly, horrifying you as you continued to stare at Wanda from above. 

Oh, fuck. 

Maybe it was a good thing you didn't bring anyone tonight. You're not sure how you'd be able to take someone home into your bed with the daunting realization you go after girls who look like your best friend...because you actually want your best friend. 

The three months since that discovery had nearly driven you to insanity. Since you refused to talk to anyone about it, most of your thought process was, " Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no."

But in the end, you resolved that it couldn't happen. Wanda would never reciprocate your feelings in a million years, especially since she had Vision. Wanda occasionally even talked about the possibility of marrying him down the road. 

It wasn't happening. It was never going to happen. 

Wanda was more important to you than anyone in the whole entire world. You would never allow anything to risk the friendship—even your feelings. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You felt like a sick sexual deviant. 

Despite your resolve to bury your feelings and continue on as normal, it was getting increasingly weird to continue to see girls who looked like Wanda. Yet, you couldn't stop. It wasn't doing it for you otherwise. 

But now, every time you kissed a girl, all you could see was Wanda in her. Sex was beginning to become a guilty pleasure for all the wrong reasons. 

When you met Raye, it felt like another sinful thing to lust after, knowing how much she physically reminded you of Wanda. But you could see a big personality difference in the short time you spent chatting with Raye. 

Wanda was the type you spoiled, indulging in her strange, wacky ideas. She could be very emotional, swinging from one side of the spectrum to another. She had such a big heart, willing to love, but also held grudges and was wicked if crossed. Wanda was a brat in all the loving ways you could mean. 

Raye could be best described as emotionally consistent. On the surface, she portrayed a wicked sense of humor and was fun to be around, but she was much more guarded than Wanda. She was very independent, not liking anything that might even intrude on her freedom. Raye kept her true feelings close to herself and seemed to be teasing you to come find out. 

It was different. You didn't mind, maybe liking it even (purely in the sense it was the opposite of Wanda, and you couldn't afford to keep lusting after your best friend in all possible ways).

Even so, your mind was distracted on the first date.

"Have you ever done a boudoir photoshoot?" Raye asks, her tone low and seductive.

"Can't say that I have," you smile, trying to remind yourself to be present during the date. It's been long since you've properly wined and dined someone, and Wanda kept entering your thoughts. 

"Well, there's a first for everything and you might even have a willing model," Raye bit her bottom lip suggestively, her index finger stroking the back of your hand. 

And while the southern twang does stir something in you, and you feel your stomach tingling, you're very aware that it's because Raye physically reminds you of Wanda. So, your mind traitorously imagines Wanda biting her lip and saying seductive things to you. 

"THEY WOULD NEVER—"

You whip your head around, swearing you heard Wanda. When there was no sign of her, you furrowed your brows in confusion, turning back to Raye.

Was this a sign of insanity?

You resolve right then and there to focus on the lovely brunette before you and enjoy the date. It was easy enough if you relaxed and earnestly asked Raye questions about herself. 

It was easy enough to hold Raye's hand and swing it back and forth if you just thought about how warm they were. 

It was enough to giggle when Raye leaned in closer to whisper something silly or naughty in your ear if you just thought about how her breath felt on the shell of your ear.

Suddenly, the car next to you went off, the alarm beeping loudly enough to make you and Raye jump in surprise. You turned around and noticed the couple behind you were gone. You thought they looked slightly familiar, but it was too difficult to determine when they were so far away in the dark under passing streetlights. 

Ultimately, you walk Raye up her steps, unsure what you want your next move to be. Everything feels strange since the revelation. You feel guilty for your lust, but specifically what causes it. 

But when Raye pulled you in for a hot, searing kiss, you decided to just go with the flow...which also ended up being nothing as she got a call from her sister while clothes were discarded. 

The call was only bordering on 40 seconds, but you decided your momentum was lost, and you needed that momentum to have sex with someone else while you tried (unsuccessfully) to not think about Wanda. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Fuck. Darcy.

Those were the only words that could come to your mind after Wanda texted her vague answer about whether or not she was returning home tonight. 

You sighed as you scrolled through the videos and photos, trying to get a headstart on putting together the video for Tony and Pepper. As you began opening up files, many were corrupted by the inability to open or glitchy images. 

With another sigh, your chair scraped against the floor as you shifted back, pulling out your phone and shooting a quick text to the videographer asking if you could meet up tomorrow to get the SD card for the originals. You got a prompt reply with a thumbs-up emoji with a time and place. 

You thought you might've just heard something shuffle in your room, but you forget about it when it's quiet again.

In the end, you spent another 45 minutes scrolling through some other photos that weren't corrupted, catching Wanda in the background and staring with a lingering thought about how absolutely pretty she was.

A part of you was in disbelief that Wanda was interested in women. You had so many questions that still lingered, but you didn't want to push Wanda or make it seem like you were interrogating her, and she needed to prove it.  

Still, you wondered what exactly made Wanda come to terms with the fact that she liked women.

Specifically, why couldn't you be the reason she was interested in women? You shoved those forbidden feelings down, beating them back into its box to put away. 

It didn't matter. 

It shouldn't matter.

You're with Raye, and Wanda may be with Darcy. Or some other girl, or maybe even with a guy again.

It's just not going to be you. 

And that's okay, you tell yourself. You can love someone without having to pursue anything. You just want to be there for Wanda. 

Of course, all of this changed the moment you watched a slanted confession video from an unaware Wanda while your roommate was out for lunch with a client.

Shock is the only thing that registers upon the video finishing. Were you hallucinating again? Was this like the first date with Raye where you kept thinking you could hear or see glimpses of Wanda?

But you played the video over and over, blinking every time it was finished.

Then a burst of strange laughter bubbled from your mouth, and then horror dawned on you that, 'oh, fuck. She actually feels the same way.'

It was unclear whether or not Wanda was trying to let her feelings be known or if she was also facing the same issue as you, where she was suppressing them. Either way, Wanda would unlikely be brave enough to say anything soon. 

You spent the week humming and hawing about what pursuing a relationship with your best friend would mean. What would the consequences be if things didn't work out? What would the consequences be if you declined to pursue anything more despite if Wanda confessed? What would the consequences be to watch Wanda move on and love someone else?

Your stomach dropped. 

You needed to break up with Raye. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You wait 3 more days before confronting Wanda since she's clearly a chicken.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You knew you had feelings for me for at least 3 months?" Wanda screeches. "And you said nothing?!"

"Okay, relax, you banshee," you wince at the sound. "How is that the only thing you hung onto out of everything I just told you?"

"But...but!" Wanda narrows her eyes on you. "It was getting serious with Raye!"

"Serious?" you raise your brow at Wanda. "What gave you the idea it was getting serious? We were dating but I saw her maybe a few days out of a month with how much she flies out for work."

"So, it wasn't getting serious at all?" Wanda frowns.

"Well," you purse your lips. "Maybe for Raye. She was considering transferring to another department so she wouldn't have to fly out anymore."

Wanda's mouth hangs open, her face pale with the worst thoughts of what might've been if they never confessed their feelings.

"Which," you cut in like you're able to read her mind, "obviously, I told her to not do as I wanted to end things with her."

"How did she take it?" Wanda asks curiously.

You look uncomfortable as you shift in bed, but Wanda waits patiently. "I think she just emotionally shut down. There were no tears, no screaming, or any accusations about why I was ending things. She just looked impassive as she accepted it and asked me to leave."

"Oh," Wanda bit her bottom lip. She feels bad in a way, but not bad enough to regret making you hers. "I'm sorry, bug."

You sigh as you reach over and pull Wanda close, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. The blanket shifts down, exposing Wanda's neck and collarbone where you had unabashedly marked up.

"Now, are you done with the questions, or can we resume where we left off?" You ask mischievously, pressing languid kisses against the side of her neck. 

Wanda closes her eyes with a soft hum, pressing her body closer to yours until you shift and move over Wanda. 

"I notice that you didn't mention anything about Darcy."

"Mention what exactly?" You say between kisses, stroking Wanda's hip. "That I was insanely jealous and wished her ill? Although, now that I know it was a fake date and neither of you had interest in each other, she seems nice."

Wanda laughs. "Even after she hacked your laptop?"

"With your help, might I remind you," you pull up and pointedly look at her. "But if she never corrupted those wedding files, I would've never got the original SD card and found out about your feelings."

"Very true," Wanda muses as she throws her head around your neck and pulls you close. She pecks your lips charmingly. "We should get her a nice bottle of wine."

"What about Steve and Bucky."

Wanda scoffs. "They're meddling little school girls who are probably kicking their feet and giggling."

You can't help but laugh before you dive in for another kiss, eager but slow. Oh, man. You were going to love Wanda for the rest of your life.

After a moment, Wanda sighs. "Okay, fine. We can give our McDonald's coupons to Steve and Bucky."

You laugh again. "Alright, brat."

"Okay, stinky."

"Chicken."

"Stupid."

"Witch."

"Here we go again with that," Wanda rolls her eyes with a smile. "I'll have you know that if I were a witch, I'd be the most powerful and best witch ever."

"I bet you would," you agree very readily. "Instead of cursing people to death, you'd be saving their lives...or causing mass chaos. Huh, I guess that's not so different from now." 

Wanda scoffs indignantly before she starts tickling you. You laugh, trying to jerk away, but Wanda is persistent in keeping you in place. 

"Mercy!" You laugh as you roll to the side. 

"Take that back! I do not cause chaos!"

"I take it back! You're clearly an A-List superhero!"

Wanda continues to tickle you anyway. "Say you love me!"

"I love you!"

Only then does Wanda stop, grinning wickedly as she presses a chaste kiss to your lips, and you're breathing heavily.

You want to call her a menace, but you're afraid that will only result in another tickle fight. 

Wanda smiles warmly.

"I love you, too."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"See, I told you Wanda would be the one to confess!" Steve smirks.

"That's because you're a little cheater who went and nudged Wanda along," Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile.

"Oh, yeah, like you're the perfect picture of fair," Steve narrows his eyes. "Don't think I don't know that you went to Bug first. I had to step in and nudge Wanda to make the odds even."

"Was it really Wanda who confessed when it was Bug who technically discovered her secret."

Steve seems to think about it before he slumps into the sofa, "I feel like that's a gray area." Then, Steve frowns. "Ugh, but then that means neither of us wins the bet."

"We can just call it even," Bucky shrugs, laying his head on Steve's shoulder.

"Oh, no," Steve shakes his head. "I won't let you wriggle out of our bet. We will watch all the Lord of the Rings movies if you lose."

Bucky groans loudly. "But there's so many and they're so long."

"You really think I want to watch the Star Wars movies?" Steve rolls his eyes.

"They're a classic!" Bucky argues.

"So is Lord of the Rings."

Bucky huffs but concedes. "Fine," he wrinkles his nose. "Should we bet on something else?"

"No, I like the thrill of two people getting together, even if it takes time. Besides, we have the time since we have to finish a whole bunch of shows," Steve says.

"Hm, which ones of our friends are due to get together?" Bucky muses.

"We could try Nat and Maria," Steve suggests.

"No, too hard since Maria doesn't live here," Bucky shakes his head and then offers, "Yelena and Kate?"

"I think they're actually already together," Steve furrows his brows. "But if they're not, I'm too scared of Yelena to get involved in her affairs."

"I think that's all our friends who are technically single with a viable date option," Bucky sighs.

Silence falls between them before Steve suggests, "Want to bet when Tony and Pepper will announce they're pregnant?"

They stare at each other for a moment before they yell out their guess at the same time. 

"6 months!"

"6 months!"

The silliness of it all leaves Steve and Bucky giggling. 

[lycheepocketwitch]

"it was the fact that you might just be subconsciously a pervert."

LMFAOOO

"This was all Bucky's fault. You wished you had never gone out onto that balcony that night."

*GASP* SO STEVE AND BUCKY WERE SCHEMING???

"You felt like a sick sexual deviant."

oh poor babie😭

"Specifically, why couldn't you be the reason she was interested in women? You shoved those forbidden feelings down, beating them back into its box to put away."

poor babie😭x2

"You wait 3 more days before confronting Wanda since she's clearly a chicken."

and we're back to comedy hahahaha. gosh i can't believe it's the end of this mini-series! it was so entertaining and well-written. i usually go for very angsty (preferably with happy/hopeful endings bc im not that much of a masochist) fics, but it was so refreshing to read this fic! i mean i guess in a way there was like a biiiit of angst, but with all the humor, it really was fluffier than angst lol.

also i have to say i would NOT let wanda give steve and bucky our mcdonalds coupons🤨😠 IM KEEPING MY DISCOUNTED CHICKEN NUGGETS FOR MYSELF TYVM

[missmonsters2]

JAZZZZZ!! We have survived this ordeal together LOLL <3

I can't believe it's also the end and you stuck with me the entireeee time. screaming and sobbing <333

the way i'd rather die than give someone my mcdonald's coupons fr LMFAO esp the free ice cream ones. like bffr, i can't give that up LOL

Thank you sm for the laughs !! I will try my best to make you cry in the spinoff sequel if i ever get to it <333 LOL

[lycheepocketwitch]

wait hOLD UP wdym by “make me cry in the spinoff sequel” i dONT WANT ANYTHING BAD TO HAPPEN TO BUG AND WANDA😭😭😭😭

i feel like im getting bamboozled

(if i wanna cry i go read ur under the light mini-series looool)

[missmonsters2]

OMG I FORGOT TODAY WAS TUESDAY AND I JUST SAW MIRROR, MIRROR IN THE WANDA TAG IM SO EXCITED !!!

LAST ONE JAZ <3

[lycheepocketwitch]

and it was magnificent

hope u enjoy my commentary 🫶

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | Six: Epilogue

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART FIVE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You never really thought about Wanda other than the fact that she's your best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. It just wasn't in the realm of possibilites, so you never let yourself develop feelings. At least until someone points out that you have a very specific type when it comes to dating, so maybe it is all subconscious? Reader's POV

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: Mini Series is completed! Thank you so much for tagging along with me <3 Explicit version available in a week.

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~3.1k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You rarely think about sentences that could change your life.

There are too many instances that could change your life; therefore, it would be moot to think about.

You have a terminal illness. 

You've won 69 million dollars.

Someone you love has horrifically died—no, there were no remains.

It's all too overwhelming to think about; therefore, you don't. Yet, somehow, if you ever did think about life-changing sentences, you didn't think it could ever be, "Hey, have you noticed how you seem to exclusively date girls who look like Wanda?"

And it was like the ground crumbled underneath you. It was such a sickening realization—not that Wanda was in any way sickening—it was the fact that you might just be subconsciously a pervert. 

The more you thought about the words, the more horrifying it became. Every one-night stand, every situationship, every girlfriend—god, they all looked like Wanda. 

You're too scared to think about it deeper in fear of what it would reveal subconsciously every time you kissed or fucked a girl. Were you thinking of Wanda? God, you just couldn't think about it.

This was all Bucky's fault. You wished you had never gone out onto that balcony that night. 

3 months prior to that night at the bar with Wanda & Steve

The cool air felt better, and the breeze settled on the back of your neck. There was definitely too much wine going around, and you only managed to escape as Tony brought out the hard liquor. 

The crowd dispersed after several shots you didn't partake in. You stared into the distance, thinking idly how Tony had way too much money. Old money was ridiculous. Why does someone need a garden fountain as big as a pool?

Movement caught the corner of your eye, and you saw Wanda and Vision walking through the dimly lit garden. You smiled fondly at your best friend as she laughed at whatever charming thing Vision had managed to say. 

Vision was...just okay, in your opinion. You thought he was too nonchalant about Wanda, and that was why they were so on and off rather than consistently being together. Wanda deserved someone who loved her fiercely, and you couldn't imagine Vision always putting Wanda first. 

You watched with slight melancholy when Wanda linked her arms through his as they sat on the ledge of the garden fountain. You wished you had also brought someone along for this party. 

"Hey, thought I saw you sneak out here."

You turned around and saw Bucky holding a glass of beer. You smirked at him with mirth. "You know what I must do when Tony starts bringing out the grey goose."

Bucky shuddered, clearly having been roped into a few shots. He came and stood next to you, catching the scene you were staring at. "Guess they're back on then?"

You shrugged. "Guess so. We'll see how long it lasts. I'm betting 3 months."

"Be realistic. It'll be 2 and a half months," Bucky snorted. 

"Ye of little faith," you teased and then sighed. "I wish I also brought someone along. I should've brought that girl I met at my photoshoot."

"The brunette with green eyes?" Bucky asked, and you nod. "You know what I've noticed?"

"Hm?" you hummed in response to Bucky's casual tone. 

"You seem to have a very specific type when it comes to dating," Bucky mused. "They're always brunette—save those two girls from university—and they always have green eyes." 

You furrow your brows in serious thought. "I suppose so."

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, his tone still casual. "They always remind me of Wanda, especially from the back. I always have to make sure I'm careful not to mix up your date with Wanda." 

Bucky ended it with a chuckle, stating he was getting cold before he left without another world, leaving you alone outside.

The connect dots snapped into place almost instantly, horrifying you as you continued to stare at Wanda from above. 

Oh, fuck. 

Maybe it was a good thing you didn't bring anyone tonight. You're not sure how you'd be able to take someone home into your bed with the daunting realization you go after girls who look like your best friend...because you actually want your best friend. 

The three months since that discovery had nearly driven you to insanity. Since you refused to talk to anyone about it, most of your thought process was, " Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no."

But in the end, you resolved that it couldn't happen. Wanda would never reciprocate your feelings in a million years, especially since she had Vision. Wanda occasionally even talked about the possibility of marrying him down the road. 

It wasn't happening. It was never going to happen. 

Wanda was more important to you than anyone in the whole entire world. You would never allow anything to risk the friendship—even your feelings. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You felt like a sick sexual deviant. 

Despite your resolve to bury your feelings and continue on as normal, it was getting increasingly weird to continue to see girls who looked like Wanda. Yet, you couldn't stop. It wasn't doing it for you otherwise. 

But now, every time you kissed a girl, all you could see was Wanda in her. Sex was beginning to become a guilty pleasure for all the wrong reasons. 

When you met Raye, it felt like another sinful thing to lust after, knowing how much she physically reminded you of Wanda. But you could see a big personality difference in the short time you spent chatting with Raye. 

Wanda was the type you spoiled, indulging in her strange, wacky ideas. She could be very emotional, swinging from one side of the spectrum to another. She had such a big heart, willing to love, but also held grudges and was wicked if crossed. Wanda was a brat in all the loving ways you could mean. 

Raye could be best described as emotionally consistent. On the surface, she portrayed a wicked sense of humor and was fun to be around, but she was much more guarded than Wanda. She was very independent, not liking anything that might even intrude on her freedom. Raye kept her true feelings close to herself and seemed to be teasing you to come find out. 

It was different. You didn't mind, maybe liking it even (purely in the sense it was the opposite of Wanda, and you couldn't afford to keep lusting after your best friend in all possible ways).

Even so, your mind was distracted on the first date.

"Have you ever done a boudoir photoshoot?" Raye asks, her tone low and seductive.

"Can't say that I have," you smile, trying to remind yourself to be present during the date. It's been long since you've properly wined and dined someone, and Wanda kept entering your thoughts. 

"Well, there's a first for everything and you might even have a willing model," Raye bit her bottom lip suggestively, her index finger stroking the back of your hand. 

And while the southern twang does stir something in you, and you feel your stomach tingling, you're very aware that it's because Raye physically reminds you of Wanda. So, your mind traitorously imagines Wanda biting her lip and saying seductive things to you. 

"THEY WOULD NEVER—"

You whip your head around, swearing you heard Wanda. When there was no sign of her, you furrowed your brows in confusion, turning back to Raye.

Was this a sign of insanity?

You resolve right then and there to focus on the lovely brunette before you and enjoy the date. It was easy enough if you relaxed and earnestly asked Raye questions about herself. 

It was easy enough to hold Raye's hand and swing it back and forth if you just thought about how warm they were. 

It was enough to giggle when Raye leaned in closer to whisper something silly or naughty in your ear if you just thought about how her breath felt on the shell of your ear.

Suddenly, the car next to you went off, the alarm beeping loudly enough to make you and Raye jump in surprise. You turned around and noticed the couple behind you were gone. You thought they looked slightly familiar, but it was too difficult to determine when they were so far away in the dark under passing streetlights. 

Ultimately, you walk Raye up her steps, unsure what you want your next move to be. Everything feels strange since the revelation. You feel guilty for your lust, but specifically what causes it. 

But when Raye pulled you in for a hot, searing kiss, you decided to just go with the flow...which also ended up being nothing as she got a call from her sister while clothes were discarded. 

The call was only bordering on 40 seconds, but you decided your momentum was lost, and you needed that momentum to have sex with someone else while you tried (unsuccessfully) to not think about Wanda. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Fuck. Darcy.

Those were the only words that could come to your mind after Wanda texted her vague answer about whether or not she was returning home tonight. 

You sighed as you scrolled through the videos and photos, trying to get a headstart on putting together the video for Tony and Pepper. As you began opening up files, many were corrupted by the inability to open or glitchy images. 

With another sigh, your chair scraped against the floor as you shifted back, pulling out your phone and shooting a quick text to the videographer asking if you could meet up tomorrow to get the SD card for the originals. You got a prompt reply with a thumbs-up emoji with a time and place. 

You thought you might've just heard something shuffle in your room, but you forget about it when it's quiet again.

In the end, you spent another 45 minutes scrolling through some other photos that weren't corrupted, catching Wanda in the background and staring with a lingering thought about how absolutely pretty she was.

A part of you was in disbelief that Wanda was interested in women. You had so many questions that still lingered, but you didn't want to push Wanda or make it seem like you were interrogating her, and she needed to prove it.  

Still, you wondered what exactly made Wanda come to terms with the fact that she liked women.

Specifically, why couldn't you be the reason she was interested in women? You shoved those forbidden feelings down, beating them back into its box to put away. 

It didn't matter. 

It shouldn't matter.

You're with Raye, and Wanda may be with Darcy. Or some other girl, or maybe even with a guy again.

It's just not going to be you. 

And that's okay, you tell yourself. You can love someone without having to pursue anything. You just want to be there for Wanda. 

Of course, all of this changed the moment you watched a slanted confession video from an unaware Wanda while your roommate was out for lunch with a client.

Shock is the only thing that registers upon the video finishing. Were you hallucinating again? Was this like the first date with Raye where you kept thinking you could hear or see glimpses of Wanda?

But you played the video over and over, blinking every time it was finished.

Then a burst of strange laughter bubbled from your mouth, and then horror dawned on you that, 'oh, fuck. She actually feels the same way.'

It was unclear whether or not Wanda was trying to let her feelings be known or if she was also facing the same issue as you, where she was suppressing them. Either way, Wanda would unlikely be brave enough to say anything soon. 

You spent the week humming and hawing about what pursuing a relationship with your best friend would mean. What would the consequences be if things didn't work out? What would the consequences be if you declined to pursue anything more despite if Wanda confessed? What would the consequences be to watch Wanda move on and love someone else?

Your stomach dropped. 

You needed to break up with Raye. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You wait 3 more days before confronting Wanda since she's clearly a chicken.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You knew you had feelings for me for at least 3 months?" Wanda screeches. "And you said nothing?!"

"Okay, relax, you banshee," you wince at the sound. "How is that the only thing you hung onto out of everything I just told you?"

"But...but!" Wanda narrows her eyes on you. "It was getting serious with Raye!"

"Serious?" you raise your brow at Wanda. "What gave you the idea it was getting serious? We were dating but I saw her maybe a few days out of a month with how much she flies out for work."

"So, it wasn't getting serious at all?" Wanda frowns.

"Well," you purse your lips. "Maybe for Raye. She was considering transferring to another department so she wouldn't have to fly out anymore."

Wanda's mouth hangs open, her face pale with the worst thoughts of what might've been if they never confessed their feelings.

"Which," you cut in like you're able to read her mind, "obviously, I told her to not do as I wanted to end things with her."

"How did she take it?" Wanda asks curiously.

You look uncomfortable as you shift in bed, but Wanda waits patiently. "I think she just emotionally shut down. There were no tears, no screaming, or any accusations about why I was ending things. She just looked impassive as she accepted it and asked me to leave."

"Oh," Wanda bit her bottom lip. She feels bad in a way, but not bad enough to regret making you hers. "I'm sorry, bug."

You sigh as you reach over and pull Wanda close, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. The blanket shifts down, exposing Wanda's neck and collarbone where you had unabashedly marked up.

"Now, are you done with the questions, or can we resume where we left off?" You ask mischievously, pressing languid kisses against the side of her neck. 

Wanda closes her eyes with a soft hum, pressing her body closer to yours until you shift and move over Wanda. 

"I notice that you didn't mention anything about Darcy."

"Mention what exactly?" You say between kisses, stroking Wanda's hip. "That I was insanely jealous and wished her ill? Although, now that I know it was a fake date and neither of you had interest in each other, she seems nice."

Wanda laughs. "Even after she hacked your laptop?"

"With your help, might I remind you," you pull up and pointedly look at her. "But if she never corrupted those wedding files, I would've never got the original SD card and found out about your feelings."

"Very true," Wanda muses as she throws her head around your neck and pulls you close. She pecks your lips charmingly. "We should get her a nice bottle of wine."

"What about Steve and Bucky."

Wanda scoffs. "They're meddling little school girls who are probably kicking their feet and giggling."

You can't help but laugh before you dive in for another kiss, eager but slow. Oh, man. You were going to love Wanda for the rest of your life.

After a moment, Wanda sighs. "Okay, fine. We can give our McDonald's coupons to Steve and Bucky."

You laugh again. "Alright, brat."

"Okay, stinky."

"Chicken."

"Stupid."

"Witch."

"Here we go again with that," Wanda rolls her eyes with a smile. "I'll have you know that if I were a witch, I'd be the most powerful and best witch ever."

"I bet you would," you agree very readily. "Instead of cursing people to death, you'd be saving their lives...or causing mass chaos. Huh, I guess that's not so different from now." 

Wanda scoffs indignantly before she starts tickling you. You laugh, trying to jerk away, but Wanda is persistent in keeping you in place. 

"Mercy!" You laugh as you roll to the side. 

"Take that back! I do not cause chaos!"

"I take it back! You're clearly an A-List superhero!"

Wanda continues to tickle you anyway. "Say you love me!"

"I love you!"

Only then does Wanda stop, grinning wickedly as she presses a chaste kiss to your lips, and you're breathing heavily.

You want to call her a menace, but you're afraid that will only result in another tickle fight. 

Wanda smiles warmly.

"I love you, too."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"See, I told you Wanda would be the one to confess!" Steve smirks.

"That's because you're a little cheater who went and nudged Wanda along," Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile.

"Oh, yeah, like you're the perfect picture of fair," Steve narrows his eyes. "Don't think I don't know that you went to Bug first. I had to step in and nudge Wanda to make the odds even."

"Was it really Wanda who confessed when it was Bug who technically discovered her secret."

Steve seems to think about it before he slumps into the sofa, "I feel like that's a gray area." Then, Steve frowns. "Ugh, but then that means neither of us wins the bet."

"We can just call it even," Bucky shrugs, laying his head on Steve's shoulder.

"Oh, no," Steve shakes his head. "I won't let you wriggle out of our bet. We will watch all the Lord of the Rings movies if you lose."

Bucky groans loudly. "But there's so many and they're so long."

"You really think I want to watch the Star Wars movies?" Steve rolls his eyes.

"They're a classic!" Bucky argues.

"So is Lord of the Rings."

Bucky huffs but concedes. "Fine," he wrinkles his nose. "Should we bet on something else?"

"No, I like the thrill of two people getting together, even if it takes time. Besides, we have the time since we have to finish a whole bunch of shows," Steve says.

"Hm, which ones of our friends are due to get together?" Bucky muses.

"We could try Nat and Maria," Steve suggests.

"No, too hard since Maria doesn't live here," Bucky shakes his head and then offers, "Yelena and Kate?"

"I think they're actually already together," Steve furrows his brows. "But if they're not, I'm too scared of Yelena to get involved in her affairs."

"I think that's all our friends who are technically single with a viable date option," Bucky sighs.

Silence falls between them before Steve suggests, "Want to bet when Tony and Pepper will announce they're pregnant?"

They stare at each other for a moment before they yell out their guess at the same time. 

"6 months!"

"6 months!"

The silliness of it all leaves Steve and Bucky giggling. 

[lycheepocketwitch]

"it was the fact that you might just be subconsciously a pervert."

LMFAOOO

"This was all Bucky's fault. You wished you had never gone out onto that balcony that night."

*GASP* SO STEVE AND BUCKY WERE SCHEMING???

"You felt like a sick sexual deviant."

oh poor babie😭

"Specifically, why couldn't you be the reason she was interested in women? You shoved those forbidden feelings down, beating them back into its box to put away."

poor babie😭x2

"You wait 3 more days before confronting Wanda since she's clearly a chicken."

and we're back to comedy hahahaha. gosh i can't believe it's the end of this mini-series! it was so entertaining and well-written. i usually go for very angsty (preferably with happy/hopeful endings bc im not that much of a masochist) fics, but it was so refreshing to read this fic! i mean i guess in a way there was like a biiiit of angst, but with all the humor, it really was fluffier than angst lol.

also i have to say i would NOT let wanda give steve and bucky our mcdonalds coupons🤨😠 IM KEEPING MY DISCOUNTED CHICKEN NUGGETS FOR MYSELF TYVM

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | Five

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART FOUR

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Deleting the video evidence of Wanda's embarrassing confession only goes slightly awry, and in the end, she can't tell if she's relieved or disappointed with herself. Perhaps she can get advice from someone who was once in her position.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: There's still an epilogue after this!! But after that, it's done </3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4,6k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda jiggles her key through the door with a renewed rush. Her hands are shaky, and she should really just take her time. This wasn't making it go any faster.

Darcy had just dropped her off after they ate their McDonald's meal in the parking lot and was on her way back to get access to her laptop to help Wanda. 

Finally unlocking the door, Wanda took her shoes off haphazardly and took off towards your room. Your laptop sits innocently at your desk, unaware of all the havoc Wanda will reap upon it if it doesn't give her access to your email. 

She pulls out the chair and sits down before she opens it up. The first thing that greets her is the password page. Wanda pulls out the USB that Darcy gave her and plugs it in. All she can do now is wait since Darcy said she'd text Wanda once she made it home. 

The next 15 minutes feel like a bottomless pit of hell. Wanda checks her watch every couple of minutes, tapping her foot impatiently. 

"Come on, come on, come on," Wanda huffs quietly. She's extremely paranoid about what you might be doing. It's unlikely you'd be returning home tonight, and even if you were, it'd be a couple of hours from now.

Yet, the unhinged part of Wanda wants to pull out her phone and text you, "Hey, what's up? You're still busy sexing up Raye, right? Definitely not ideal, but you're not checking your emails or on your way home, right?

Wanda wishes she made Natasha go stakeout Raye's house to alert her when you were leaving the place. Before she can think more insane thoughts, her phone vibrates in her hand, and Wanda checks it with speed. It was from Darcy confirming she'd made it home and it'd be any minute now. 

Wanda looks up at your laptop screen, pushing her finger against the mousepad to ensure the screen doesn't time out. The USB must give Darcy some kind of access because, true to her word, something does start happening. 

Wanda watches the screen with mild interest as a separate window pops up. The background is black, but it's clearly some kind of coding as random words begin running. It takes a few minutes, but then asterisks fill your password box. It only takes 3 times before the right password is entered and Wanda's gained access.

"Yes!" She celebrates before she sends Darcy a quick text. 

Wanda pulls up your email and finds the latest one sent to you is a link to a Google Drive. There are many videos and some photos, but Wanda recognizes herself in one of the thumbnails and clicks on it.

"I don't see what's so great about Raye—"

Wanda immediately stops playing it, unable to bear the embarrassment of hearing herself. She quickly deletes the clip, also going to the trash bin to make sure it's permanently deleted. Wanda checks everything several times to ensure there are no other clips and any trace of her confession is gone. 

Mission completed. 

Relief floods her system, knowing that the clip has been deleted. 

Wanda closed everything she opened, making sure she changed the status of the email to unread. Once everything is as it was, Wanda closes your laptop and unplugs the USB.  

Stuffing the USB into her pocket, she's about to send another text to Darcy when Wanda hears the front door open, and you call out her name. You must've seen her shoes at the door, but Wanda still doesn't answer. She hears you walking back down the hallway toward your room and panics. 

Oh, god, she couldn't walk back out that door without bumping into you, and she couldn't jump out the window either with them living on the 10th floor. 

Oh, fuck, what does she do? Wanda's panicking as she shakes her hands in hysteria and looks around frantically. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Wanda carefully makes her way to your closet, but it's filled wall to wall with your clothes, and the floor is filled with your shoes and other boxes. There was no room to hide in there.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Wanda's walking around your room and has no idea where to hide. She looks at your bed and internally groans. Dropping to her knees, she scoots herself until she's fully underneath, flat on her stomach, but her head is kept off the floor. She quickly opens her phone and turns it from vibration mode to silence—Wanda refuses to be caught. She would rather die than even try and explain all of this.

The door opens, and Wanda only gets a few of your slippers as you make your way back to your desk. She hears a soft clank on the desk, and Wanda can only assume it's the mug of tea you have every night. 

Wanda hears you sigh quietly as you seem to settle in for the night. This is not good. This is fucking terrible. 

Wanda can't tell how long she's been stuck under your bed. She's too worried about moving and accidentally making a noise. All she hears is the soft music playing and your mouse and keyboard clicking. 

Suddenly, her phone lights up with a notification. It's a text from you.

Wanda bites her lip, trying to decide if she should answer. Ultimately, she decides she should because it's possible you might try to call her if she doesn't, and she definitely can't answer it if you do. Wanda would also feel bad about not answering you if you're worried. 

But, god fucking dammit, she's going to have to lie. Again. 

Wanda hears a breathy chuckle from you and tries not to smile. 

Fuck. 

Wanda doesn't know if she should say yes or no. If she says yes, will you wait until she gets home? Wanda can only dread how long she might be stuck under your bed.

The chair you're sitting scrapes against the floor a little. A reply doesn't come for a few minutes, and Wanda wishes she could see what you were doing. 

Wanda stares at the text, trying to see if she can decipher your tone from just the words alone. It's something you've told her countless times when she told you she'd be staying at Vision's place. Yet, somehow, this feels different. 

You stop replying to her after that. It's both a relief that Wanda could stop digging herself into another hole and a torture she's left without much to do again. 

Wanda checks some of her other texts and replies to them, but her battery life is getting exceedingly low, and she doesn't want it to die on her accidentally if you do decide to text her again. 

The last time she opened the phone to check the time, an hour and a half had passed. There's almost a desperation to give herself up and come clean to relinquish herself from the sheer boredom, but Wanda holds strong since she reasons she'd already made it this far. 

"Hmm," Wanda hears you let out a deep hum. The mouse clicks a few times, and Wanda wishes she could see what you were staring at. 

Definitely not her confession video; that much comforts Wanda. 

God, she's bored. She's so bored that the fear has long left her body. 

It's a miracle when Wanda hears you get up and stretch, a few cricks released from your back. You leave the room, and Wanda hears the bathroom door shut. 

Wanda scrambles to get out from under the bed, nearly hitting her head 5 times. She quickly tiptoes out of your room, heading for the front door and opening it. Just as you're coming out of the bathroom, Wanda shuts the door as if she's just gotten in. 

"Wanda, is that you?" You call from the hallway.

"Yep! You're still up?" Wanda calls back, laughing nervously to herself about how stupid this all was, but relief she was clearly getting away with it. 

"Yeah, just thought I'd get a start on the editing stuff for Tony," you say as Wanda walks towards you. 

"Oh, cool," Wanda doesn't inquire further but says, "I thought you were staying at Raye's tonight?"

"Oh, uh," you seem surprised that Wanda asks. "I was having a hard time falling asleep on her bed. The mattress is too soft and gives me the worst cricks."

"Oh," Wanda nods, knowing that your mattress is memory foam but on the firmer side. 

"What about you?" You ask back. "Didn't go home with Darcy?"

"Uh, no," Wanda fumbles slightly. "Uh, it was good, but I, uh, was getting a slight stomachache from the McDonald's so I decided to go home."

You frown. "Do you want some tea? Maybe some Tums?"

"Maybe some ginger and honey tea?"

You nod. "Alright, I'll get some ready for you. Why don't you go take your makeup off and whatnot? We could watch some TV before we sleep."

"Oo," Wanda grins. "I think I saw some things come out on Disney+, let's see what they have!"

The rollercoaster of the night comes to a satisfying end for Wanda. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next three weeks are odd for Wanda. During the first and second weeks, she was so busy with her clients and a whole PR mess that she barely had time to see you. 

She spends more time collaborating with her team about how they will dig one of their clients out of the mess they'd made or if they should just drop the client. She's barely been able to think about her feelings for you and what to do about it. 

By the time the third week arrives, everything at work finally slows down, and she has time to herself like a regular person again. Wanda reflects back on her position and the entire video-deleting debacle. 

With the fear and adrenaline long gone, Wanda can't actually tell if she's disappointed that you haven't discovered her feelings. Would things have just been easier if you had watched the video?

At the very least, it might be better in the sense Wanda wouldn't be stuck in the same place. 

Wanda's sitting on the couch, lazily trying to focus on her book but can't with her mind continuously drifting. You haven't been home as of late—Wanda only realized you've been out a lot for a week and a half now. 

Sighing, Wanda closes her book. She was getting bored again. You wouldn't be home until later, and she already spent an hour on the phone with Natasha earlier. 

Just as Wanda was about to text you to ask if there was any possibility you'd be home earlier, the front doorknob jiggled, signaling someone was putting in their key.

Wanda smiles, hoping she'll see you walk through the door, but smiles even wider when she sees who walks through it. 

Getting up from the couch, Wanda runs and jumps, latching onto the person. 

"Oof," the voice was gruff.

"Bucky!" Wanda yells excitedly as Bucky catches her, wrapping his arm around her to ensure she doesn't fall, even though her legs are around him. 

"Hi, nutball," Bucky says, but his mouth is muffled by Wanda's shoulder and some of her hair. 

Wanda slowly slides back down onto the floor, taking a good look at Bucky. Of all the people she adores besides you, Bucky is at the top of her list, along with Natasha, which is why they both have key fobs to the apartment. 

Bucky kind of reminds her of Pietro in certain ways, if Pietro would ever grow up and get a little serious. Bucky seems to know that and has cared for Wanda in Pietro's stead now that the guy has left for Europe since they turned 18. 

"When did you get back?" Wanda asks. "Why didn't you call? I would've arranged to pick you up from the airport."

"It's fine. Steve picked me up from the airport and we relaxed a little bit before he had to leave to the station to do some kind of sketch for a case," Bucky says as he takes off his shoes.

They wander back into the living room space and take a seat. Bucky had brought her some coffee and pastries that Wanda delighted over.

"So," Wanda says after a sip of her coffee. "How was California?"

"Hot," Bucky smiles. 

"You said you were going to train an upcoming actor in a movie, right?"

Bucky nods, sipping his own coffee. "Yeah, some new superhero movie. Pretty young; I think he just turned 18. Definitely now super ripped for an 18 year old," Bucky laughs.

"Does he need a PR agent?" Wanda grins. 

Bucky rolls his eyes with mirth. "Probably not since he has his manager handling everything, but I did pass your card along."

"You're good people."

Bucky snorts, and they spend another half hour catching up before he finally comes to the topic he's been waiting to discuss. "You know, Steve brought up something interesting."

"Oh, yeah?" Wanda raises her brow.

"Steve was bringing up how Bug seems to be seeing someone," Bucky says slowly. "And she looks a lot like you...like everyone else Bug has dated."

Wanda lets out a huge groan. "Steve should eat rocks and jump into the ocean."

Bucky laughs, leaning back onto the couch, and smiles. "So? What do you think?" 

"About what?"

Bucky gives her a side-eye, and she groans quietly this time.

"Fine," she grumbles. "It was strange to realize, but like, a good strange. I don't know. I want...I want her to look at me."

Wanda's blushing at the admittance to Bucky. It makes her feel shy, but also good that someone else close to her knows and will be on her side. 

"Have you confessed?"

"Not exactly."

"Ah, so you haven't done shit except probably rope people into your weird schemes that turn out poorly."

Wanda's jaw drops. "I have not—okay, well, I mean, I wouldn't say they turned out poorly." She would never tell Bucky about the videotaping incident. She was taking that to her grave. 

Bucky eyes Wanda, taking in the small expressions on her face and the muted longing in her eyes as she picks at her nails. "You're so much like me, sometimes I'm convinced that you're actually my little sister," Bucky grins, and Wanda mirrors him. "Don't tell Pietro that, though. He's gets so jealous."

Wanda just gives him an, 'obviously,' look.

"When I started realizing my feelings for Steve, I didn't say anything for a long, long time, and I've known I've liked Steve since we were boys making mudpies," Bucky leans his head back against the couch, the coffee resting between his hands on his stomach. "I kept thinking about what if Steve didn't feel the same? And then there was the whole Peggy situation, and I didn't want to break that up."

"You're better than me," Wanda sighs. "I would break them up in a heartbeat if I knew how she felt about me."

Bucky can't hold his laugh in for that but continues on. "I think a lot of those fears I had paralyzed me. I kept thinking I'd have more time and there was a right moment, or if I did certain things, Steve would feel the same. I just had to wait it out."

"So, what happened?"

Bucky gave her a wan smile. "Steve and Peggy, even though they'd be on and off, were getting more serious. One night, Steve told me he was thinking about proposing."

"What?" Wanda's jaw drops. She's never heard of this. "But obviously he didn't because you guys are together now."

"Yeah," Bucky laughs, "because I totally freaked out. I started saying he couldn't and then kissed him, and then started crying. It was a mess."

"Oh, god," Wanda rests her hand against her mouth. She could totally see herself doing that to you if you said the same thing. Now, she's starting to freak out if you're getting serious with Raye. 

"I think you know what I'm getting at," Bucky says, turning his head to look over at Wanda, and she feels vaguely uncomfortable. "You need to say something—now. There's no perfect timing. There's nothing extra you can do to magically know, and you're not gonna always have more time."

Wanda lets her head fall back against the couch, closing her eyes. They start to sting with tears, and she feels that same fear creep into her belly. Yet, Bucky's words resonate with her, and she suppresses that fear until it settles into a muted nervousness. 

"Fuck, I swear you and Steve planned this."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Despite Wanda's talk with Bucky, she says absolutely nothing to you when you arrive home late in the evening. Wanda's eyes are glued to the TV, watching How I Met Your Mother absently. 

You seemed to have a long day yourself as you carefully sat next to her on the couch. 

The air feels weird, and there's a tension in your shoulders. It starts to make Wanda tense until you suddenly relax with a deep breath. You shuffle in your seat before scooting until you're pressed against Wanda's side, resting your head against her shoulder. 

The smell of clean laundry and leaves fills Wanda's nose, and she relaxes against you. 

"Wanna order in?" You say.

"Yeah," Wanda replies, pulling out her phone to see what she was in the mood for. The two of you quickly place an order and continue to sit in silence, watching the TV.

You seem deep in thought, but you grab Wanda's hand at some point, holding it with keen interest.

Wanda doesn't say anything. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears are warm as you stroke the back of her hand with your thumb. Her heart doesn't speed up, but it begins to thud noticeably harder in her chest. 

It continues like that until the food arrives, and it's also eaten in silence with the background noise of the TV. Yet, whenever Wanda looks up, she finds you staring at her, and you don't break eye contact. 

It's strange, and it's making Wanda feel somewhat nauseous. 

When the food is done and put away, the two of you settle back onto the couch, but Wanda doesn't think she can handle the silence anymore. 

"How was your day?"

You turn your head, staring at Wanda, and reply softly. "Okay...how was yours? Bucky told me he stopped by to see you."

Wanda tenses. "Yeah," she mumbles. "It was good seeing him again."

"It's nice that he's home," you nod. "I'm sure Steve is happy."

Steve doesn't deserve to be happy, Wanda pettily thinks. It was his fault that Wanda felt so nervous that she felt like she would puke. 

Wanda needs to say something.

She knows she needs to say something now like Bucky told her to. 

All those same fears and anxiety creep up, but frustration has also lingered in her since the day she realized her feelings for you. 

Wanda's tired, she realizes. She's also sick of saying nothing and watching you be with someone else. She's scared but would rather say something and be put out of her misery than continue saying nothing. 

Just as Wanda is about to say something else, you say something first. 

"I broke up with Raye."

Just like that, the wind is blown out of her sails, and Wanda's brain stalls. "What?"

"I," you clear your throat, "broke up with Raye."

"When?"

"A week and a half ago."

"And you're just telling me now?"

Your brow scrunches, and you turn in your seat to fully face Wanda as you cross your legs on the couch. You're fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "Yes...I needed to think."

"Think about what?"

You wet your lips. "If...if it was worth it potentially ruining our friendship for something more."

Wanda's heart drops like an amusement park ride. Her stomach feels the same way it does when an airplane is ascending. 

She had all these things she was going to say to you just a minute ago, and now her head was empty, and all she could think about was what you were trying to say.

"I think it is...if you feel the same, which I know you do unless something's changed in the last three weeks."

"How do you know?" Wanda frowns. Then again, she wasn't trying to be sly about it the last few months. Maybe you've finally caught on. 

Wait, Wanda pauses. Three weeks? That was when—

You pull out an SD card from your pocket. Wanda's around you enough to know what that is, and her stomach sinks. 

"You know," you give her a small smile. "I was trying to edit the video together for Tony the night after the party, but as I was going through the footage, a third of the photos or videos were corrupted."

Wanda thinks back to the USB she returned to Darcy. Dammit, Darcy! That lying, sneaking, betraying—

"I didn't think much of it, but I had to meet up with the videographer to get the original files. You'd never guess what was on there," you smile wryly. "Or maybe you do since you've somehow deleted it from my Google Drive...and corrupted the other files, so I'd have to get the originals. Very conflicting motives I was getting."

"I didn't mean to corrupt the other files," Wanda mumbles. "But you should probably get your laptop professionally cleaned..."

You give her a weird look but chuckle with a shake of your head. "You're super kooky, you know."

"I do know," Wanda rolls her eyes. "I think you know as well."

"I thought I might've seen you on my first date with Raye. That rock that hit that car wouldn't happen to be something you know about, do you?"

"Not at all," Wanda replies quickly. "But if I did, I'm sure the person would want to say she wasn't aiming for the car or your head."

"So, just Raye's head?"

"Once again, not a clue what the intention was as it wasn't me."

You laugh, and Wanda joins in until it fades, and you bite your bottom lip. "I don't know how any of this works, Wanda. I've never dated anyone I consider my best friend."

"I would hope not," Wanda raises her brow at you. "That means someone else was your best friend and you've committed the ultimate betrayal."

You roll your eyes with a mirth and a smile. 

"I haven't either," Wanda says softly, slowly turning fully toward you, grabbing your hand, and lacing your fingers together. "But I want to. And no matter what happens, we're gonna be okay. I don't think I'll ever love anyone the way I love you. I think I've loved you for a really, really long time."

"Me too," you mumble, squeezing Wanda's hand, feeling shy. "I don't think I ever really thought about it. I just love you. You're my best friend and I love you."

"Now I'm your girlfriend," Wanda grins, leaning closer and closing her eyes.

"Whoa, okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves now. What if we're not even sexually compatible?" 

Wanda pulls back and looks at your face, shocked. It's stony and serious until your lip twitches and Wanda smacks you.

"Ugh, you're such a brat!"

"No, that's you. I'm stinky."

"Stinky."

"Brat."

"Bug."

"Witch."

"Oh, we're bringing back middle school nicknames, are we?" Wanda narrows her eyes at you. You're about to say something else, but Wanda's had enough.

Didn't she think something earlier about being sick of saying nothing? What was she thinking? Saying nothing sounds ideal.

Wanda launches herself across the seat into you, hearing you grunt as she topples you over onto the couch and presses her lips against yours. 

It's not a dream this time, Wanda's very sure. 

This was much, much better than any dream could give her. It feels better. 

Your lips are soft, and you taste faintly like the cookie you split with her earlier. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god, Wanda's mind is racing. She's finally kissing you.

Oh my god, she was kissing you!

You were kissing her back!

Wanda kisses you, pressing her lips over yours over and over as your fingers trail over the outside of her thighs and stroke up to her back. You're bolder than her as your fingers dip under her shirt, pressing her against bare skin. 

It's thrilling; Wanda almost can't lie still on top of you. Goosebumps are forming, and it's forming everywhere. 

You break the kiss, lips caressing her jaw, and scatter light kisses as they trail down her throat. 

Your hand moves higher up Wanda's back and pauses. 

"No bra?" You raise an eyebrow at her. 

"I didn't leave the house today," Wanda mumbles, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. 

You hum. "No complaints here," you resume your caresses of her bare skin but pause again. "Wanna move to the bedroom?"

No, Wanda thinks. She doesn't want to detach herself from this position. She doesn't want your touch or your kisses to stop. 

You can tell that Wanda's debating the pros and cons, and you try to persuade her. "A bed will give us more room to do things...and I want to do a lot of things..." You nibble on her collarbone. 

Wanda lets out a soft moan, and her toes curl. 

"Okay, fine," Wanda acquiesces, getting up and pulling you along with her. "Move quickly, though. No dallying."

"Dallying? I would never," you smile as Wanda pulls you down the hall. "I'll mirror you perfectly."

"I think you always have," Wanda says softly, turning to look at you. "That's why it's taken us so long to get here. We're stupid."

You laugh. "Seems like one of us deviated from our mirror, mirror dance."

The two of you enter Wanda's bedroom, and she falls back onto it, pulling you on top of her. 

Your body heat spreads across hers, and Wanda thinks she's dizzy again. 

"Good," Wanda mumbles, cupping your face, her thumb stroking your cheek. "I'm tired of us being chickens."

You press a kiss to her, smiling against her lips. One arm wraps around Wanda while the other trails under the front of Wanda's shirt. 

"Speak for yourself," your fingers trail higher and higher. "Maybe I'm just stupid." You press another kiss, lingering a moment longer, and then pull away. "Chicken."

"Stupid," Wanda smiles, her lips grazing yours when she does. 

"Witch."

"Bug."

"Brat."

"Stinky."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

Wanda feels something so peaceful settle over her. The butterflies in her stomach flutter around from your touch, but she's so happy. She thinks she might cry if she thinks about it too much because this was all she ever wanted. 

Wanda focuses on the feel of your hands on her skin instead and how you're making her feel hot. She focuses on the feel of your lips against her skin, the sound of her breaths, and your soft moans. 

There's no way the two of you aren't sexually compatible, but Wanda's eager to find out exactly how compatible they are...over and over. 

As your lips trail lower and more clothes are removed, Wanda idly thinks that maybe Steve doesn't need to eat rocks and jump into the ocean. 

[lycheepocketwitch]

y’know i respect wanda for committing to staying under bug’s bed and then timing her exit well enough to make it believable she just came home lol. i feel like i’d be so scared of getting caught, i’d accidentally expose myself somehow.

also now that wanda’s said, i’m also suspicious of steve and bucky planning this🤨🤨

even if they did tho, i don’t actually care that much hahaha bc THEY FINALLY GOT TOGETHER HELLO !!! AND THEY’RE ALREADY SO STINKING CUTE TOGETHER🥰 but also knowing that bug saw/heard what wanda said that night at the party just💀 i wonder what she thinks of being called the love of wanda’s life and the mother to her future children loool

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | Four

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART THREE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's becoming more apparent how badly Wanda wants you that she's sure she's going crazy. Now with a fake date on hand, Wanda's not sure which is worse: the fact she's too in love with you to pretend to be interested in someone else, or that her big mouth has potentially put her in a deep(er) hole.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: the pre-shenanigans to the shenangians. Hope y'all enjoy heh.

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4.8k

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Wanda lies in bed, unable to sleep, staring into the dark. She can barely make out the ceiling and idly thinks about buying blackout curtains.

As the party gets closer, the more Wanda starts to feel more anxious. She's experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions in the last few days, oscillating between excitement at the prospect of making you jealous and then feeling anxious at the thought you might not. 

The entire thing is starting to feel like a bad idea, but Wanda doesn't know what to do. If she calls it off, you'll ask why, and Wanda's still too scared to admit her feelings to you. Or what if you end up thinking that Wanda wasn't actually capable of dating girls?

These repetitive lines of thought would make Wanda feel nauseated. She wishes you would simply wake up and realize your feelings for her. Wanda's never had to really chase anyone before, and chasing you is probably the hardest thing she's doing, but if it works out, then it'll also be the best thing she's ever done. 

Wanda sits up, her knees pulled to her chest, as she hears shuffling around her door before a knock. 

"Come in," Wanda clears her throat, pulling the blanket slightly higher up. Her heart is racing, some of it from an irrational fear of it being a murderer, and some of it knowing it was you on the other side. 

When the door opens, you step in before closing the door behind you. You're in your PJs, another oversized shirt, and Wanda can't tell if you're wearing pants or not.

"Hey," Wanda smiles but realizes you can't make out the details of her face in the dark so far away. "What's wrong? It's so late, why aren't you sleeping?"

You don't answer her initially, letting the silence nip at Wanda's growing unease. Before she can say anything else, you finally speak.

"Don't do it."

"Huh?" Wanda's confused, shifting in the bed to sit closer to the end, closer to you. "What are you—"

"Don't do it," you repeat. "Don't go on a date with Darcy."

Wanda's heart leaps in her chest, and she needs to blink multiple times because there's no way you're saying that, right? There's no way you're telling her not to do this because would that mean—

"I think I'm going crazy," you mutter as you push yourself off the door and make your way toward her. 

"What do you mean?" Wanda asks nervously but excited as you climb onto the bed until you're face to face with her. 

As you get closer, Wanda can make out your silhouette and the expression of desire on your face. She can feel your breath on her face lightly, and it's minty and warm. 

"I can't stop thinking about you," you admit, and your tone is nervous but desperate. "The more I think about you going on a date with a girl, the more I hate it."

"You do?" Wanda bites her bottom lip. She wants to feel hopeful, but your words are leaving too much open for interpretation. 

You place your hand on Wanda's cheek, something you've done so many times before, but it feels different now. Every touch you give her feels electric and wired like you're grazing every nerve along her skin. 

Wanda's heart is thudding painfully inside her chest. It pounds like it wants to jump out of her chest and into your hands, making a home in your warmth and softness. 

Your thumb presses against her lips, getting Wanda to release her bottom lip from her teeth. "Yeah," you breathe like your heart is pounding too. "I hate it...because if you're going to date a girl, it should be me."

When your lips descend upon Wanda's, she thinks she might actually die. Your lips are soft and warm, inviting Wanda to kiss you deeper. When Wanda pushes against you eagerly, you open your mouth slightly, your tongue swiping at her bottom lip softly.

Arousal shoots through Wanda, hot and needy. She can't help the small moan that leaves her mouth, and her head is completely dizzy with want. 

You take the noise as an open invitation, using your weight to push Wanda back onto the bed, straddling her lap, and keeping yourself up on your elbow. 

The kiss feels never-ending, with it only ever stopping for a second for air before coming back for more. You kiss her until her lips are swollen and Wanda's throbbing for more. 

When your lips start kissing the edge of her jaw and down her throat, Wanda doesn't feel like she's going to make it. Just this, and it feels like too much and too little at the same time. 

"I don't think I can give you to anyone," you mumble against the skin of her collarbone. "How could I let anyone touch you like this?"

Your fingers are fiddling with the edge of her shirt before they trail along the bare skin of her stomach.

"More, more, more," Wanda's muttering with her eyes closed. She can't open them—it'd be too much. Her toes are curled in anticipation. 

Your hands brush the underside of her breast, and Wanda's breath hitches. You kiss places that Wanda hasn't been kissed in a long time. Your fingers trail and touch places only Wanda's hand has been in lately. It feels completely different under your touch, working Wanda up into a spot just between the edge and falling. 

Wanda's been moaning and muttering pleas for you to give her more, but you seem steadfast and taking things at your pace. Even Wanda can't rush you into enjoying and exploring her body. 

"I think I've always been yours," your lips brush against Wanda's. "And you've always been my best friend. But now, you're just mine—mine in every way."

Wanda agrees. She agrees wholeheartedly and enthusiastically. She'll agree to anything you say if you just give her what she wants. It's finally rewarding her to be agreeable with you, and just as she's about to get what she wants, your mouth opens, and music comes out. 

Wanda wakes up. 

The faint light in her room is disorienting, and her head is still heady with desire. The music is still playing, and Wanda turns over to grab her phone, unplugging it from her charger. 

7:06AM.

Turning off her alarm, Wanda tosses her phone to the side of her bed, falling back into her pillow. She stares at the ceiling, now able to make out every single detail on it with daylight.

Wanda's body is aching, and the region between her legs is still throbbing. Arousal was still trickling through her, and Wanda knew there wouldn't be enough time this morning to take care of it. 

Wanda grabs the pillow beside her, smushing it to her face as she lets out a muffled scream and a long line of obscenities before she gets up. 

The day would surely be long with arousal edging her.

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It's been somewhat awkward to meet your eyes the last few days since that sex dream. Once the hazy lust cleared from her mind, Wanda could actually realize how mortifying it was to want you so badly that it was affecting her sleep. 

Wanda tries to play it off as just being distracted, but she can tell you're starting to think something's wrong. Still, it was too difficult to look you directly in the eyes. Every time she did, she could clearly remember her erotic dream. 

The way your eyes looked at her with such intensity, which was only heightened by the dark. She could still feel how warm your body was and how minty your kiss was. Goosebumps would form on her arm when she thought about how your lips were both liquid fire and icy cold against her skin. 

The entire thing would get Wanda so riled up that sometimes she needed to leave your vicinity and go on a walk to cool herself down. 

It was the day of the party, and the dream was finally tapering off enough that Wanda could look you in the eyes again. You seemed perplexed but relieved by the change, and you didn't push the issue since Wanda hadn't seemed upset with you. 

The morning of Tony and Pepper's party, you and Wanda are running around the apartment trying to get everything in order for different things. 

"Did you grab the present?" 

"Um," you scrunch your nose. "Yes, it's here."

"Awesome, can you bring it with you? I'll lose it if I bring it with me," Wanda says while carefully putting on mascara in front of her standing mirror. 

"What do you mean? I thought you were coming with me to pick Raye up?" You ask while looking for the ring you always wear on your middle finger. 

"Um, no," Wanda's half-distracted, but it's good timing as she finishes her mascara. "I'm meeting Darcy for coffee before the party."

You're looking for your ring in Wanda's room because you vaguely recall leaving it there yesterday night when you were drinking tea with Wanda and chatting in her room. You pause your search and look at Wanda with a confused face.

"You haven't met her yet?"

"I will be in," Wanda pauses and pulls out her phone, "a couple minutes. She just texted that she's pulling up."

"What if you don't get along with her? I thought she was coming to the party," you ask, seemingly concerned about everything.

"Then I'll find out since I have an hour with her before the party. If I don't like her, then I'll Uber to the party alone," Wanda shrugs. Besides, it didn't matter if Wanda liked Darcy or not. As long as Darcy wasn't a raging asshole with boundary issues, then it would be fine. They were both aware this date was a farce. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to tag along? What if she's, like, a serial killer or something?" You frown, and Wanda can't help but laugh.

"I don't think Nat would be working with a serial killer," Wanda shakes her head at your nonsense. "We're going to be at the Starbucks near Tony's house. I have my location on, so you can check it to make sure we're not deviating on the road."

You're about to say something else when the buzzer at your door rings. 

"Can you let her in through the front doors? I should be ready by the time she's at our door," Wanda asks as she turns back to the mirror, applying the last touches to her match-up.

"Sure," you say, somewhat huffy, but leave. 

It takes a few minutes, but Wanda eventually hears knocking and the door opening. The words exchanged between you and Darcy are muffled, but Wanda finishes, giving herself one last look in the mirror and running her fingers through her hair. As she's leaving, she finds the ring you were looking for on her desk and takes it with her. 

As she enters the living room, Wanda sees Darcy immediately and assesses right away that the other woman is drop-dead gorgeous. She has dark curled hair with warm undertones in the light. Her makeup was simple, with an accentuated dark red lipstick. 

"Wow," Darcy smiles as she catches eyes with Wanda, and you turn to look at her. "Natasha didn't do you justice with the photo she sent."

"You got a photo?" Wanda smiles back, able to tell that the compliment was sincere. "I didn't get anything. That seems unfair."

"Well," Darcy drags out. "Sent is a generous word. Natasha brought in a photo album. I'm sorry to say I have seen your high school and university pictures."

Wanda groans as she stands beside you, passing your ring into your palm. The entire action is wordless, which Darcy takes note of. 

"You shall speak nothing of these photos," Wanda warns the other girl playfully. "And just for that, you're buying coffee."

Darcy lets out a laugh, adjusting her glasses. "Alright, Natasha did warn me you were sassy. Let's go get our luxury coffee that will be my treat."

Wanda turns to you, and you're smiling, but it seems tight. "I'll see you at the party?" 

"Of course," you tell her before scrutinizing Darcy. "I'll see you in an hour on the dot."

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"So," Darcy says as they're both holding their coffees. "That's the girl you're in love with?"

"Yes," Wanda sighs, finding it somehow easier to admit to a stranger that she's in love with you. Like, really insanely in love with you.

"You're playing it pretty cool. I gotta give you props for that," Darcy nods, sipping her drink. 

"Do you think so?" Wanda asks, and then her eyes brighten. "Do you think she looked jealous at all? I thought she might've looked a little off or being overprotective, but then again, that could also be her just being my best friend. But she's never really acted this way before. Well, she does make sure she always knows my location for dates. But I don't know, it felt like she was being—"

"Oh my god," Darcy cuts Wanda off, blinking at the word vomit. "You're actually insanely in love with her. Emphasis on the insane."

Wanda huffs. "I know," she sighs. "I'm going crazy and I just want to know if she could feel the same way about me...without asking, obviously."

"Obviously," Darcy repeats with a smirk. "Alright, let's go over a game plan for today then. We want to show off just enough that maybe it'll make your best friend jealous but also not too much that it'll be weird if we don't have a second date. No offense and all, you're hot, but I only signed up for one date."

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You and Raye are already at the party when Wanda and Darcy arrive. 

"Ugh, great," Wanda grunts. "Little Miss Southern Belle is here."

"You mean Raye?" Darcy stares in the same direction and sees her coworker. "She's really nice and funny."

"Hey, you're my date," Wanda narrows her eyes. "And she's my enemy."

Darcy just raises her brow in response but says nothing. 

"Wanda!" You call and wave the two of them over. 

"Alright, we got this," Darcy looks over at Wanda, and they nod subtly at each other. 

As they make their way over, Wanda can tell you're assessing them, but Wanda merely gives another nod that she's okay, which you seem conflicted about. 

"Hey, Darcy," Raye greets her with a smile and a hug. "Fancy seein' you around here. You sure you're not using another pretty girl to sneak into a party?"

Wanda knows the comment is a compliment to her. Darcy is right that Raye is genuinely nice, and Wanda knows that Raye's eager to get along with Wanda since she's your best friend. Wanda knows all of this, but the comment still makes her bristle. 

"I actually know Tony and Pepper, too," Darcy says casually after they pull apart from their hug, her lips in a half-quirk. "I've done some work for them before."

"What exactly is it that you do?" You ask.

"Cyber security," Darcy answers. "Although that may sound exciting, it's not much day to day."

"Bug was telling me over here that you two went on a date!" Raye smiles even wider. 

Now she was even calling you Bug? She wasn't even there when your nickname came to be. She should create her own nickname, or better yet, just use your government name. 

"That we did," Darcy says when Wanda doesn't reply. "It was pretty decent," Darcy says with a half-quirk of her lips, indicating that it was more than decent, and Wanda remembers that she needs to smile too.

"I'm just surprised that you didn't go and scare her off with your personality," Raye smirks at Darcy before she looks back at Wanda. "Everyone knows Darcy at work to be blunt and sarcastic. She usually scares away all the cute interns."

"I thought she was hilarious," Wanda smiles somewhat tightly back. 

"Thank you!" Darcy cuts in dramatically, grabbing Wanda's hand. "I knew someone would inevitably see my charm. Are you thirsty? Let's go get a drink."

Darcy's about to drag you off when you suddenly grab Wanda's other hand, stopping them.

"Wait," your eyes are wide as if you're surprised yourself. "There's a videographer hired for the party. Everyone is supposed to go on camera to do a short video to say something to Tony and Pepper. I thought we should do ours together since we got their gift together."

Wanda turns back to Darcy, who looks confused and amused by the situation. 

"Alright," Darcy lets go of Wanda's hand. "I'll be waiting by the bar for you. C'mon, Raye, I'll buy you a drink."

"It's a free bar, Darcy."

"I know, I'm too generous."

With that, Wanda is alone with you as you drag her towards the videographer.

"Are you okay?" Wanda asks.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You say lightly.

"I don't know," Wanda flexes her fingers in your hand. "Feels like you don't like Darcy."

"I like her just as much as you like Raye."

Wanda grunts at that. She's told you multiple times that she's neutral about Raye. Wanda doesn't dislike her, but she has no reason to like her. It's all a lie, of course. Wanda fuckings hates Raye and wishes the other girl would evaporate. 

The second the camera points at their faces, the two of you smile brightly as you wish Tony and Pepper another 10 years of happy marriage so they can have this party again and continue to wish them a happy marriage in 10-year increments. 

As soon as it's finished, You and Wanda seem to be dragging your feet to get to the bar.

"So," Wanda drags out before taking a deep breath and looking at you. You stare back at her, and Wanda has to bite her tongue to say she just utterly loves you, and they should both ditch their dates. "What do you think?"

"Of what?" You mumble as you look away.

"Does it look weird? Me being with a girl?" 

Wanda can notice how you visibly clench your jaw, something you do when thinking about your next words carefully. 

"No," you say slowly, "but you don't look any happier."

"I don't?" Wanda hums. "Darcy and I have a lot in common. She's really funny too. Besides, it's not like I'm gunning to settle down with Darcy. It could just lead to having fun."

You're silent after that, and Wanda looks at your face. You seem contemplative, but she can't read your expression further than that, so she looks away.

"I'm probably going to be home late tonight," you say after a moment, and Wanda turns her head towards you again.

"Going to be with Raye?" Wanda asks, trying to make sure she sounds airy and light, but her stomach knots tight.

"Yes," you answer, and there's not a particular inflection in your tone, leaving Wanda with no clue about how you feel. 

"Sounds great," Wanda puts on a fake smile and picks up her pace to meet Darcy and Raye at the bar.

"Oh, you're back," Raye smiles at you, her pearly white teeth showing. Her cheeks are a dusty pink from the champagne she's been drinking as she drapes her arms over you, tilting her head to the side. "Wanna be naughty and steal a tray with bacon-wrapped scallops?"

Wanda has to resist the urge to loudly gag as you chuckle. 

"I got you a drink," Darcy catches Wanda's attention. "One of those fruity cocktails that will definitely lead us to make bad decisions if we have three more."

Wanda smiles sultrily as she opens her body language toward Darcy, pointing to the maraschino cherry in Darcy's drink. Darcy nods that she can have it, and Wanda seductively eats the cherry before she sticks the stem into her mouth, rolling it around with her tongue before the end of the stem pops back out of her mouth. Wanda grabs it with her fingers, the other end gripped by her teeth as she pulls and tightens the visible knot. 

"Wanna have four and see what happens?" Wanda smirks. 

From the corner of Wanda's eyes, she can see that you saw and heard everything. Your face is expressionless as you walk off with Raye, and Wanda wants to scream with frustration.

Was that a jealous expressionless look or an indifferent expressionless?

Once they are out of earshot, Darcy snorts. "Remember when I said you're playing it cool? I take it back. You're a hot mess. You look like you're always two seconds away from pulling out Raye's 250 individual extensions."

Their conversation is briefly interrupted by the videographer as he comes up to the bar. "Hey, man," he says to the bartender. "Do you mind if I leave my camera here for a second? I really need to run to the toilet and can't leave it on the table. These kids are surprisingly grabby with their sticky hands."

"Sure, dude," the bartender agrees, and the videographer runs off after he sets down the camera a foot away from Wanda.

Wanda stirs her drink with her straw aggressively, and some ice falls out of her glass.

"I don't see what's so great about Raye," Wanda huffs. "Sure, she's pretty, and I guess she's funny. But so what? She's clearly selfish. Who the hell steals a whole tray of bacon-wrapped scallops?! Those are the best appetizers!"

Wanda throws the straw aside and drinks her fruity cocktail in one go. 

"Man, you are so down bad," Darcy shakes her head. "At least you don't seem completely alone in it."

"Really?" Wanda brightens. "Why? Does she look jealous?"

"Well," Darcy sighs. "I don't know about jealous, but your friend definitely doesn't like me. Every time she smiles at me, it's a tight-lipped smile that seems to be a thinly veiled way of saying she doesn't think I'm good enough for you."

Wanda slumps. "That's nothing new. All the people I date get that look."

"Where's Natasha when I need her?" Wanda looks around but finds the redhead with Tony and Pepper. She seems to sense someone is looking at her, locks eyes with Wanda, and waves and winks.

"Listen," Darcy grabs Wanda's attention back. "Maybe you should just tell your friend your feelings. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She would know about my feelings and reject me," Wanda deadpans.

"Okay...so how exactly to plan to get with—how did you describe it at the café? The love of your life and the mother to your future children."

Wanda sighs. "I don't know. I know I should confess, but it's harder than you think. There are moments when she gets me so riled up that I wanna scream in her perfect face that I love her and probably always have, and then kiss her until we lose a couple brain cells from lack of oxygen. Then, I get so scared that she won't feel the same way and the moment dies like my will to live every time I see her with Raye."

"But you won't know until you actually say something," Darcy cocks her brow. "What if she does feel the same?"

"Then she wouldn't be with Raye!" Wanda snips but then takes a deep breath. "Sorry, it's just been hard lately. I feel like this whole fake dating scheme Nat cooked up is a bust. You're pretty cool and all, but I think I'm too in love to even pretend."

Darcy is about to say something else when the videographer returns.

"Thanks for watching it, man. Can you pour me some water with a lemon?" 

"Sure."

The videographer picks up the camera, and Wanda notices that it was placed on its side but had been facing them. Once he drinks his glass of water, he takes off.

The rest of the party isn't too exciting as Wanda doesn't see you often after that. You sit at the same table as her for dinner, but Raye is too busy chatting up a storm. Raye seems intent on keeping you busy until 10PM hits, and she decides she wants to leave the party.

"I'll see you later," you tell Wanda as you say goodbye to everyone.

"I guess," Wanda shrugs, and you tilt your head at it.

Wanda knows where all of this is leading for you, but for once, she's too tired to even try to stop it. Besides, Wanda is pretty sure you've already had sex with Raye, even if it was a quickie in the back of your car when you dropped her off or picked her up at the airport. 

The entire thing is too disparaging for Wanda to think about; she just wants to go home and be dead to the world. 

"I think I wanna head out too," Wanda looks at Darcy, who's been sipping on water for the last few hours. Neither of you specify exactly where in the moment despite how you seem to be waiting for them to say. 

The videographer approaches the group, and Wanda's confused as he greets you.

"Hey, I emailed you all the footage earlier after dinner," he says.

"Great," you smile at him. "Thanks for doing all the legwork. Sorry that Tony and Pepper want me to edit it together instead."

"You're editing the video together for Tony?" Wanda asks. "Why didn't you say?"

"Tony sprung it on me earlier today. Guess he forgot? Pepper bitched him out with love. I think," you grin. "But I don't mind. I have some free time before my next project," you shrug.

"Nah," he smiles. "I'm not complaining. I got paid twice my rate and I don't have to do the other legwork? Must be my lucky day."

"Sounds good, I'll let you know if I need anything."

"Oh, just a heads up, there was a lot of footage I didn't have time to go through, so I sent you everything. There might be some useless stuff you'll have to go through. I accidentally left my camera on a couple times. Just earlier, I realized I left my camera on every time I left it at the bar to go to the washroom," the guy laughs, but all the color drains from Wanda's face. 

"No problem," you tell him, and he leaves with a wave. "Raye and I are heading out now. Have a great night, guys."

Raye is already dragging you off, but Wanda doesn't have time to be annoyed. 

Oh, God, there was video evidence of Wanda confessing her feelings about you. 

"I need to get that video back!" Wanda cries, her hand flying to her forehead. 

She tries to not think about how you'll react or what you'll do if you see the video. She can't think about it; it will literally send Wanda into cardiac arrest. 

"Alright, alright, calm down!" Darcy placates her, realizing the same thing Wanda has. "He said he emailed it to her, right? It's not like she's going to go through the footage tonight. All you need to do is get into her email and go through the footage yourself and delete it before she comes home."

Wanda starts biting her thumbnail, a terrible habit she thought she had long outgrew. "I guess, but I'd have to access her laptop, and I don't know the password. She keeps work stuff on there."

"No problem," Darcy says as she pulls out a USB and gives it to Wanda. "Just plug this in and I can help you get into it."

Wanda takes the USB and stares at it dumbfounded. She stares back at Darcy. "You're insanely cool. Emphasis on the insane," Wanda parrots back to her with a smile. "We're gonna be great friends."

"Ah, I love becoming friends with my fake dates who are deeply in love with their best friend. They're so fulfilling and not weird at all."

"You're the one carrying around a hacking USB, don't talk to me about weird."

"Alright, sassy pants, let's just get you home, shall we? Although, not before we go to McDonald's. That dinner was just unnecessary fancy food that was half the size of my fist. I've been hungry for the last hour," Darcy starts to walk off with Wanda trailing her.

Wanda had also been hungry for the last hour, but now, knowing that you could potentially see the video of her professing her love—aggressively, might she add—Wanda wanted to throw up.

Please don't check your email on your phone, please don't check your email on your phone, Wanda begs in her mind. Now, she can't tell if she wants Raye to keep you busy or not. 

PART FIVE

[lycheepocketwitch]

dude the moment the guy put the camera down, i was like, oh no wanda’s about to say some shit she’s not really supposed to and somehow bug will find out💀 but hey! i am here for the chaotic mess that’s about to ensue hahaha

you know what maybe i am projecting but idrc. i say that bug is totally jelly and wants to be wanda’s date😌

also when wanda said, “There are moments when she gets me so riled up that I wanna scream in her perfect face that I love and probably always have, and then kiss her until we lose a couple brain cells from lack oxygen.”

… valid hahahaha

ngl tho when i think about the fact that this is a somewhat recent development for wanda and yet she’s already at this level of thinking absolutely kills me LMAO. like WANDA IS SO DOWN BAD😭😭😭 her whole convo with darcy was just— girl pLEASE😭😭

[missmonsters2]

i just read the last 3 mirror, mirror updates in one sitting prepare yourself for a mini spam sbdkfhf

oGMOGMGOMGOmG im literally so excited

[lycheepocketwitch]

SAME knowing that i had THREE (3) updates to catch up felt like such a treat for myself

ive had a kinda busy last 3 weeks lol so i FINALLY have time to fully just sit down and read and comment😮‍💨