bellewintersroe

[bellewintersroe]

a collective christmas wishlist

[bellewintersroe]

you guys made luigi mangione trend for days and I need to see the same energy for brianna boston. she is a 43 year old mother of three who ended a phone call with blue cross blue shield (after being denied a claim) “delay deny depose, you people are next” and is now being held under a 100,000$ bond and could face FIFTEEN years of prison if charged. she has no weapons, her record is clean, and yet she is being held behind bars. they are afraid of the public and are trying to subdue. do not let them!!!! be outraged that our freedom of speech is being threatened!!!!! deny defend depose! free brianna boston!

[bellewintersroe]

anonymously message me (3) things you want to know about me.

[bellewintersroe]

Rosie Rosenthal x NurseReader! Smut

ummmm this is shameless porn without a plot, mdi, vaginal sex, orgasms, dirty talk, etc etc below the cut.

When Rosie mentioned taking a ride in his cockpit, you didn’t know he meant this. Your clothes were half stripped, bra hanging from the cockpit control panel as Rosie had pulled your uniform down to hang around your waist, lifted up and bundled together as he guided your movements, large hands splayed over your ass as you bounced shamelessly over his cock.

“Are you sure nobody will come?” You’d gasp, feet fighting for balance on the edge of the chairs as you lifted and dropped yourself over his dripping cock. “Not apart from you and me.” He groaned as you shared another bundle of laughter, head dropping back as Rosie bucked his hips upwards, hitting a spot deep inside you that nobody else could reach.

The windows of the B17 were fogged, and you were positive the Flying Fortress was shaking with how much you’d bounced onto Rosie in his pilots chair (it weighed 16 tonnes ofc it wasn’t moving).

As Rosie hit all the right angles, he thrust like a piston deep inside your cunt, your hand coming to slam against the roof as he took you to an immeasurable depth of pleasure, one you didn’t even know poised and stoic Robert Rosenthal was capable of.

“Fuck me, Rosie!” You’d squeak, spurring the pilots movements faster, harder as your jaw fell slack and muscles tensed, grasping onto his shirt which neither of you had time to remove.

“Yeah?” His large hand patted against your ass, offering the flesh a squeeze as he groped over your curves, fingers gripping daringly close to your holes as his lips fell agape, staring at the way he disappeared inside your tight wetness with a mesmerised expression. God he was so beautiful, the way his mouth was parted, the moustache that littered his top lip, his eyes fighting between scrunched shut and looking over you.

Then the man moaned. In a way you’d never heard a man moan before, spurring your movements as he guided you up and down, up and down. Rosie reached out, gripping at your jaw and meeting you half way for a searingly hot kiss as he ground your hips together. The sound of skin on skin echoed around the empty fortress, and the shifting of your half dishevelled clothes rubbing against one another. Rosie was doing you so good you were dripping around his cock, he could see the glisten of your juices everytime you’d lift up, offering him a sight that could make a man cry.

“Cum for me, baby.” And then your lovely, sweet Rosie was speaking in ways you’d never heard before, dragging your hips against his as he took your fingers, pulling them to his mouth and licking them before guiding them down over your clit in an agonisingly sexy move of dominance.

“Rosie.” You’d warned, bringing your feet up to rest behind yourself on his thigh, arching your back so your breasts were further pushed into his face. “Let me feel it.” With one more coo and finger tips that dug firmer into your hips, you came crashing down, experiencing what had to be the best orgasm ever as you finished with a cry, clutching onto the man before you. Your body was controlled by your climax, trembling and jerking as the pilot watched you with pure lust in his eyes that he could bring you there. Rosie felt proud he could make you feel so good, nothing turned him on more than seeing the woman he loved cumming from his efforts.

Then, before you had chance to recover, Rosie was fucking you again, desperately working his body against yours, cock frantically working in and out of you as your normally quiet and gentle lover seethed through his teeth. Rosie was fucking you like a true leader, after all he was the real master of the air around here, in your eyes he was the strongest, most handsome, toughest man to exist.

“Give it to me, Rosie.” Spurred on with the pleading of your voice, Rosie felt himself beginning to shake as he choked out, chasing his orgasm as his hips began to burn with the intense movements of his thrust.

“Please cum inside me, god, I need you to cum inside me.” And who was he to deny you of such a request? With an animalistic cry, Rosie for the first time exploded his seed deep inside of you, fucking his cum deeper, harder inside you, a marking of his girl.

The two of you collapsed, skin sheen with sweat as your body rest against his firm chest. You’d coaxed him through the orgasm so well, he’d almost forgotten the consequences of finishing inside a lady. But as soon as you offered him one smirk, Rosie came to his senses once more. Fuck it. We’ll be married soon anyway…

[bellewintersroe]

3 prompts a day!

(write a drabble and tag me in itt (almost like a 24 hr challenge?) )

"I can't seem to get enough of you," they mumble, pulling you closer by your waist. "How do I get you out of my mind, [name]? You're in it all day and all damn night.."

Waking up in their chest, their arms wrapped around you protectively. You just tilt your head and admire the curve of their lips, their lashes and their soft labored breaths as they seem to hold you like you're their most beloved treasure!

Their fingers slide down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their path. "Tell me you feel the same way, [Full Name]," their voice is a whisper, eyes burning into yours, filled with vulnerability and a longing for more, "Or tell I'm wrong. Please."

[bellewintersroe]

Black Friday is such a joke nowadays. “Don’t miss out on 30% off” don’t piss me the fuck off. People used to hit each other over the head for a microwave that’s how low the prices were. People literally died. We used to be a country

[bellewintersroe]

Jack Kidd looking at the flight board on 9/3/43 before a mission targeting a Luftwaffe airfield near Beaumont-le-Roger, France.

[bellewintersroe]

Curt Biddick x Reader x John Egan

After the death of your partner you fall into the arms of John Egan and must navigate the difficult turmoil of grief and falling in love all over again.

Minor doi, contains explicit scenes, 18+ content between Bucky and reader. Talks of death, grief, heavy topics covered, it’s gonna be a long one, buckle in - some of the dates and information is factually incorrect, some is based off the show and some is from real life accounts - all characters are based off the fictional ones portrayed in MOTA. This isn’t proof read soooo take it easy on me.

August 18th 1944:

“Curt-” you’d stammered out before the pilot could aboard the back of the jeep. The man turned over his shoulder, stepping back to face you once more. With a hand to your hip he closed the distance between you, earning more than a couple stares and jeers from the men aboard the vehicle.

“If anything happens-” you’d hushed, but Curt had cut you off, tracing a finger over your cheek.

“Nothin’s gonna happen, baby.”

“If anything happens.” You inhaled once more, wanting to get your point across. “You promise me you’ll bail. Don’t try to do some heroic move that’ll get you killed.” Your eyes met and Curt instantly felt moved by your words. Your hand had come to rest on his chest, over his uniform, one last touch.

After a few seconds of taking in your worried expression, a nervous Curt began to nod, holding the eye contact that neither of you dared to break. “Promise, baby.” He then spoke, allowing you to breathe once more. Curt stepped a little closer, wrapping an arm over the back of your shoulders to bring you closer. The pilot didn’t care who onboard was watching, the two of you were newly together, blissfully enjoying the honeymoon stage everybody said was oh so nice, but Curt never realized it could be this good.

“C’mon, gimme a good-luck kiss, my darlin’.” Despite the nerves twisting and gripping at your stomach, you’d managed to break a smile, moving up to press a kiss firmly over the plush of his lips, savouring the moment and allowing him to kiss you one, two, three times until you’d broken into a tight embrace, a goodbye.

“I love you.” Curt then uttered those three words, an audible gasp leaving your mouth as you sunk deeper into his front, savouring every last moment you could get. “I love you, Curt.” Leaving things unspoken out here was to play a dangerous game. Not knowing when or if you’d re somebody again, you’d learnt the hard way to be upfront about everything for the sake of these men.

Curt sighed out, feeling the ticking of pressure in the back of his head to get back into the vehicle. Maybe this time was no different, but it felt it. There was a gnawing deep inside of his chest, the air around him was like god-damn pea soup, and his girl had just told him she loved him. It was a time for celebrating, not doubt.

“One more kiss for good luck, darlin’.” He tugged back first, and you’d allowed your lips to press firmly against his, lingering for a few moments as you savoured every second of the kiss, the taste of him, the feel of him, the scent of him. He would be back soon, you reminded yourself. Just one sleep away, like he’d said the night before.

“I’ll see ya’ soon, baby, better be waitin’ for me.” Curt attempted to joke but it fell flat with a slight breath of laughter. You picked him up with that gorgeous smile he couldn’t get enough of, squeezing his hands as he brought you a few steps closer to the vehicle, not prepared to leave just yet.

“I’ll be seein’ you, as soon as I see those planes.”

“Alrigh’.”

With one last hesitant squeeze, you broke off in different directions, pressing your hand close to your chest to keep the feeling of him near your heart, where he would remain for the rest of your life. Maybe if you knew that was the last time you’d see Curt you’d have made a bigger deal, begged him not to go, thrown a fit or faked an injury- but the feeling was never any different from any other time he went up. Each time before he’d returned, right? So why would your gut suddenly be right this time?

War was a twisted and cruel game. When it came to it, it all came down to fate, you knew all too well. And at 11am the same morning, you’d felt a tightness in your chest, radiating through your heart as you’d attempted to rub the area, soothing the feeling.

“Alice.” You’d turned up your fellow nurse that day. “Somethin’ doesn’t feel right…”

With the comforts of your friends in mind and Curt’s fresh admission of ‘I love you’, you’d awaited nearby the tarmac that following day, eyes glued to the sky despite the small yellow patch the sun was burning into your vision. It must’ve been a good hour of pacing on the grass waiting until you noticed the familiar spec of planes in the distance.

“There!” You’d pointed, heart in your chest. Again, you’d gripped at the chest of your uniform, clapping and cheering amongst the children and engineers around you, counting the planes and seeing them come down one by one. The hand squeezing your uniform had become clammy and ached from the tension, there was no ‘Wild Cargo’ plane like you had hoped, in fact there was several missing, and the dusty looking men who hopped out had you frozen to the tarmac below, offering each and every one of them a deadpan stare in an attempt to workout it Curt had just boarded another plane.

Then, the men spilling out began to become less and less, they boarded their jeeps for interrogation, the doctor only fifteen-feet away from you hauled orders to head back to the aid station before the check ups on the men started, but how could you move? Curt wasn’t here.

Only a few meters away, John Egan and Gale Cleven walked around the outside of their planes, patting on the metal, a physical way of thanking the Flying Fortress for keeping them safe through the mission. As they moved around the aircraft, Bucky was first to notice you. You’d teeth bit down against your thumb, other hand gripping at your uniform as anxiety rippled through your body. Johns breath was lost somewhere between his throat and lungs as he picked up the pace to grow closer to you.

“Bucky, we don’t know-” Gale attempted to stop him, knowing Bucky was weak to you, he’d do anything to make you feel better, even if that meant feeding you the same delusions he fed himself in order to stay sane out here.

“No, I know.” Bucky firmly told his friend, nodding in a fake confidence as he sniffled, staring back to Gale. Gale knew there was no arguing, by the time the exchange had happened between the pair, you’d already caught sight of the pair.

“Gale, Bucky!” Your thumb fell from between your teeth as you’d walked over towards the taller men. If anybody knew anything about Curt, it would be them. Bucky felt his heart soften at the sight of you and wince at your apparent distress that you so desperately tried to hide.

“Have you seen Curt?” Gale blinked away, but your eyes were on Bucky, he looked more sure, and maybe you were searching for false hope, but knowing Bucky unconsciously you’d picked the right person to direct the question to. The two men shared a gaze as your stomach sunk, letting out a choke of an exhale.

“They got shot down somewhere north of Regensburg-” Gale began as your mouth dropped open, brows furrowing and a sadness pooled in your eyes like neither of them had ever seen. Bucky couldn’t handle it, seeing your display of emotion. Before he could speak, you’d stumbled out your words again.

“-Well did you see shoots?” Your fist was tightening over your uniform, turning white as you began to tremble, feeling a deep, dark cloud begin to rinse through you. This wasn’t real. None of this could be real. Curt was hit before and ended up in Scotland, he would be okay now, he had to be.

“I saw four.” Gale nodded as a gasp escaped your trembling lips. “Four?” You repeated. Bucky’s mouth was agape, he tried to speak but no words would form as he glanced between you and Buck. Despair and desperation was starting to flood your bloodstream. You didn’t know whether you wanted to scream or throw up, or both. A fear settled in alongside the shock that ravished your body, making you visibly pale in the face.

“Like I said to, Buck.” Bucky now intervened, slapping Buck on the shoulder who stood still, knowing deep down it was not Biddick who escaped that plane. It was too upright, in control, a pilot had to be present or they would have stalled and nosedived. Looking at your face was too difficult to handle, too many times had he felt grief, experienced pain like no other, but seeing it on somebody else’s face caused the feeling to resurface once more inside himself.

“Curt’s probably drinkin’ a bottle of Schnapp’s waiting this all out.” Bucky approached, resting a hand on your tense shoulder. You blinked away, daring to feel hopeful at his words. Bucky squeezed at your shoulder once more, offering you a gesture of support, finding himself itching to rid your anxiety in anyway possible.

“Look, y/n, you know Curt, he always comes back.” Bucky didn’t think so much about his words as he stepped closer to you. Buck, however, was watching you with such a grief stricken look, it made your feelings conflicted. It was easier to believe Bucky’s words over Buck’s face purely out of the sheer terror that your Curt might not return.

“Yeah.” You’d found yourself agreeing, maybe foolishly. “I saw those chutes.” Bucky repeated, but was cut off with a warning from Gale. “Bucky.”

“What? I saw them for Christ sake!” John, not willing to believe the likely, shook his head back to the more rationale minded Gale. Gale offered you one more glance before moving on, leaving you watching him with an anxious pit in your stomach.

“He really didn’t come back…” your whisper trembled, watching after the blonde haired pilot. All these men, and none of them was Curt. “Hey.” Bucky intervened, placing his hand over the fist that had balled so tight over your uniform, it began to hurt. For the first time, you relaxed, finding it in yourself to glance back up at Bucky, tears beginning to flow down your cheek.

“He’s coming back.” Bucky firmed, wiping at your cheeks, although he wasn’t sure if the statement was to reassure you or lie to himself. Truthfully, yes, he did see chutes, Curt could land that god damn plane with one engine- the idea of his friend not making it was incomprehensible.

Your face dropped as you let out a soft hiccup, heart yearning for the man you’d loved so dearly. “Hey.” Bucky repeated, softening his tone but lifting your chin to meet his gaze. Your devastation was apparent. Bucky hated seeing girls cry, let alone somebody like you, his friend. Pulling you in for an embrace, you found yourself clutching at his uniform, reminiscing of the way you’d held onto Curt’s same uniform only twenty-four hours prior.

“I got you, okay? We’ll wait for him.” Bucky hushed, as you desperately repeated in your head that there was chutes. You’d told Curt, bail out no matter what, if all hope failed, you at least shared the promise that he’d bail no matter what. At best, Curt could be in a Stalag, captured and under the command of the Germans for the rest of the war but at least he’d be safe.

Two weeks later:

Bucky stood grimly listening to the news Colonel Harding was sharing as the men stood before him. Curt and Dickie were dead. It had been reported back first from the men at the Stalag who did make it, that Biddick remained in the plane in an heroic attempt to save his gravely ill friend and co-pilot Dickie. Then, the news came that the charred B-17 was found 40 miles north of Regensburg. It was believed Curt didn’t even attempt to bail and went down with their Flying Fortress.

Bucky’s stomach churned at the news, he’d lost focus after hearing the news about his friends. Then, his thoughts turned to you and the words he’d regretfully said to you right after returning from the fateful mission. ‘He’s coming back, we’ll wait for him’ god, Bucky wanted to beat himself up for being such an idiot. Nobody survived this war, nobody.

“I’m going to inform Nurse Y/l/n about the news.” Colonel Harding stiffened. Bucky’s attention snapped back towards his superior at the sound of your name.

“No, that’s ok sir, I’ll do it if that’s possible.” The American spoke up, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. All eyes were on him, including Gale Cleven who dreaded the thought of Bucky having to share such bleak news, going back drastically on his words from before. After the meeting, Gale offered Bucky a slap on the back.

“You know I can talk to her, right?” The blonde man checked as Bucky solemnly gazed around the land, looking for you.

“It’s ok.” He responded, not making eye contact once. “Im the one that told her he’d be okay. It’s on me, Buck.”

Meanwhile, you were returning from a trip home, watching the world pass you as the car drove through the familiar roads of East Anglia. You’d not taken Curt’s absence lightly, and as more time passed, you’d somewhat accepted that his fate was grim, and he was most likely dead. Dark circles rimmed your eyes from the lack of sleep and you’d grown somewhat skinnier from the lack of nutrition. All you could do was stare at the roof, engulfed by darkness as you pictured a million ways how it could have happened.

If Curt was alive, you would have surely heard something by now? Of course who knew out there, he could be on the run, or in a hospital somewhere- you didn’t dare to even dream anymore, any glimmer of hope would just make it even more unbearable when the news did reach Thorpe Abbots.

Carrying your bag, you thanked the driver quietly, walking through the base as the last of summertime sun beamed down on your face. It was a beautiful day, or it should’ve been. Nothing felt the same anymore, and a constant hollow feeling gnawed away at your stomach. Whether it was hunger or anxiety, or both, you weren’t sure. You felt out of tune with your body and completely disassociated, yearning to lay in bed and cry the day and nights away as they passed.

Exhaustion was the norm. As you walked blissfully aware towards your hut, something clenched at Bucky’s chest as he spotted your figure. “I’ll see you, Buck.” Eyes fixated to the back of you, he slapped Gale on the back before hurrying off to speed up beside you.

What would he say? How would he say it? As you opened the door to the nurses hut, he debated just letting you stay in there and let somebody else tell you- the easy way out. No, Bucky thought, jogging towards where the now closing door with a call of your name.

Pulling the wooden frame open once more, you were surprised to see Bucky hurrying over, still clad in his sheepskin coat that he never took off. “Can I-” he choked on his words. “Can I talk to you?” Immediate dread filled your body, and it became apparent from the way he was watching you, this wasn’t going to be good news.

The suitcase in your hand dropped, every limb felt numb as the pilot coerced you gently out of hut with a slight gesture. Your legs turned to jelly and it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t tell me, Bucky.” You pleaded, his arm supporting you as he lead you to the field behind the huts, somewhere quieter. He quickened your pace, knowing a breakdown was inevitable, at least if he told you this it had to be in the privacy without others snooping in. He owed that to you.

“I don’t want to know.” You’d already felt the familiar flow of hot tears, washing away any makeup you’d attempted to put on in a desperate act of a bid for normalcy. The crack in your voice, the soft weeps that escaped your mouth has Bucky fighting against his own emotions. Standing at the edge of the field, he gripped both your arms, looking back to you with a frantic desire to take away the pain you felt.

“I’m so sorry.” Was all he could muster as you began to crumble before him, hands flying up to your face as devastated sobs racked your body. Bucky caught you once more, keeping you upright as he attempted to comfort you in anyway possible. Words fell short, he tried many times to apologise, beg for your forgiveness, but he was rattled by your cries, tears pricking at his own eyes.

“Curt.” You whimpered in a desperate plea of the man’s name. “I knew this would happen, I knew it.” You choked out to Bucky as his grip tightened on the back of your head, cradling you so tightly as your chest physically hurt, a mixture of emotions making your head spin.

Neither of you knew how long you sat there. The tears didn’t stop, your head was pounding and all you could do was stare miserably across the grassy field.

“How did it happen?” You dared to ask, Bucky watched you, reaching out to cover your trembling hand with his. “You need to eat-”

“No, how did it happen?” You repeated, sharper this time as Bucky winced, turning back to his knees, chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyes red rimmed as a guilt surged through you.

“They were hit, running on one engine, Dickie-Dickie was hit.” Bucky cleared his throat, avoiding any weakness in his tone as he told you exactly what he’d heard Colonel Harding say. “The rest of the men bailed but-” you’d began to cry again, Bucky debated telling you the rest, stumbling over his words as he struggled to watch your upset.

“Curt tried to land to save Dickie.”

“I told him to fucking bail no matter what.” Your stomach churned in a sickening manner, tried to land, he tried to. Your head dropped into your hands as you hiccuped, body shaking and feeling unable to support you anymore. Bucky’s hand fell from your own as he reached for you, bringing you closer as your body weakly fell into his. He exhaled shakily against your hair, inhaling the fresh scent of apple shampoo as he pressed a kiss there, engulfing your body in his arms.

“I wanted him to come back.” You spoke once more, voice hoarse. “I know. So did I.” Bucky hushed as you reached out, aching for comfort as you grasped onto Bucky’s arms. “I’m sorry for telling you he’d come back.” But you held no anger or distaste to the things Bucky had spoke to you before. It was your own fault for trying to believe them.

“Don’t say sorry.” You hushed as Bucky’s eyes closed, looking down to the way you held onto him so tightly. His stomach churned, but this time it wasn’t in such a sickening manner- butterflies. Fuck, he thought, pushing the selfish feelings aside as he swallowed thickly. A second wave of guilt filled him, this time, it was one he couldn’t speak about.

“I knew deep down…” you whispered, head against his chest as you felt the speeding of his heart, closing your swollen eyes, your words a small comfort to Bucky that he hadn’t led you to believe the same things he foolishly thought.

Another six weeks later, you sat in the same spot, drinking from a bottle of red wine, drinking away the sorrows of your dead lover. With a Sunday off, you took advantage of the Saturday (that was still up for debate) and bought yourself a bottle, opting to sit by yourself. It wasn’t very ‘lady like’, but the place was deserted, nobody would come down here, apart from John Egan that was.

“Mind if I join?” Your head turned to see the tall man stood behind you, eyes glassy from the alcohol he’d consumed. Your heart jumped, looking him up and down before nodding. Bucky settled with a groan, taking the bottle from your grasp and taking a swig himself.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you.” He admitted, plump lips moving against the rim of the bottle as he took another gulp of the bitter liquid. You watched as he winced, gaze lingering over his face more than was appropriate. Over the few weeks, Bucky had been there for you like no other. The more time you spent together, the more complicated things felt…

“Were you at the pub?” You hushed, bringing your knees up, hands resting on them whilst he sprawled his out, making the wine bottle seem small between his grasp.

“Yeah, why didn’t you come?” Bucky’s voice rasped from the whiskey he’d consumed earlier that evening, handing the bottle back to you, fingers grazing over yours as you both blinked down to the contact before meeting one another’s gaze again. The two of you questioned if the other had felt it too, the heat that spread from the touch, a forbidden touch that should never feel that good.

“I didn’t feel like it.” You spoke quietly as he let out an internal sigh, leaning back on both his hands. Lifting the bottle up to your lips, you didn’t get to take a swig until he’d spoke up again.

“So you came here with a bottle of wine instead?” His brows twitched, and for some reason you found the comment amusing. A smile broke, followed by a soft breath of laughter. You screwed the lid of the wine back on, dropping it to the grass in the small space between the two of you.

Bucky felt his brows lift at your mirth, something he hadn’t seen in a long time. “I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You nodded, forcing yourself to look across the field ahead of you, instead of at him. If Bucky caught on that you’d been feeling somewhat… close to him would he shame you and run away? He had every right to, it was a shameful way to feel after your lover, and his friend had passed. It felt wrong, but there was something pulling you in, inch by inch. You felt normal around Bucky, dare you go as far and say happy. You first started craving the emotions that came when he was around, but as the weeks turned into months, you understood that the yearning was for him.

“I’m joking.” He softly smiled, causing your eyes to look back to him once more. “I know.” You nodded, nudging the bottle as it rolled to your feet. A moment of silence took over you, Bucky found himself scanning your face, trailing over each curve and freckle on your face. The slight parting between your lips, the lift of your eyelashes. His chest softened once more and he could no longer pretend that he didn’t harbour feelings for you.

“Why’d you come find me?” You whispered, the words taking a few movements to register in his mind. “Because I wanted to see you.” He winced as you met his eyes now, smiling back to him. Fuck, Bucky thought. There it was again.

“Are you okay?” You then asked him, noticing the slight confusion lingering over his face. “I’m ok.” He quickly responded. Why would you ask? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

“Are you thinking about Curt?” Bucky then asked, to which you nodded. Bucky felt his heart strain.

“I always think about Curt. I can’t- I don’t like going to that pub, I just think I’m gonna see him.” You swallowed, dropping your head as your eyes averted his. Shit, he thought. He’d upset you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“No, no, no, no.” You were fast to disagree. “I like talking about him, just… I still- I can’t-” you struggled over your words as he shifted closer, dropping an arm around you.

“‘S just difficult.” Bucky understood, watching you turn to face him. Only inches apart, you felt your breath hitch, words stuck with it as a feeble nod was all you could manage. Silence took over you both once more, but now something else filled the quiet.

Bucky’s lips were parted, eyes glued to yours, chest rising and falling at an increased pace as his hand flattened over your arm, your opposite shoulder pressed into his chest as you blinked back up to him. If only looks could speak, you thought, feeling the tension build within you. Your body yearned for him, even if your mind knew it wasn’t right.

Then, when he watched the fall of your gaze onto his lips, Bucky didn’t know what overcame him. He moved forward and caught your lips in one swift movement. To his surprise, you didn’t pull back. You remained in a state of shock, mind going blank as your lips reacted quicker to the kiss than your brain could. Bucky was kissing you- you were kissing him back.

A sudden panic filled the pilot and he retrieved back in surprise, an immense level of guilt filling him as he pushed himself up, lips mumbling as many apologies as he could, but he could still taste you on him.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.” Bucky scrambled to his feet, but in a state of disbelief, you followed. “No-” you shook your head frantically, reaching for his wrist as your heart beat wildly for the man before you.

“Bucky, stop.” You’d hurried around the other side, standing in front of the taller man. “I can’t, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay.” You soothed, your hand smoothing down his wrist and into his hand to which he unconsciously wrapped his fingers around yours in an automatic reaction he couldn’t even control.

“If I don’t go I won’t stop, y/n.” He muttered, head hanging low as his body screamed to grab you close once more. Conflicted, you found your emotions running deeper than common sense, and in a bid for the same sense of warmth and security as before, you reached for his face, pulling yourself flush against him and catching his lips once more.

There was no debate in Bucky’s mind. Fuck, nothing else in the world moved when he was kissing you, he’d yearned for you for so long, all those touches, the late night conversations. It didn’t take long for his hands to grip at your lower bag, lips moving against each others with ease as his tongue glided across yours.

“Please Bucky.” You borderline wept as he let out a low moan, kissing you once more. Who was he to deny such a request? In a heated exchange, he eased you down to the grass, settling once again as you climbed on his lap, dragging your body over his as a warmth filled not only your core, but your whole body in a frantic display of need.

The hair that littered his top lip brushed against your face, your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Once Bucky had started, he couldn’t stop. Nothing but a pure carnal desire rushed through his veins as he pulled a hand up to your shoulder, pulling you firmer against his clothed crotch to which you both let out a sigh of relief at the friction between the two of you.

The sound of your moans as Bucky dragged his lips and teeth over your neck was nothing short of angelic. He was painfully hard in his trousers, aching as you rubbed yourself against him. Matching your rhythm, Bucky began to gyrate his hips up into yours, groaning at the sensation as he dragged his fingers through your hair, against your scalp in a soothing manner.

With the tension thick, you reached for his belt, as his hands fumbled under the layers of your dress, pushing your panties aside as a finger slid in with ease to your warmth. You rode on his lap, clutching tighter at him, hands fumbling with apprehension as you worked on freeing his cock from his trousers.

Bucky brought you to your first orgasm as you finished over his hand, mouth agape and eyes screwed shut. He watched, swallowing thickly as he was captured by your pleasure, heart racing as your body slumped against his, panting with the aftershocks of your climax.

Bucky didn’t move you, the weight of you on his front was the most comforting thing he’d ever felt, and if it wasn’t for your fingers gliding the tip of his erection against your slickness, he would’ve stayed like that all night.

Then, he was inside you. As he sunk into your warmth the angle of your position and length of his member exerted the most beautiful sounds to pass your lips, ones he would’ve enjoyed to hear louder if it wasn’t for the smooshing of his plump lips against your own. Caught up in the moment, Bucky rolled your entwined bodies onto the floor, disregarding the grass stains he’d find later as he thrusted inside your tightness with a strained groan.

“Are you sure?” Forever a gentleman, he’d almost forgot to ask, but considering the way you were gripping him like your life depended on it, you thought he would’ve known the answer to that already.

“Yes.” Your consent came out as a whine, head thrashing to the side with a gasp as he worked against your g-spot, choking out manly sounds from above you as his pelvis gyrated against yours.

“Bucky.” As you cooed out his name, the pilot gripped you closer, digging his knees into the floor, slipping slightly as he fought for balance, fingers digging into your scalp as he gyrated faster, harder, bringing you closer to release as you both begged for the sweet satisfaction of climax once more.

And when you started pleading for it, how could he deny such a thing? With a muffled cry against his mouth, ecstasy took over your body once more and Bucky followed, digging his hips harder into yours, as deep as he could go before he finished with a groan, lips opening against yours, spilling his sticky seed over your exposed vagina, dropping it down the inside of your thigh.

No more words were spoken. The two of you gasped and panted, chest heaving and falling, your body squashed between the floor and his front as you slowly regained senses once more. It was a mutual feeling of ‘what have we just done’, and after the aftershocks of your orgasms slowly wore off, it was time to face the reality of your actions.

[bellewintersroe]

In My Blood | Epilogue

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

The war has been over for months. It has been even longer since you bade Curt a tearful farewell on the tarmac at St. Mawgan. So why are you standing in his neighbourhood, on his street?

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Cold, Angst, Death, Grief, Displacement, Fluff, Holidays, Family, Tearful Reunion, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes- 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 2815

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December 21, 1945

Snowflakes were idly wending their way to the ground on the treelined streets of the Woodlawn Heights neighbourhood of The Bronx, their path as slow and aimless as yours. Children who had been playing outside in the first flurries of the year, school dismissed early for the holidays, were gradually called inside for dinner, taking their laughter and seasonal excitement with them.

You were honestly not quite sure what you were doing here in this remarkably tranquil slice of New York, bordered by a park, and perhaps more ominously a cemetery. Why you had strayed so far afield from your rented flat on the Upper East Side, from your office at Lloyd’s America. Yet as your glove-clad fingers traced over the tattered edges of the worn envelope in the pocket of your fashionable winter coat, you knew exactly what had brought you here. To this tiny corner of the world that had birthed and shaped perhaps the only good thing that had come to you in the last six years. That you had so painfully set free.

It had been a long seventeen months of imparting your wisdom to the next generation of SOE agents at the schools that had once shaped your talents. Frustrated to have been relegated behind the lines and yet it had been rewarding all the same to remain involved courtesy of Smythe’s assistance. Focused as you were on the ultimate defeat of Hitler and his pathetic Reich, it still would have been false to claim that Curt had not taken up permanent residence in the back of your mind – a source of worry, of concern, but of hope.

And so when the office closed at three for the holidays, everyone rushing home to their families, you surrendered at last that gnawing curiosity about the street address scrawled on the envelope you had carried with you since that rainy day on the tarmac in late November 1943.

“You look pretty lost there, gorgeous.” That unforgettable voice cut through the gathering twilight as the streetlights began to flicker on, and you could not help your short laugh of surprise as your heart lurched, looking down sheepishly at being so easily spotted.

Clearly you had spent too long in the classroom, in civilian life. Had lost your edge as a field agent. Or perhaps a part of you had been so convinced you would never get a chance to see him again that you had failed to even consider the possibility of running into him by coming here.

“Pretty sure Belgium is…” there was a pause as he angled his body before pointing to what must be the northeast “…that way.”

Risking a small glance up at him, your eyes sank again quickly as your throat spasmed at just a glimpse of him. Dragging the toe of your boot through the accumulated dusting of snow on the sidewalk, you cleared your throat painfully to force out “turns out the home I fought for isn’t there anymore…”

Certainly, you had not expected things to snap back to normal with the Nazi surrender – you had seen firsthand a great deal of the damage of the invasion and occupation. Yet you had been utterly unprepared for what greeted you upon your return to Brussels that August. The scars of liberation were even deeper than those left by the occupiers. Yes, Europe had been freed, but the cost had been steep. The house you had grown up in flattened, the factories you were supposed to have inherited seized by the government, and the second house in Wallonia taken over by another family. People you had known for years treated you as a coward, as someone who had fled in fear with the King and his court, living in comfort abroad while they had suffered under the heel of the Nazi jackboot. And it would have been against the Official Secrets Act to correct them. Thanking your father for his foresight to move the majority of his fortune to Swiss banks, you had ensured a fitting burial for your parents and had hired a lawyer to sort through the property battles that would surely drag on for years to come.

Returning to England in September, you had learned the Dowager Marchioness had died in your brief absence and left the majority of her estate to you – to your bewilderment and the Marquess’s ire. Ensuring that your cousin Philomena had received the tiara she had always coveted, you had packed up the rest of your newly inherited items and had turned your eyes to the ‘new world.’ To an entirely new life in a new place that had nothing to do with war or societal expectation. Lloyd’s of London had a branch in New York and had been eager to hire you with your multiple languages and exemplary war service with the ATS. You had been on a boat by the first week of November.

Exhaling heavily at the weight of all that had transpired, you watched the tips of Curt’s shoes came into view as he stepped closer.

His finger hooked beneath your chin and gently lifted your eyes up to meet his, softened to a sky blue by empathy. “I’m sorry.” He spoke gently, his breath visible in the crisp air.

You blinked rapidly as his face threatened to blur behind tears “Me too.”

Whether your regret stemmed from the way you had parted or the fact that your life was forever changed, you did not elaborate. Most likely, it was both. His fingers unfurled beneath your chin to cup your cheek fully as he frowned, a shiver trembling through you at the warmth in his palm.

“You’re cold.” He muttered, shuffling closer.

You sniffed softly. “Not as cold as the mountains.” You finished with a rueful laugh, a crooked smile unfurled on his features.

“Don’t think I’ll ever be that cold again.”

As you laughed more freely, you realized he was not even wearing a proper coat, clad only in a sweater, really, a bottle of milk clutched in his free hand. “You need to get inside, you’re not even in a jacket.” You chided.

“Come with me, have some dinner. The family would love to meet you.” His offer was spoken casually but his eyes betrayed a fragile hopefulness.

A riot of butterflies fluttered to life in your abdomen, but you inhaled quickly, needing to make something clear before you accepted his invitation.

“I can’t…” his face fell, and you rushed to finish the statement, quickly cupping his cheeks, slightly annoyed at the barrier of your gloves, “tell them who I am, what I did…it would be treason.”

He exhaled slowly, gaze ricocheting across your face rapidly. “So that’s not a ‘no.’”

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you shook your head firmly. “It’s a ‘yes, I’d love to,’ but we just need to think of an explanation of how we know one another. How we met.”

As you spoke, you were acutely aware of the way his eyes came to settle on your mouth, his own lips parting slightly, making your pulse increase markedly.

“First, just let me…” His eyes flicked up to yours before sliding back down to your lips and you leaned in unconsciously, meeting him halfway for a firm kiss, sliding your arms around him tightly to help warm him.

Curt’s arms encircled you tightly, pulling you close in turn, the milk bottle digging into your shoulder blade slightly as he entrapped you. You would have verbally assured him you had no intent of going anywhere this time, yet he was also doing a very thorough job of keeping your mouth occupied, rendering you silent save for soft exhales of delight. Pulling back only to satiate the need for oxygen, visible puffs of air accumulated in the minimal space between you.

“Cannot think when you do that.” You complained teasingly and he smirked broadly with a dangerous glint to his eyes.

“Shame.” He replied without an ounce of remorse, followed by a kiss that tasted of fierce possessiveness, his tongue sliding along yours, making your fingers curl into the knit of his sweater as you grew dizzy.

There was something achingly familiar, comforting, and yet refreshing to be in his arms again. It did not feel like you were trying to seek out some obliterated past, but rather picking up an extraordinary novel in progress, set down a while ago, with new and incredible pages yet to discover. Lungs burning, you reluctantly broke the seal of your lips, biting the inside of your cheek to tame the absurd grin that wanted to crack your face wide open as he buried his chilled cheeks in the warmth of your collar. Quickly unbuttoning your jacket, you coaxed him closer to share more body heat as the sun had since fully set.

“What brought you to New York, anyway?” He murmured, lips brushing against your neck as he spoke, making swallow tightly before you could reply.

“This man I met told me it was a pretty great place to live, so I got a job here.”

You could feel the huff of his laugh, the curl of his grin. “Sounds like a smart fella.”

“Mmmm humble, too.” You chuckled.

The sound of a window scraping up in its frame from the red brick apartment building above you reverberated through the otherwise silent street, the exasperated voice of a woman echoing down.

“Curtis Rundle, I sent you for milk twenty minutes ago what is…oh!” Her annoyance at Curt turned to an exclamation of surprise as the pair of you turned to look up at her where she leaned out the second story window.

“Can you set another place, ma? My Belgian princess finally found her way home.” Curt grinned and gave you a tight squeeze at your sharp inhale as he continued to deliberately mistitle you.

It took all your strength not to laugh brightly when two more feminine faces bearing his same charmingly blunt features popped out the window as well.

“I would hate to impose…” You called up, suddenly recalling your manners.

“Nonsense! There’s plenty of food, please come in. Curtis bring the lady inside before she freezes to death.” The last was delivered a lot more sharply and much more like an order from a general, making you chuckle under your breath even as Curt seized your hand to drag you inside.

Following him up the concrete stairs, Curt burst into the warm apartment with you in tow, a flurry of activity within as the three women were adding another chair and place setting to the simple but obviously loved wooden dining table. Curt handed off the bottle of milk to one of his sisters, whether it was Ann or Charlotte, they did not stop long enough to make an introduction, before he took your coat to hang it up once you had slid the gloves into the pocket. You wished you had changed after work, dressed in a chic black office dress with a brooch to impress, utterly out of place amongst their handmade and mended, cheery fabrics.

But then Delphia emerged from the kitchen and smiled at you warmly.

“Aren’t you just the prettiest thing, what a lovely couple you two make.”

Shaking her hand warmly, you introduced yourself quickly. “Thank you so very much for the last-minute invitation, I do apologize I have arrived empty-handed. Please allow me to return the favour one day?”

“Only if you insist, now come sit, lets get some warm food into you.” She guided you to the table, introducing her daughters who sat opposite you, putting faces to names whispered back in the mountain village of Esterri D’Aneu.

“So what did you do during the war?” Charlotte launched right into it, earning a look of admonishment from her elder sister but only reminding you of her brother.

“Well, I was living in England at the time, so I volunteered with the Auxiliary Territorial Service.” You provided your standard answer. Your sanitized, cover answer.

“Like Princess Elizabeth.” Ann nodded eagerly and you nodded in confirmation.

“Yes, actually we had similar roles, both of us worked as drivers. Though I am not, despite your brother’s insistence, a princess.”

“She is nobility though, don’t let her fool you.” Curt chided as he began to fill the table with dishes of food under his mother’s watchful eye.

Shooting him a look, the damage was already done, and you were forced to launch into the convoluted explanation of your lineage, neither of his sister’s any clearer on where you stood by the time his mother sat down to say grace. Insisting on serving you first, your mouth was full of food when the dreaded question, the one that Curt and his insistent kisses had left you utterly unprepared to answer, arose.

“How did you two meet?”

It was Charlotte again, scooping a heap of potatoes onto her plate as her eyes flicked between the pair of you, seated side-by-side, eagerly.

You were in the midst of wracking your brain for something to say when Curt started speaking.

“This gorgeous woman here helped me get back,” his hand landed gently on your knee under the table, squeezing reassuringly as your grip on your fork grew painfully tight, “to base one night in July after I got a little lost after some fun at the pub. One look at her behind the wheel and I was lost.”

Ducking your head slightly under such praise, and to hide your exhale of relief, you stealthily slid your hand over his where it still lay on your thigh, squeezing in gratitude as Charlotte was exclaiming how utterly romantic it was before somehow relating it to the story of how she met her Randolph. More than happy to take the bait, you leaned forward, asking just the right questions to send her into the whole tale of their love affair, taking the heat off you and Curt.

Sitting back, eating a homecooked meal, laughing quietly as Ann and Curt teased Charlotte mercilessly with Delphia watching on fondly, you were suddenly struck by how utterly warm you felt inside and out. Ann’s soft repetition of your voice jarred you back to the present and you thanked her softly as she took your empty plate to the kitchen, Delphia and Charlotte already in there fixing dessert, Curt’s fingers lacing through yours.

“What’s going through that scarily gorgeous head of yours?” He leaned in to utter just for you to hear and you swallowed thickly, glancing around before looking to him softly.

“You…this place…your family…” you began hesitantly, “feels an awful lot like home.” You finished in a soft whisper.

A slow grin stretched across his face, growing to an utterly blinding intensity that had your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

“Careful gorgeous, you’re gonna get yourself kissed in front of my whole family and then neither of us will hear the end of it.” There was a dangerously raspy edge to his voice that had you pressing your lips together tightly, trying your best to behave as bowls of sticky toffee pudding were set out in front of you.

“Where are you spending the holidays?” Delphia asked warmly as she and the girls settled back into their chairs, everyone digging into the delicious dessert.

“Oh I don’t have any plans, honestly, just another weekend for me really.”

“You must spend it with us then!” Charlotte cried out, looking appalled at the idea of you spending the next few days alone.

“Yes, please, we would love to have you.” Delphia smiled warmly.

“This year and every year after that if you’d like.” Curt’s easy statement could have been mistaken for warm hospitality and yet…

Turning sharply to him to face him, a collective gasp sounding from his sisters across the table, he nodded earnestly.

“If we feel like home, better make it official and marry me already.” As usual, his words were brash and playful, but there was something tender and fragile in his gaze as he lay himself out there completely.

Setting your spoon down, you swallowed incredulously. “That is certainly one way to propose. Now you’re the one getting yourself kissed in front of your whole family.”

Grasping his face, you pulled him close to kiss him firmly, earning hoots of triumph from Charlotte and more lady-like exclamations of delight from Ann and Delphia. You did not linger too long, more than aware of your audience, desperately trying not to giggle at the rather disorientated way he stared back at you.

“Wait…” He breathed eventually. “…that a yes?”

“Yes!” You declared with a peal of laughter, grinning against his lips as he pulled you close for a triumphant kiss of his own.

“Not letting you go ever again.” Curt muttered against your lips.

“Not going anywhere.” You assured him firmly.

-------------------------

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

[bellewintersroe]

new rare pic of my husband

[bellewintersroe]

DOES ANYBODY HAVE AN ARCHIVE OF USER WARMOMMY ‘S FICS??? EVERYTIME I LOOK AT A MASTERLIST SOMEONE HAS PUT TOGATHER THEIR FICS ARE ON IT WITH THE BEST TITLES AND THEY WONT LOAD😭😭😭

[bellewintersroe]

I AM GOING TO CRY SOMEONE PLEASE BRING BACK VEGETATARGARYAN / WARMOMMY / MADAMSLEDGE I MISS HER AND HER FICS 😭😭😭😭

[bellewintersroe]

save me men in green dress... save me... men in green dress save me....

[bellewintersroe]

i am quite literally OBSESSED with this man.

i cannot stop thinking about him 🎀

[bellewintersroe]

i am my father's daughter - declan o'hara x rupert's daughter!reader

synopsis: you knew you shouldn't be doing this, flirting with your dad's friend and business partner. but he's so irresistible!

content: age gap relationship (ages not specified), maud doesn't exist au, not very canon compliant just ignore it, nsfw themes, dbf trope, accidental tense switching (ignore it)

author's note: declan is sooooo hunky #needthat also this is a rather short piece but if you'd like to see a continuation of dbf declan, i would absolutely provide <3

you're quite positive that nobody has looked as good in a t-shirt as declan o'hara does now in the front of the priory's living room, leading an open discussion about what is next for the budding production company. his biceps flex underneath the thin material when he lifts his arm in a gesture and despite your efforts to remain focused on the conversation at hand, it's difficult when all you've been able to think about since he moved in is declan.

for a month or two after he and his two daughters moved in, he had been the sole object of your daydreaming. he was so strong, so intelligent, so witty on the television, so...everything.

however, there was little that you could do on that front, considering the last name that appears on your birth certificate and the fact that rupert campbell-black, your father, and declan hated each other. it was a rather difficult watch, the night declan interviewed him, but with rupert bonding with declan over their love for their small families, it became much easier to slink your way into his presence. thankfully.

then, it became regular to see declan in your home, or to see you and rupert in his. he was hard to depart from, what with his deep, thick accented voice and his wavy hair he kept running his hands through, and that t-shirt, that damn t-shirt. you lived in pure, unending agony for a while, having to be so close to him all the time without being able to give in to this torturous desire.

but then he started blatantly running a large hand over your back as he passed behind you and then he started making eye contact with you across the room and then he helped you with car troubles where he stood tantalizingly close behind you while showing you how to check your oil.

your father doesn't need to know that you've kissed and made out with and sucked off his friend and business partner. right?

when declan finishes his speech in the front of the living room, he makes his way through the crowd to the table in the back with a few drinks and refreshments laid out by taggie where you just so happen to be standing.

his eye contact with you is unwavering as he comes closer and closer to you and there's a smirk growing on his lips.

"could you be any more obvious with your ogling there, dear?" he says quietly once he reaches your side.

you scoff, but you know what he's saying is true. "i wasn't doing anything of the sort, mr o'hara. i'm just admiring your leadership and passion for venturer, is all," you whisper.

he leans against the table, then, watching as the crowd before him mingle with each other, completely oblivious to the conversation happening between you and him. even your father seems to be swept up into conversation on the other side of the room. he turns his neck side-to-side, clearly aware of the way that his shoulders and back tense underneath the tight shirt. your eyes betray your previous statement as they immediately flick to the sight, then flick downwards.

he chuckles and takes the smallest of steps closer to you. "so you like the shirt, then, i take it?"

a small blush overtakes your cheeks and you refuse to meet his eye. suddenly, you feel his body tilt towards yours, lips just before your ear.

"i can let you take it off me if you come over tonight."

his deep voice reverberated through your body, sending chills down your neck and spine. subconsciously, your back arched from the table you were learning on and he let out another laugh.

a few hours later, you found yourself slipping quietly out of penscombe, positively giddy. the walk to the priory was one you had done plenty of times and you knew it like the back of your hand, really. slowly, the centuries old building came into view and several feet up the wall was a window with its lights still on. declan's.

as he'd done before, he met you at the back door of the home, one that leads into the kitchen, a smug look on his face.

"you took my offer quite readily," he said. his big frame leaned against the door and he crossed his arms. still adorning him was that damn t-shirt.

"as if you weren't kicking your feet waiting for me," you retort, then come to stand before him.

he shakes his head then and a sly smile tilts the corners of his mouth up. he removes his body from the frame and steps to the side to let you inside. as you pass him, a firm hand comes down on your ass, making a small yelp escape your lips.

you turn suddenly and shoot him a glare. he just pats you again, a gesture to keep you moving forward. "get on up there, little minx. before your daddy realizes where you've gone, huh?"

you turn then and head for the stairs that lead up to his bedroom. declan didn't have to tell you much twice.

[bellewintersroe]

Reblog if you would be comfortable living in a dormitory with an openly transgender or intersex individual. We’re working on a campaign for gender neutral housing and we could use your support.

[bellewintersroe]

can yuo put that out on me