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never will be | fred g. weasley

summary: if one more person called fred your boyfriend, you were going to hex them—and then probably yourself for wishing it were true word count: 5.8k masterlist

“Seriously, though,” Angelina said, leaning against the Gryffindor common room sofa with a sly grin, “when are you two finally going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” Fred asked, looking up from the deck of Exploding Snap cards he was shuffling.

“That you’re dating,” George chimed in from across the room, tossing a chocolate frog wrapper into the fire.

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “For the hundredth time, we’re not dating.”

“Not yet, at least,” Angelina muttered, smirking at you.

Fred laughed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just bored and trying to start drama.”

George snorted. “Says the bloke who can’t go two hours without dragging her off to help with one of his pranks.”

“That’s because she’s got steady hands,” Fred argued, flashing you a grin that made your stomach flip. “Best partner-in-crime I could ask for.”

“Mm-hmm,” George said, exchanging a knowing look with Angelina.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks but forced a casual laugh. “Exactly. Partners-in-crime. Nothing more.”

Fred’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice faltered on the last words.

Later that evening, as you sat in your usual spot in the common room, Fred plopped down beside you, his long legs stretching out in front of him.

George and Angelina had finally left you alone, their laughter about your so-called “relationship” fading into the background.

Fred tossed a bright green bean into the air, catching it in his mouth. “Honestly, they’re relentless. Next thing you know, they’ll be planning our wedding.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, definitely. George would insist on fireworks during the vows.”

“And Angelina would probably hex the cake to explode in my face,” Fred added, grinning.

“Not that you wouldn’t deserve it,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

Fred gasped dramatically. “Me? Deserve it? Please, I’d be the perfect groom. You, on the other hand…”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

Fred smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You’d probably spend the entire ceremony arguing with me about the flowers or the seating arrangements.”

“Only because you’d insist on something ridiculous, like having a Quidditch match instead of a reception,” you shot back, laughing.

“See? Proves my point,” Fred said, throwing another bean into his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. The conversation was silly, but it sent a pang through your chest all the same. For a moment, you wondered—what if it weren’t so ridiculous? What if you weren’t just friends?

“Guess it’s a good thing we’d never actually be a couple,” you said lightly, testing the waters.

Fred snorted, not catching the slight hesitation in your voice. “You’ve got that right. Can you imagine? We’d probably kill each other within a week.”

Your smile faltered for a split second, but you quickly recovered, laughing along with him. “True. It would be a disaster.”

“An entertaining one, though,” Fred added, grinning at you.

You laughed again, but the ache in your chest lingered as his words played over in your mind. A disaster.

Fred, oblivious, tossed the box of beans onto the table and stretched his arms over his head. “Anyway, who needs all that relationship nonsense? We’re better off just being us.”

“Right,” you said softly, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. “Just us.”

But as you watched Fred lean back, his expression carefree and content, you made a silent decision.

It was time to stop hoping for something that would never happen. It was time to move on.

A couple days later, Fred dropped into the seat next to you in the common room, his typical big grin directed at you. “Fancy sneaking out to the kitchens? I was thinking a snack, but maybe we could even go for a full-course meal if the house-elves are feeling generous.”

You didn’t look up from your book, keeping your voice steady. “Can’t. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Fred tilted his head, frowning. “Plans? With who?”

“Just plans,” you said vaguely, flipping a page.

Fred narrowed his eyes, studying you for a moment, but you didn’t elaborate. Eventually, he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Your loss. More food for me.”

You hummed noncommittally, keeping your gaze fixed on the words in front of you.

Later that evening, Fred was sprawled on the sofa near the fire, George and Lee arguing over a card game beside him. Angelina sauntered in, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

“Oi, Ang,” Fred called, waving her over. “What’s she up to tonight?”

Angelina raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You know who. She said she had plans.”

Angelina hesitated for half a second before smirking. “She’s got a date.”

Fred blinked, the words not registering immediately. “A date?”

“Yeah,” Angelina said, sitting on the arm of the sofa. “With that bloke from Ravenclaw—what’s his name? Aaron? Aiden?”

“Andrew,” George supplied helpfully, grinning.

“Right. Andrew,” Angelina said, crossing her arms. “Apparently, he’s been asking her out for ages, and she finally said yes.”

Fred frowned, a strange tightness forming in his chest. “Huh.”

George glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Fred?”

“No,” Fred said quickly, shaking his head. “Why would there be?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, who raised an amused eyebrow. But neither of them said anything, much to Fred’s relief.

Meanwhile you were trying your best to focus on Andrew as he told you about his latest Quidditch practice. He was charming, handsome, and undeniably kind. Exactly the type of person you should be going out with.

But as much as you tried to stay engaged, your mind kept wandering. His laugh wasn’t quite as infectious. His jokes weren’t quite as sharp. And when he leaned in slightly to brush his hand against yours, your chest didn’t flutter the way you wanted it to.

You forced a smile, reminding yourself why you were here. Andrew had always been good to you, and after Fred’s clear rejection, it was time to stop holding onto something that wasn’t going to happen.

“Are you alright?” Andrew asked, his voice soft as he studied your face.

“Yes,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter. “Sorry, just a bit distracted. It’s been a long week.”

Andrew smiled, his eyes warm. “I get it. I’m glad you said yes, though. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

You felt a pang of guilt but managed another smile. “Me too.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Andrew deserved a chance, and you were determined to give it to him.

Still, as the evening wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder what Fred was doing. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the thought that you wished he were sitting across from you instead.

You had done your best to steer clear of Fred over the past few days. You weren’t sure why, if someone dared to ask. Maybe you wanted to avoid telling him about your date or maybe talking to Fred would force you to acknowledge that moving on was harder than you thought.

It wasn’t easy, avoiding Fred, considering he had a knack for showing up everywhere you didn’t want him to be.

And, naturally, today was no exception.

“Oi!” Fred’s voice rang out from behind you as you made your way down the hallway after class. “Wait up!”

You considered pretending not to hear him, but the sound of his footsteps catching up told you there was no escaping this time.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. His usual grin was in place, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. Been avoiding me or something?”

You gave a half-hearted laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just… busy.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Busy with what? Or should I say who?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Angelina mentioned you went on a date,” Fred said, his tone light and teasing, though his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “Figured you’d be too busy swooning over this Andrew bloke to hang out with your real friends.”

You rolled your eyes, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. “It was just a date, Fred. No swooning involved.”

Fred tilted his head, studying you. “Come on. Spill. What’s he like? Is he as funny as me? Doubt it.”

You hesitated, your heart hammering as you searched his face for any hint of jealousy, any sign that this conversation bothered him. But Fred’s grin was firmly in place, his tone casual and carefree.

“He’s nice,” you said finally, keeping your voice even. “Really nice.”

Fred’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments before returning. “Nice, huh? That’s a glowing review.”

You shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” Fred said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe that he’s secretly boring or has terrible taste in music. Something I can mock him for.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, but it quickly faded as the tension in your chest tightened.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Well, if he’s so bloody great, maybe we should invite him to hang out with us sometime.”

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. “Are you serious?”

Fred shrugged, his grin turning lopsided. “Why not? He could use a proper Weasley test. See if he can keep up.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath. “You’re impossible.”

Fred watched you closely, his grin slipping just enough to reveal the confusion beneath it. He didn’t know why the thought of you with Andrew left a sour taste in his mouth, but he was determined to ignore it.

Maybe it was just because he didn’t know the guy. Or because he didn’t want to lose his favorite partner-in-crime to some bloke from Ravenclaw. That had to be it.

Definitely not because he cared more than he should.

The common room buzzed with its usual post-dinner chaos. Fred was in his element, loudly challenging George to an Exploding Snap rematch after a questionable loss earlier, when you walked in with Andrew.

Fred’s laughter faltered for half a second, but he quickly covered it up with a grin. “Well, well, look who decided to join us. Ravenclaw royalty.”

“Hi, Fred,” you said, your voice neutral but carrying an edge of warning.

Andrew smiled politely, clearly unfazed. “Hey. I thought I’d take you up on your offer to hang out.”

“Brave of you,” Fred quipped, gesturing to the chaos around him. “We’re not exactly Ravenclaw standards of refined.”

Andrew chuckled. “I can handle it.”

George appeared beside Fred, grinning broadly. “Andrew, right? You’re the Quidditch guy. Chaser, yeah?”

“That’s me,” Andrew said, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Always nice to have another flyer in the group,” George said, clapping him on the back. “Ignore Fred if he gets too annoying.”

“Oi!” Fred protested, but George was already leading Andrew to the sofa, chatting about brooms and game strategies.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Play nice,” you muttered as you passed Fred, taking a seat near Angelina and Lee.

Fred watched as Andrew settled into the group, answering questions and laughing at everyone’s jokes with ease. His jaw tightened when Angelina leaned over to whisper, “He’s charming, isn’t he?”

“Sure,” Fred said, his voice flat.

An hour later, everyone seemed to be getting along swimmingly—except Fred.

He wasn’t outright rude to Andrew, but his usual teasing had a sharper edge tonight. Every time Andrew spoke, Fred had a quick quip or an exaggerated eye roll.

When Andrew mentioned his house winning the latest match, Fred chimed in with, “Ravenclaw’s strategy, isn’t it? Win the game, lose the fun.”

George elbowed Fred, but Andrew only laughed. “We take Quidditch seriously. Some of us, at least.”

Fred grinned tightly. “Right. Because fun has no place in sports.”

“Okay,” you interjected, cutting through the growing tension. “Who wants snacks? I’ll get some from the kitchens.”

“I’ll help,” Andrew offered, standing up.

You hesitated, glancing briefly at Fred before nodding. “Sure. Let’s go.”

After you and Andrew left the common room, Fred slumped back into his chair, muttering something under his breath.

“What’s your problem?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Problem? I don’t have a problem,” Fred said quickly.

“Sure you don’t,” Angelina said, smirking as she leaned against the armrest. “You’re only acting like a jealous git.”

Fred scoffed. “Jealous? Please. I just think he’s boring.”

George chuckled. “Yeah, he’s awful. Friendly, charming, loves Quidditch—how dare he?”

Fred scowled but didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the door you’d just walked through.

When you and Andrew returned, the evening had mostly calmed down. Fred kept to himself, though his eyes followed you whenever you weren’t looking.

As the group began to disband for the night, Andrew turned to you, his smile warm and easy. “I had a great time the other night. Do you think you’d want to do it again? Soon?”

Fred’s head snapped up at Andrew’s words, but he quickly looked away, pretending to fidget with his deck of cards.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Fred for just a moment. His usual grin was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and averted eyes. Ignoring him and the little voice in the back of your mind, you turned back to Andrew.

“Sure,” you said with a smile. “I’d like that.”

Andrew’s grin widened. “Great. I’ll find you tomorrow to figure out the details.”

You nodded, and as Andrew left, you glanced back at Fred one last time. He was shuffling his cards with unnecessary force, avoiding your gaze entirely. Weird.

Over the next couple of weeks, your relationship with Andrew began to take shape. Slowly but surely, he worked his way into your life.

He wasn’t overly pushy or demanding, which you appreciated, and he had a way of making you laugh—though not quite as effortlessly as Fred could.

Still, it felt nice to have someone show genuine interest in you, even if the spark you were hoping for wasn’t quite there yet.

Of course, Andrew didn’t just win you over—he charmed everyone.

“Well, he’s bloody polite,” George said one evening after Andrew left the common room. “And he brought snacks. Can’t argue with that.”

Angelina nodded in agreement. “He’s sweet. You picked a good one.”

“Of course she did,” Fred muttered, slumping lower in his chair.

Lee gave Fred a side-eye. “You alright, mate? You’ve been acting off lately.”

“I’m fine,” Fred said quickly, grabbing a deck of cards and shuffling them with unnecessary vigor. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lee raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.

The thing was, Fred wasn’t fine.

He didn’t know what it was about Andrew that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was how the bloke always seemed to be around now, sitting beside you in the common room or leaning in too close when you laughed at one of his jokes.

Fred told himself it was just the newness of it all. You’d always been his person—his partner-in-crime, his go-to for pranks, his late-night snack accomplice. And now Andrew was stealing you away.

It was irritating.

But Fred wasn’t jealous. Definitely not.

One afternoon, the group decided to head down to the lake to take advantage of the rare sunny weather.

Andrew and George carried the food, Angelina and Lee brought the blankets, and you walked ahead with Fred, your pace slowing as you chatted.

“So,” Fred said casually, kicking a stone along the path, “how’s Prince Charming?”

You gave him a look. “He has a name, you know.”

“Right. Andy.”

“Andrew,” you corrected, rolling your eyes.

“Same thing,” Fred said with a shrug.

You sighed. “He’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Fred said, though his tone was anything but casual. “Just wondering how long he plans to stick around.”

“Why? You planning to scare him off?” you asked, your voice teasing but laced with curiosity.

Fred grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Before you could respond, Andrew called your name from behind, jogging to catch up with you.

Fred fell silent, his jaw tightening as Andrew slipped into step beside you, his hand brushing yours as he walked.

By the time you reached the lake, Fred was thoroughly annoyed.

As everyone settled on the blankets, Andrew took the spot beside you, leaning close to whisper something that made you laugh. Fred sat across from you, stabbing at his sandwich with unnecessary force.

“You alright there, Fred?” Angelina asked, nudging him with her foot.

“Fine,” Fred said tightly, taking an aggressive bite.

George smirked. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care, you’re awfully bothered.”

Fred glared at his twin but said nothing.

As the sun began to set, Andrew offered to walk you back to the castle, and you accepted with a smile. Fred watched the two of you leave, his chest tightening as your laughter faded into the distance.

“Mate,” George said, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” George said with a knowing grin.

If there was one thing Fred Weasley prided himself on, it was his ability to remain unshakable. Cool under pressure. Steady in the face of chaos.

Except, apparently, when Andrew was around.

“I’m just saying,” Fred declared loudly, leaning back in his chair with the kind of dramatic flair that immediately drew everyone’s attention, “no one is that nice. It’s suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Angelina repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” Fred said, gesturing wildly as if this were common knowledge. “No one can laugh at every single joke. Even George’s bad ones.”

“Oi!” George protested, though he was grinning. “My jokes are masterpieces.”

Andrew, seated comfortably next to you, chuckled. “I don’t know, George. That one about the Blast-Ended Skrewts last week was a bit of a stretch.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “See? Right there. He’s even polite when he’s being critical. Who does that?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Fred, are you really mad because Andrew is nice?”

“I’m not mad!” Fred insisted, though his tone suggested otherwise. “I’m just… observant. He’s too nice. It’s unnatural.”

“Fred,” Lee said, struggling to keep a straight face, “I think you might be allergic to decent human behavior.”

The group erupted in laughter, and for a moment, even you couldn’t hide your amusement. But Fred wasn’t done yet.

“Mark my words,” Fred continued, pointing dramatically at Andrew, “this whole ‘charming and perfect’ act is going to crack one day. And when it does—”

Andrew held up his hands, laughing lightly. “Alright, you’ve got me. I’ll admit it: I burned toast once. Twice, actually. Sometimes I even leave the cap off the toothpaste.”

“Oh, the horror,” Lee said, clutching his chest mockingly. “Fred, are you sure we’re safe in his presence?”

Fred scowled, muttering something under his breath.

You shot him a look, your patience wearing thin. “Fred, if you’re so bothered by something, maybe you should do something about it.”

Fred blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, standing to grab a glass of water. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

Fred watched you leave the room, the weight of your words settling uncomfortably in his chest.

“What’s her problem?” he muttered, glancing at the others.

Angelina snorted. “You’re joking, right?”

Fred frowned. “What?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, barely containing his laughter. “Oh, nothing,” George said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with you acting like a jealous prat every time Andrew breathes in her direction.”

“I’m not jealous!” Fred shot back, his voice a little too loud.

“Sure you’re not,” Lee said, patting him on the shoulder.

Angelina leaned forward, her smirk practically glowing. “Fred, has it ever occurred to you that you’re not mad at Andrew? You’re mad because he’s with her, and you’re not.”

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He shut it again, glaring at the lot of them as they burst into laughter.

“Honestly,” George said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen Blast-Ended Skrewts with more self-awareness.”

Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all useless,” he muttered.

“Hey, we’re just here to point out the obvious,” Lee said with a grin. “The rest is up to you, lover boy.”

The Three Broomsticks was warm and bustling with chatter, the kind of lively atmosphere that could distract anyone from their troubles.

Fred leaned back in his chair, nursing a mug of butterbeer, and let the noise wash over him.

It had been weeks since he’d felt this at ease. For once, he wasn’t thinking about Andrew or the way he seemed to occupy every spare moment of your time.

Because, for the first time in a long while, it was just the group—George, Lee, Angelina, you, and him—laughing, joking, and bickering like always. And with you sitting across from him, grinning over the rim of your butterbeer as you teased George about his latest failed prank, Fred felt… content.

Comfortable. Like everything was back to normal.

But then the door to the pub opened, letting in a gust of cold air and a familiar figure.

Fred’s stomach twisted the moment he saw Andrew.

“Hey, everyone,” Andrew said, his smile easy and confident as he approached the table.

Fred tried to focus on his drink, on George cracking a joke, on literally anything else—but then Andrew leaned down, his hand brushing your shoulder, and kissed you.

It wasn’t long, just a brief, casual kiss on the lips, but it might as well have been a Bludger to Fred’s chest.

The laughter at the table carried on, the others welcoming Andrew like they always did, but Fred barely heard a word. His mind was spinning, his heart racing, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up the denial.

It wasn’t just irritation. It wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was jealousy.

Pure, undeniable jealousy.

And it wasn’t just because Andrew had you—it was because Fred wanted you.

The realization hit him like a brick wall. Every time you laughed at Andrew’s jokes, every time you brushed his hand with yours, every time you smiled at him with that soft, affectionate look in your eyes—it burned.

Because Fred wanted to be the one making you laugh, holding your hand, earning your smiles.

But it wasn’t him. And now, sitting here, watching Andrew slide into the seat beside you, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, Fred finally understood why it hurt so much.

Fred paced the length of the Gryffindor common room like a man possessed, his hands raking through his hair as George, Angelina, and Lee lounged on the sofa, watching with varying degrees of amusement.

“She kissed him,” Fred muttered for the fiftieth time, his voice tinged with both disbelief and frustration.

“Yes, Fred,” Angelina said patiently, not bothering to hide her smirk. “We were all there. You don’t need to recap.”

“But—” Fred turned on his heel, his expression wild. “How did I not see it before? How did none of you tell me?”

George snorted. “Mate, we’ve been dropping hints for years. You’re just thick.”

“Excuse me?” Fred stopped pacing long enough to glare at his twin.

Lee chimed in, grinning. “He’s right, you know. It’s been painfully obvious to everyone but you. Honestly, we were starting to think you’d never figure it out.”

Fred groaned, collapsing into a chair and burying his face in his hands. “What am I supposed to do now? She’s happy with Andrew. I can’t just…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You could do nothing,” Angelina suggested, crossing her arms. “Let her be happy. Maybe keep your mouth shut for once in your life.”

Fred glared at her. “Thanks for the support, Ang. Really helpful.”

“I’m just saying,” Angelina continued, shrugging. “If you care about her, maybe you don’t ruin things for her. It’s not about you, Fred.”

George tilted his head. “Or—and hear me out—you could tell her how you feel and let her decide.”

Lee grinned. “Or—and this is my favorite option—you stage an elaborate prank to scare off Andrew, then swoop in as the knight in shining armor.”

Fred groaned again, throwing his head back against the chair. “You’re all useless.”

“Hey, I’m giving you options,” Lee said defensively.

“Yeah,” George added. “And Angelina’s just saying what she’d do if she were you. Personally, I think you should grow a pair and tell her the truth.”

Fred shot him a look. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Angelina said, her tone softer now. “But you’ve got to figure it out, Fred. Otherwise, you’re just going to keep driving yourself—and the rest of us—mad.”

The sound of the portrait hole opening drew their attention, and there you were, stepping inside with your bag slung over one shoulder and a slight frown on your face.

Fred’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately sat up straighter, trying to look normal—which, of course, only made him look even more suspicious.

“Everything okay?” you asked, glancing between the group and Fred’s suspiciously guilty expression.

“Fine!” Fred said quickly, his voice a little too loud.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, instead walking over to your usual spot by the fire. You dropped your bag on the floor and pulled out a stack of parchment, rifling through it with a small, frustrated sigh.

Fred couldn’t take his eyes off you. It wasn’t anything special—just you being you—but the way your hair caught the firelight, the tiny furrow in your brow as you concentrated, the way you bit your lip when something didn’t go right…

In that moment, Fred knew.

Knew that no one else would ever make him feel the way you did. Knew that no one else would ever measure up to you. Knew that he couldn’t keep this to himself anymore.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell you.

“Merlin, he’s gone,” George muttered, nudging Angelina. “Look at him.”

Fred ignored them, his mind racing as he tried to think of something—anything—to say. But for once in his life, words failed him.

Fred had never been one to overthink things. Usually, he went with his gut, said whatever was on his mind, and dealt with the consequences later. But when it came to you, every plan he came up with seemed doomed from the start.

The first time he tried, it was on the way to Charms. He’d spotted you walking ahead, your bag slung over one shoulder and your hair bouncing as you moved. His heart did that stupid thing where it sped up, and before he could stop himself, he called your name.

“Hey,” you said, slowing to let him catch up.

“Hey,” he replied, suddenly feeling like his tongue had turned to lead.

You smiled at him, that warm, easy smile that made his chest ache. “What’s up?”

Fred opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Andrew appeared from the other direction.

“There you are,” Andrew said, grinning as he slipped an arm around your waist.

Fred’s jaw clenched, but he forced a smile. “Right. See you in class,” he mumbled, walking off before either of you could reply.

The second attempt came during a group study session in the library.

Fred had been unusually quiet, his eyes darting to you every few seconds. You were sitting across from him, absently twirling your quill as you read over your notes.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, leaning forward.

You looked up, tilting your head. “Yeah?”

“I—”

“Shh!” Madam Pince hissed from across the room, glaring at Fred like he’d just set one of her precious books on fire.

Fred sighed, leaning back in his chair as George smirked beside him. “Smooth,” George muttered under his breath.

The third time wasn’t even his fault.

He’d waited until you were alone in the common room, curled up in your usual chair by the fire. It was late, and most of the others had gone to bed, leaving the room quiet and cozy.

Fred took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he approached. “Hey, can we talk?”

You looked up at him, your expression soft but curious. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Fred hesitated, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue. This was it. He just had to say it.

But before he could, Lee burst into the room, laughing loudly about something George had apparently done. The noise startled both of you, and whatever fragile moment had been building between you vanished in an instant.

Fred sighed, watching as you smiled politely at Lee’s antics before heading upstairs to your dorm.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Andrew was as kind and attentive as ever, but your heart wasn’t fully in it. You caught yourself zoning out during conversations, your mind drifting to memories of late-night laughs and pranks with Fred.

Andrew noticed.

“You’ve been a bit distant lately,” he said one evening as you sat together by the lake. His tone was calm but serious, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for.

Andrew smiled faintly, shaking his head. “We should talk. Really talk.”

You nodded, your stomach twisting with unease and the underlying feeling of already knowing what was about to come.

The rain fell steadily, soaking through your cloak and chilling you to the bone, but you didn’t care. After your conversation with Andrew, you’d needed space to think, to feel, to breathe.

That was why you stayed in the same spot he left you in, even when it began to pour.

But tonight, the storm wasn’t just inside.

The sound of footsteps on the dock pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Fred, his red hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping from his clothes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice carrying over the rain.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, looking equal parts frustrated and relieved. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged, turning your gaze back to the water. “Needed to think.”

Fred hesitated, then stepped closer, the wood creaking under his weight. “And you couldn’t think inside? Where it’s dry?”

You huffed a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Guess not.”

An awkward silence stretched between you as the rain continued to fall. Fred shifted on his feet, clearly trying to work up the courage to say something.

He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he blurted finally, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You’re out here in the rain, and I’m the idiot who followed you, and… Merlin, I don’t even know where to start.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression guarded. “Then don’t.”

Fred shook his head. “No, I have to. Because—because you drive me mad. You’re all I can think about, and it’s infuriating because I don’t even know when it started, but it’s just… there. All the time.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice.

“You know, Andrew is… perfect, really. Kind, understanding. Says all the right things. And he’s right. He’s everything I should want.”

Fred’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “If he’s so perfect, then why are you out here? With me?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you blinked, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Why, if Andrew’s so perfect, are you standing out here in the rain with me instead of him?” Fred pressed, his voice soft but insistent.

Your chest ached, and before you could stop yourself, the truth spilled out. “Because he’s not you, Fred! He never was.”

Fred stared at you, his breath hitching as your words sank in.

You laughed bitterly, swiping at your wet face. “Andrew is kind and caring and everything I should want. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s not you. And that’s why we ended things. He knows he’s not the one I want to be with.”

Fred didn’t move for a moment, as though your words had stunned him. His wide eyes searched yours, raindrops slipping down his face, mingling with the uncertainty you saw flicker there.

But then, something shifted. Determination sparked in his gaze, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands, rough yet gentle, cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your rain-damp cheeks.

The kiss came like a thunderclap—fierce, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. His lips claimed yours with a desperation that stole the breath from your lungs, as though this was the only way he could make you understand everything he couldn’t say.

The rain blurred everything around you—the trees, the lake, the world itself—but Fred’s warmth anchored you. His hands trembled slightly against your skin, betraying the vulnerability beneath his boldness.

A soft gasp escaped you as your fingers curled into the fabric of his soaked shirt, pulling him closer instinctively. The rain had drenched you both, but Fred’s heat seeped through the layers, making you feel like nothing else mattered.

His lips moved against yours, earnest and unrelenting, as though he feared you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. And yet, there was no demand in his kiss, only a raw, aching need that left you dizzy.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Fred rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. His hands stayed on your face, as if letting go would break the fragile moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but firm, his thumb brushing away the rain—or was it a tear?—from your cheek. “Forgive me?”

The rain continued to fall, cold and relentless, but it didn’t matter. Fred’s eyes searched yours, unguarded and full of something that made your chest ache.

“Always,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

Fred’s lips curved into the faintest smile before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming.

From a distance, George and Lee watched from the cover of a nearby tree, Angelina holding an umbrella over them with a triumphant smirk.

“Told you,” George said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lee muttered, crossing his arms, but not before handing George the bag. “I still say it’s weird to bet on your brother’s love life.”

“Not when it’s this predictable,” Angelina chimed in, snatching a Galleon from the bag. “You’re welcome, by the way. I made this happen.”

“You did nothing,” George said, rolling his eyes. “They’re just idiots. Idiots in love.”

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eviesaurusrex · 12 hours ago

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Fred Weasley as Your Husband ♡

the ultimate “ but I’m your idiot. FOREVER!”

endlessly proud of you

whistles when you wear something nice—every. single. time.

no matter how hectic his schedule is, he carves out time just for you

sometimes twirls your wedding ring between his fingers, grinning to himself like the lovestruck fool he is

introduces you as “This beautiful lady is my wife.” always

speaks about you with a quiet, genuine respect that leaves people in awe. they're not used to Fred being like this

lets you decorate the entire house. even when he grumbles about “those ridiculous curtains,” the moment you suggest changing them, he’s all “No, no, love! They’re perfect!” (vigorous hand-waving included)

showers you with pet names—sometimes sweet, sometimes cringey, and he lives for your eye-rolls

leaves you sweet notes… only for you to find they’ve been enchanted to read themselves aloud in his over-the-top, dramatic voice.

enjoys to show up at your important events (work, hobbies, whatever) with banners, fireworks, or ridiculous chants. embarrassing? yes. adorable? absolutely.

randomly grabs you and spins you around the house, humming off-key, dancing with you like nothing else matters rn

no matter how late he works, when Fred finally slips into bed, he wraps his arms around you just right—a soft, sleepy hug that makes your belly tingle

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

hullo, you can find more of my little works ♡here♡

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eviesaurusrex · 13 hours ago

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Too Much Like Me

Potter!Reader tells her dad she's been asked on a date.

Summary: James finds out Lily's type in men is apparently genetic.

Wc: ~1.7k

CW: Just chaotic fluffy hijinks - a jab about Americans

“Dad.” You trailed James into the kitchen, fighting to keep your voice calm despite the storm brewing ahead.

But James Potter, in all his dramatic glory, had gone entirely deaf. Arms flailing like a prophet warning of doom, he roared, “Family meeting!”

“No! No family meeting!” you yelped, lunging for his arm. You barely stifled a laugh as he flailed harder, like a fish trying to escape the net.

James spun around, courtroom-drama style, and gasped at you with the intensity of someone catching their child red-handed with a cursed artifact. “Fred Weasley? Our Fred Weasley? That Fred Weasley?”

“Yes, that Fred Weasley,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Merlin’s saggy balls, I regret telling you already.”

James slammed his hand on the counter for emphasis, pivoting toward the sitting room like a man possessed. “Lily!” he thundered, shaking the walls. “Lily, get in here! Your daughter’s lost her mind!”

“Dad, for Merlin’s sake!” You tried to grab him again, but James had started pacing now, looking like a wizard unjustly accused of crimes against decorum.

“Not in my house! Not under my roof!” He spun around, hazel eyes bulging with a level of betrayal that deserved an award. “Fred Weasley doesn’t know the meaning of curfew! Or- Merlin help us- a respectable bedtime! Do you think I’m letting that chaos into my family? After all I’ve sacrificed? For you?”

“James,” came Lily’s voice, calm but laced with amusement. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, her lips twitching. “What are you yelling about this time?”

James turned to her, a man on the brink. “Fred Weasley! He asked her out! Our daughter! On a date! Alone! With no chaperone!”

Lily blinked, then turned to you with a grin brighter than a Patronus. “Oh!” she gasped, her eyes lighting up. “He finally asked?”

James froze mid-tirade, pointing an accusatory finger at his wife. “Finally? What do you mean, finally? Have you been... supporting this? Encouraging it?”

Lily shrugged, her grin widening as she pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the kitchen. “He’s a lovely boy, James. Polite, clever, charming. He reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“Don’t you dare—” James began, his tone low and dangerous.

“You,” Lily finished brightly, jabbing him in the chest. “Fred’s just like you were. All mischief and charm. No wonder she likes him.”

James gawked at her like she’d suggested selling their house to a pack of trolls. “That’s exactly why she can’t date him! I was Fred Weasley, Lily! Do you know what I would’ve done if someone let me date their daughter?”

“You married her,” Lily said sweetly, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek, winking at you as it effectively stunned the red mess that was your father.

James froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, completely derailed by Lily’s well-placed jab and affectionate kiss. He finally managed to sputter, “That’s- That’s completely different!”

“How, exactly?” Lily teased, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms again. “Because if I recall correctly, you were a menace, Potter. A charming menace, but a menace nonetheless. Fred’s cut from the same cloth, and you turned out all right.”

James spluttered, gesturing wildly at you. “Because this is my daughter! She’s not supposed to fall for charmers like Fred Weasley! I can’t just let this happen! Where’s the fatherly dignity in that?”

“Oh, James,” Lily sighed, patting his shoulder with exaggerated pity. “I hate to break it to you, but you lost your ‘fatherly dignity’ the day you wore those matching Christmas jumpers with Sirius.”

“That was solidarity!” James barked, his ears reddening as he straightened his posture in a futile attempt at reclaiming authority. “And anyway, this is different. I’m supposed to protect her! Shield her from the heartbreakers and mischief-makers of the world.”

“Fred’s not a heartbreaker, Dad,” you said, exasperated but amused. “He’s actually- dare I say- nice? And maybe even mature? A little bit?”

James looked like he might faint. “Mature?! You’re telling me Fred Weasley- the bloke who turned all the Quidditch goalposts into giant marshmallows- is mature?! What next? He’s taken up knitting?”

“Knitting would be a good look for him,” Lily quipped, clearly enjoying herself. “Very soothing hobby. He could knit you a jumper, James, to match that dignity you’ve misplaced.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the visual, and James threw his hands up, pacing the kitchen again. “I can’t believe this. I’m being outnumbered in my own home.”

“It’s called democracy- like the Americans,” Lily said, smirking as she leaned against the counter. “And right now, you’re the losing party.”

James stopped pacing to glare at her. “Fred acts like a damned American..” He mumbled before he raised his voice. “This is treason. Pure, unadulterated treason.”

“James,” Lily replied patiently, though her lips twitched with amusement. “You’ll survive.”

At that moment, Harry wandered into the kitchen, his face set in curious confusion as he surveyed the scene. He held a plate of leftover treacle tart, chewing leisurely. “What’s with all the shouting, then?” He asked, his tone disinterested but his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

James immediately pounced, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Your sister has decided to go on a date with Fred Weasley, Harry! Fred Weasley! What do you have to say about that?”

Harry blinked at him, clearly trying to piece together the situation. Then his gaze slid to you, and his smirk grew as he swallowed a bite of tart. “Fred, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Nice. Bold choice. Never a dull moment with a Weasley.”

“Bold-? Harry!” James looked genuinely wounded. “This is a betrayal! Your own sister-"

“Is an adult,” Harry interrupted, shrugging. “And you’re acting like she’s run off to marry Voldemort’s ghost.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” you muttered under your breath, earning a snort from Harry.

“Not helping, Harry!” James barked, looking thoroughly frazzled now. He pointed at you again. “Fine! Go on your date! But I’m watching him. One toe out of line, and-”

“And what?” you challenged, grinning now as Lily watched on, clearly entertained. “You’ll duel him? Turn him into a marshmallow like his Quidditch goalposts?”

James opened his mouth, floundering for a retort, but Lily stepped in, tugging him gently away from the center of the chaos. “Come on, love,” she cooed soothingly. “Why don’t we sit down, have a cuppa, and let the kids handle their own lives for once?”

James sighed, finally deflating. “Fine,” he grumbled, shooting you one last suspicious look. “But mark my words- an eye for an eye! Harry, date his younger sister!”

Harry froze, the bite of treacle tart halfway to his mouth as the words sunk in. His eyes darted between you, Lily, and James, clearly trying to figure out if this was his moment to fess up or quietly Disapparate.

“What?” James demanded, noticing Harry’s hesitation. “What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’ve already thought about it!”

Lily covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You, on the other hand, burst out laughing immediately, doubling over as the image of James putting two and two together hit you.

“Why are you laughing?” James barked, looking between the two of you like he was missing the punchline to a joke everyone else got. “What’s so funny? Harry, explain yourself!”

Harry, clearly seeing no way out, sighed and placed his plate of treacle tart on the counter. “Dad,” he started, bracing himself, “I’m already dating Ginny.”

James froze. Completely, utterly froze. His jaw hung slack, his hands hovering mid-air like a malfunctioning automaton.

“You’re what?” He whispered, his voice teetering on the edge of shock and betrayal.

You howled with laughter, tears forming in your eyes. “Oh, Merlin, this is priceless!” You gasped. “Dad, your face- your face!"

“James, breathe,” Lily advised through her own laughter, leaning against the counter for support. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke.”

James finally snapped out of his trance, his eyes narrowing into sharp points of indignation. “Ginny?! Ginny Weasley?! First her with Fred, and now you- how long has this been going on?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to make himself look smaller. “A while.”

“A while?" James repeated, his voice cracking. “Define ‘a while.’ A few days? Weeks?”

Harry hesitated. “Since... fifth year?”

“Fifth year?!" James bellowed, looking like he might explode. “That’s years! Years, Harry! And you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“What was I supposed to say?” Harry shot back, clearly frustrated now. “‘Hey, Dad, by the way, I’m snogging Ron’s little sister’? That would’ve gone over well.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than me finding out like this!” James cried, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular. “My own son! Betraying me! I raised you better than this, Harry!”

Lily wiped her eyes, still chuckling. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, James. They’re clearly happy, and Ginny’s a wonderful girl. You love her.”

“That’s not the point, Lily!” James snapped, his hands flying to his hair. “It’s- this is-!Fred! Ginny! My children and their Weasleys! What’s next? Ron’s going to marry into the family, too?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well... technically, Hermione-"

“No! They got her too!?" James cut him off, throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t even tell me! I won’t survive it! This is it- this is how I go. Betrayed by my own family and buried in a sea of Weasleys.”

You leaned against the counter, wheezing with laughter. “Dad, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” James turned to you, his face a picture of righteous indignation. “You don’t understand. I fought a war for this family- for this! And now my legacy is going to be a house full of Weasleys!”

“Sounds cozy,” Lily teased, patting his arm. “You’ll come around, James. You always do.”

James groaned, sinking into a chair as if all the fight had been drained out of him. “Fine,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Fine. Date your Weasleys. Marry them. Name your kids Fred and Ginny Jr. for all I care.”

You patted his shoulder, grinning. “Love you, Dad.”

He shot you a glare but muttered, “Love you, too. But don’t think for one second I’m not watching Fred like a hawk.”

“And Ginny?” Harry asked, daring to push his luck.

James pointed a warning finger at him. “You, young man, are on thin bloody ice."

Lily hushed James as she patted his back, leading him out of the kitchen. He continued to blabber on, muttering something along the lines of;

“Is this my fault?”

“Merlin, does Molly know?”

“Bloody redheads- OW!”

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eviesaurusrex · 13 hours ago

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*+ᵎᵎ 🍊⋅ ˚✮ — quiet ride | fred weasley.

+ᵎᵎ syn: a thirst about sneaking into fred’s room to ride him in the middle of the night 😮‍💨😩😵‍💫

+ᵎᵎ cont: approx. 0.9k, 18+, fem!reader, unprotected p in v, riding/cowgirl, hold the moan, dirty talk/language, pet names (love, doll), super horny!reader (ovulation mayhaps?), creampie, maybe a breeding kink if you squint, lmk if i missed anything.

+ᵎᵎ note: i’m so thirsty for him it’s not even funny.

the burrow was always so silent at night, the darkness narrated only by the shuffle of blankets and soft snores of its slumbering inhabitants; tonight was mostly the same— except for one section of the home.

soft pants, gasps, and whines flew from your lips as your hips dropped down on fred’s with dull, muted thuds — you knew you needed to be quiet, hyper aware of george sleeping only ten feet away, but it was so hard; he was filling you up so fucking good, stretching your sloppy walls and kissing your cervix every time he bottomed out.

“fuck, love, y’gotta be quiet,” fred whispered breathily, large hands bruising your undulating hips. “y’gonna wake up the whole house.”

of course, it was meant as a reprimand; but every soft moan and whisper of his name had fred’s cock kicking inside your pussy, betraying how much he really liked the sounds — but so did you.

you loved the small, slick squelches of his dick plowing into you; loved hearing his breath hitch when your cunt clenched around him; loved the soft, muted creaks of the bed frame as you rode his lights out.

it was so hot, your whole body flushed and buzzing, gut rolling and tense, pussy absolutely drooling around him; you needed him so bad, had wanted him all day. and now you had him, wholly and fully and deep.

there was no way you could keep quiet.

“i’m tryin’, fred.” you choked out softly, words hiccuped on a small moan. “b-but i can’t. your dick feels too good—!”

“fuck,” fred hissed, skull melting into his pillow and hips bucking up to shove himself deeper inside. “keep talkin’ like that and i won’t last long, at all, doll.”

you knew that already; you could practically feel fred leaking pearly pre into your walls, felt the twitch of his balls on every odd thrust, and his cock was so hard you thought it might be painful for him.

“hah, t-that’s okay,” you whined out, hips speeding up and slurping him inside a bit more noisily. “i jus’ wanna ride ‘til you bust.”

“shit, fuckin’ hell, you can’t jus’—!”

fred swallowed his words down immediately when a creak sounded from the other side of the room; the both of you stilled, frozen like ice, staring into one another’s wide gaze — there was a small shuffle before the noises quieted, and then there was just the light signature snore of george weasley.

you released a breath you hadn’t even known you’d been holding.

“maybe we should hurry this up, love?” fred suggested in a quiet whisper, and you nodded mutely — fred motioned for you to lay flat on him, and you did, relief sinking into your tired legs.

“might wanna bite down on something,” fred murmured as he adjusted himself beneath you, but rather than do that, you opted to simply nuzzle into his neck. the faint spice of his cologne lingered on the skin.

“oh, fuck!” you gasped when fred began fucking up into you at a near-brutal speed, his thrusts short and precise and — holy fuck, he was hitting every single sweet spot you had.

your eyes slid back into your skull as you whimpered and whined into his neck, pussy sloppy and fucked open over and over, fred panting and breathing heavy from the exertion — it was so hot, in so many ways.

“fuck, love, i’m — gods, i’m close,” fred warned, arms wrapped tight around your body and hips stuttering subtly. “shit, where should — where should i cum?”

fred always asked this question, always left you in charge of that — and tonight, you knew exactly where you wanted him to bust.

“inside, please, wan’ it inside!” you slurred out, body like liquid — fucked out and completely at fred’s mercy. fred hissed and his cock kicked against your velvet walls.

“are you — are you sure?” fred asked, voice seeming to border on an aroused whine. you nodded eagerly against him, heart picking up speed with each delicious slide of his cock; fuck, you just wanted to feel him fill you up. it’s all you needed.

fred was fucking you even harder now as his orgasm approached, thrusts wild and less pointed, balls twitching and throbbing — he was about to bust, and you were losing it.

“bloody — okay, fuck, yeah, i’ll do it inside. hah, gods, ‘m ‘bout t’cum— coming!” fred’s words were cut off by a guttural groan as he buried himself once, then twice, and one more time inside your pussy, then stilled as ropes shot from his cockhead. you swore you felt them splatter inside you, painting you completely as fred’s.

“hah, shiiiiit, fuck… ‘s so good, love. fuck me so good, don’t you…?” fred praised as he fucked into you shallowly, riding out the receding waves of his orgasm.

you weren’t sure why he was praising you when he did all the work; not that you minded though.

“‘m sleepy,” you mumbled into his neck, the realization hitting you at a rather random time; fred chuckled and brought a hand up to smooth through your hair, his lips connecting to your temple in a sweet kiss.

“then go to sleep, love. i’ll take of everything else, yeah?” was the last thing you heard as you drifted off, snug and comfortable atop fred’s lean body.

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eviesaurusrex · 13 hours ago

Note

Could I request a Fred Weasley one shot were his girlfriend is in Slytherin and he invites her to the burrow for the first time and she's a bit nervous because she knows that his family doesn't really like Slytherins?

A/n: My favorite thing Slytherin x Hufflepuff and one of the Weasley twins being paired with a Slytherin.

A Slytherin at the Burrow....that was something completely unheard of till now.

The Burrow stood tall and slightly lopsided against the golden hues of the evening sky, smoke curling lazily from its many chimneys. It was charming, warm, and undoubtedly welcoming—but at the moment, it felt incredibly intimidating.

Fred, standing beside you with his hand clasped in yours, gave it a small squeeze. “You alright there, love?” he asked, turning his head to glance at you with that signature Weasley smirk.

You swallowed, your grip on his hand tightening. “Oh, yeah. Just thrilled to meet the family who thinks all Slytherins are practically the second coming of You-Know-Who.” Your voice nearly cracking - your once confidant Slytherin person gone.

Fred chuckled, nudging you lightly. “Not all of them. Just Ron, mostly. And Mum might be a bit skeptical, but she’s an angel once she gets to know you. Trust me, they’ll love you.”

You arched a brow at him. “Are you sure about that? Because last time I checked, your brother literally called me a ‘snake in the grass.’”

Fred sighed dramatically. “Ron’s about as subtle as a blast-ended skrewt, but he’ll come around. And if he doesn’t, I’ll hex his pillow to scream every time he touches it.”

Despite your nerves, you let out a small laugh gaze softening looking up at him. Fred grinned triumphantly. “There’s my girl. Now, come on, before Mum starts wondering if I’ve been kidnapped.”

Taking a deep breath, you allowed Fred to lead you toward the front door. Before they could even knock, the door swung open, revealing a slightly flustered but beaming Molly Weasley.

“Fred! Oh, there you are, you’re late, dinner’s almost—” Her eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, her expression flickered with something unreadable. But just as quickly, she smiled warmly. “And you must be Y/n! Oh, come in, come in, dear.”

You stepped inside, and the moment you did,you were wrapped in a bone-crushing hug. You weren't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. “Uh—hello, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, nonsense, call me Molly,” she said, finally releasing you. “Now, come in, sit, make yourself at home. The rest of the family is just in the sitting room.”

Fred sent you a reassuring glance before pulling you towards the living area, where the infamous Weasley family was gathered. Arthur Weasley was reading a copy of The Daily Prophet, Bill and Charlie were engaged in conversation, Ginny was helping set the table, and Ron—well, Ron was staring at you like you'd grown another head.

Fred clapped his hands together. “Right, everyone, this is Y/N , My girlfriend. She’s brilliant, loves pranks just as much as I do, and—before anyone says anything—yes, she’s a Slytherin. No, she does not eat first-years for breakfast.”

You shot him a look. Smooth, Fred. Real smooth.

Arthur stood first, offering you a friendly hand. “Welcome to the Burrow, Y/N. Fred’s told us a bit about you.”

“Oh?” You shook his hand, forcing a smile. “Hopefully only the good things.” Heart hammering in your chest.

Charlie snorted. “Depends on what you consider good. He mentioned you may have out-pranked him once.”

Y/N smirked, glancing at Fred. “Oh, he left out the best parts, then.”

Fred gasped in mock offense. “I was trying to protect my reputation.”

“Too late for that,” Bill teased.

The tension in Y/N’s chest eased a little. Arthur, Charlie, and Bill didn’t seem to mind you in the house at all. That left the youngest two Weasleys. You turned your gaze to Ginny, who regarded you with open curiosity before smiling.

“Did Fred tell you that you’d be sitting next to me?” she asked.

You blinked. “No?”

“Well, now you know. If he’s unbearable at dinner, just kick him under the table.”

Fred clutched his chest. “My own flesh and blood, betraying me?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but you chuckled. You liked her already.

Then, there was Ron.

Ron, who still hadn’t said a word and was staring at you like she’d infiltrated enemy territory. You shifted uncomfortably. “Ron.”

“Slytherin,” he replied.

Fred groaned. “Brilliant start, mate.”

Ron’s brow furrowed. “I just—I mean, Slytherins don’t usually…” He trailed off, rubbing his neck awkwardly.He knew it was wrong, it's not like you hung around Malfoy and his lot, and you must be good if you captured his brother's attention.

“They don’t usually date Weasleys?” You guessed.

Ron hesitated before nodding.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “You know, for a house that gets accused of being full of judgmental people, Gryffindors don’t seem much better.”

Fred whooped. “That’s my girl!”

Ron turned a little red but didn’t argue. Instead, he looked at you, really looked at you, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But if you hex me in my sleep, I’ll tell Mum.”

“Hexing people in their sleep is so last year,” You said breezily with a sight teasing edge to it, and to your surprise, Ron let out a small laugh.

Molly called everyone to the table before Ron could say anything else. You settled between Fred and Ginny, your nerves nearly gone.

As the night went on, filled with laughter, chaotic Weasley banter, and way too much food, and you realized something.

You might be a Slytherin, but in this moment, surrounded by warmth and family, you felt like you belonged.

And when Fred turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he whispered, “Told you they’d love you,” you couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe the Burrow wasn’t so intimidating after all.

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eviesaurusrex · 14 hours ago

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ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇꜱ, ᴘᴛ. 2 | ꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ

GIF not mine!

Stephen Strange x Avenger!Reader

ask: Could you write a Stephen Strange x reader one shot (or longer if you feel it haha) where the reader is an avenger and she’s secretly dating Stephen? Like they’re sneaking around and staying at each other’s places (sanctum and tower/compound) and use portals in the mornings to get back where they’re supposed to be. Maybe a close call where Stephen literally kicks her off the bed and into a portal back to her own bed to avoid getting caught. Then later they’re found out somehow by tony/the team?

word count: 9.8k (send some help, please)

warnings: even more fluff, a bit of angst, nightmare, some good ol’ nightmare aftercare proudly presented you by Stephen Strange, more sneaking around the team, the team gets suspicious, cursing, curse words, Stephen being… Stephen, injuries

author’s note: pt. 2 is here!!!! Gosh, I’m still so excited about this ask and have to pour my entire heart into it. Thanks again for the request @clockblobber <3 This one is proofread but ignore mistakes if you stumble upon them – my brain is mush today, and I’m gonna go over it again tomorrow

»pt. 1 is here«

Typing away on her phone – Stephen had been at Kamar-Taj for quite some time now to deal with the new students of the mystic arts, and she had insisted that he saved all his energy for teaching them instead of visiting her every night – YN entered the living area of the compound after arriving from an intel mission only minutes ago. Scott followed close behind because his adjustable size had been crucial for the success of the mission, and with a deep sigh, he dropped into one of the armchairs unoccupied by the other present Avengers who had gathered for movie night.

YN didn’t even notice, too enthralled by the device between her fingers, and ran straightly into a walking Peter, who almost lost his balance. “Woah, hey there, Peter.” She grabbed his arm to prevent him from meeting the floor on a more intimate level and pushed the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “Sorry, didn’t see you,” YN apologized while patting his shoulder softly. She always had gotten a soft spot for the young man and always looked out for him during missions, even though he could handle himself pretty darn good.

The brunette shook his head in protest. “It was my–…” But YN didn’t let him finish. “Nah-uh, I don’t wanna hear a single word.” She turned her head to be greeted by seven pairs of staring eyes, curiosity filled their irises completely – and she didn’t like one second of it. “Nevermind. You people prepared some decent snacks, or do I have to do the work again?” Because that had been the case during the last couple of movie nights which ended in ordering pizza and bickering about the choice of film.

They never really managed to watch more than one before it’s gotten worse and worse until Tony demanded the remote control sovereignty because he had paid for everything they used, while Nat and herself booed loudly because the Widows never were a fan of another Star Wars-filled night. Peter was always on Tony’s side – naturally – while Bucky and Steve kept themselves out of the discussion, still not really used to the “new” pop culture they had to face nowadays. At least Wanda, Clint, and Scott counted themselves as a constant part of Team Widow, and Thor, as well as Bruce, loved to hop between camps, always depending on the movie in question. Only Vision was indifferent, but everyone had gotten used to it by now.

It was utter chaos, sometimes even on the brink of anarchy, but YN loved it. She never had something like that in her life – at least, she couldn’t remember having a family – because she was never as lucky as Nat and never had a pretending family. Even though she wasn’t sure if she would’ve liked it very much. She always had lived her life within the confinements of the Red Room, always under the watchful eye of high-ranking generals and officers, always under the influence of a drug she didn’t want to remember. She had killed not only for Dreykov but also Hydra. She had met the Winter Soldier long before he had escaped his cruel purpose. And then, Nat had found her during one of her missions, months after the attack on New York, and Bruce and Tony had managed to get the drug out of her system. They had saved her and given her a life with a purpose, with a moral compass. YN had gotten another chance. And with that chance, a certain master of the mystic arts came into the picture – and the rest was history.

Blinking rapidly, YN escaped her thoughts and turned her attention back to the group. “The food is on its way, but we could use some more snacks,” Wanda told her, an apologetic smile on her face, but YN only rolled her eyes with a grin. “Sure y’all do. I’m gonna get you covered – but don’t you dare start the movie without me!” She made eye contact with Tony, who already held the remote in hand, and cocked not only an eyebrow but her head as well. “Try me, Stark,” she warned, and the man raised both hands in surrender. “We will behave perfectly.” Nodding, YN turned around, phone already in hand again, and trotted through the corridor into the kitchen.

Arriving there, the device started to vibrate, but it wasn’t an incoming text. With a soft smile, she accepted the call and settled the phone between ear and shoulder. “To what do I owe the honor of your call?” A greeting wasn’t necessary between these two anymore. Calling one another was as simple as taking Wilson down in combat training, unlike during the beginning of their relationship. Calls had been an utter nightmare.

A chuckle echoed through the speaker. “Do I need a reason to call the woman to whom I’ve pledged my love and devotion?” Softly laughing, YN grabbed a stack of bowls out of one of the many cupboards and spread them over the counter. “I see, you’ve read a lot of Shakespearian-sounding literature. Anything interesting?” She could hear Stephen’s grin from the other end of the world. “A few works weren’t that bad. I found spells I have never heard of before, and I think they could be useful if mastered properly. What are you up to, darling?”

In the meantime, YN had grabbed an assortment of snacks, and after ripping every package open, she dumped them in the waiting bowls, one by one. “Oh, nothing. It’s Friday, so we have movie night at the compound, and it will be a nightmare after film one. Just the usual.” She almost felt his sympathy physically. “I suppose Stark won’t give up the remote?” Scoffing, the Widow rounded the kitchen island to take a closer look into the freezer. “You can bet your sexy ass on it, love. Oh, yes. Come to me, ice cream!” She hadn’t planned for the outburst to leave her lips, but well.

With an evil chuckle, YN grabbed the last package of ice cream from behind a mountain of frosted vegetables – Nice try, Tony – and opened the foil to start eating it before returning to the living room. “Remind me never to hide any ice cream from you, my evil darling,” he laughed, and YN grinned happily. “It’s his ice cream. I would never dare to steal your ice cream because I love you dearly, my dear.”

Softly humming while eating the sweet substance, the woman leaned against the counter, totally unaware of the young man who stood just around the corner and heard every single word. She and Stephen talked for a few minutes more before they ended the call with the promise of a cozy weekend after she came back from her scheduled mission in Prague.

Meanwhile, Peter stood almost frozen in the middle of the living room, eyes wide and unsure where to start – and if he should say a word about the discovery he just had made anyway. But his mouth was faster than his brain. “Uhm… You always complain that YN is… is vanishing so often?” Instantly, Peter had gathered the attention of every single soul within this room. Steve furrowed his forehead, and even Bucky looked a bit worried while Tony straightened up on his spot on the couch. “Yeah? Talk, kiddo.” Peter scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I think she has a boyfriend – or girlfriend! I’m totally open for both if she likes women more than men and if her partner in crime is a woman, that’s super cool because rainbows and love and–…” Scott patted his shoulder to silence the young superhero. “Think, that’s enough, Peter.”

The team exchanged glances before a bubbling laugh escaped from Tony’s mouth and let them look in his direction. Tears gathered in his eyes while his body shook with every laughter erupted from him. “YN and… and a boyfriend! Best joke ever!” Still laughing, Tony wiped the tears off his cheeks and shook his head. “Keep believing that, kiddo, but we know her a bit longer than you do. She would never have something like that because love isn’t her thing.” Nat cocked a copper eyebrow. “Love is her thing, but only on paper within books because men exhaust her – and she is only interested in them.” Steve seemed not to be convinced fully, but the creases on his forehead slowly erased themselves and Bucky leaned back on the two-seater they shared. “Not everyone needs love in their lives. Some only need certain needs satisfied, and…–“ Wanda threw a pillow against the former Winter Soldier’s head. “Bucky! He is still a teenager!” He raised both hands before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“But…” Peter tried, but now it was Clint who patted his other shoulder. “Drop it, kid. She disappears to have time to herself. It gets crowded here, and sometimes, her thoughts run in the wrong direction. Can’t blame her. Everyone needs some peace and quietness from time to time.”

Unconvinced, Peter plopped down onto one of the two beanbags, the other entirely reserved for YN herself, and just a second later, three bowls floated through the doorframe into the living room. Before they could settle down on the coffee table between the seating area and flatscreen, Vision and Wanda took them out of the air and placed them down themselves. YN entered right after that, the other three bowls in her arms and a thankful expression in her eyes. “Thanks, V, Wanda. Wasn’t sure if I could master the landing.”

The red-haired witch smiled at her while the Widow rounded the couch and dropped her body onto the dark blue beanbag. “I told you it would get better with some more practice.” She sounded more than a bit pleased. YN grinned up at her. “Yup, totally.” She didn’t need to know that a certain sorcerer had helped her with the powers she mostly could only use with blunt force because no one in the Red Room had bothered to tame her. Years might have been passed since her escape, but those powers were gone for a while after her mind had reached the surface of consciousness. Probably a self-protection mechanism if Stephen was right with his educated guess. At least she could control them to a certain extent now. It would get better over time.

Another text from Stephen shifted her mood for the better after it had tried to take a detour back to the dark place it loved to sit and sulk. The movie was secondary, and even after the food arrived – sushi and pizza – YN barely looked up from her phone and was awfully quiet as soon as the bickering started anew.

Steve watched her closely and shock settled in his chest at the sight of a smile he had never seen on the face of one of his best friends before. Happy. Full of contentment. Her eyes twinkling and sparkling. She never was unhappy, of course not, but the soldier from another time knew the feeling she had always felt – the feeling of not fitting in. And suddenly, a realization crept up on him: Maybe that feeling had vanished somewhere along the road.

;

It was quiet in the compound. The world’s mightiest heroes had ended the day a few hours prior, soon after the Quinjet with YN and Sam had landed on the tarmac. It had become a ritual to wait upon arriving team members and to drink a soothing cup of tea to unwind from the previous mission and catch up on the gossip inside the compound.

Now, YN slept in the warm and loving embrace of a pair of strong arms, her head laying on a softly rising and falling chest, the sounds of Stephen’s deep slumber always the best method to lull her into sleep. But she started to move, softly at first, barely palpable. She rolled off his chest, and naturally, the tight embrace loosened around her body. Nails dragged over the comforter, ripped loose threads off the fabric while YN’s face contorted in confusion and fear, in agony and horror. Her breathing quickened, the heart within her rib cage started to race, and sweat dampened her forehead and back.

The dreams always hunted the Widow, but oh boy. The horrors of other nights were nothing in comparison.

The first escaping moan didn’t wake Stephen, not even the second one, the man too tired from long hours inside the Sanctum’s library to find one specific spell he had needed.

It was the scream that woke him with a startle.

“NO!”

Stephen didn’t need to turn on the light to see exactly where she was after tearing open his eyes. He pushed the traitorous blankets off his legs to scoot over to the moving and trashing woman. His hands almost didn’t grasp her arms because it scared the man how cold and damp her skin was. She had those dreams not as often as they used to come, but they were never this bad.

The next scream, so full of agony and blank horror, ripped his already bleeding heart to shreds. Stephen grabbed her upper arms softly, stroked them, caressed her face while pleading with her barely conscious mind to let her escape her own personal hell.

“YN, please. Please, wake up. I am here, nothing is going to happen. Everything is alright. It’s just a dream, only a dream. I am here, love. God damn it, let her wake up!” His voice sounded helpless, angry about the universe and himself, and with horror in his own eyes, he could see the light of the corridor suddenly shining through the slit between door and floor. Shaking her gently but urgently, Stephen tried it again while multiple hurried steps came closer to her door. “YN. YN! Wake up, love!”

With a violent gasp, her eyes finally teared open, tears staining her reddened cheeks, beads of sweat tracing her temples and contracting throat. Her eyes immediately found his face, but Stephen couldn’t mutter a single word. Instead, he left the bed in a hurry and hid in the bathroom – not his best move, but he didn’t care at the moment – and just in time, he closed the door only for another door to be opened. Hurried voices echoed through the room, and the sorcerer pushed both hands into his hair, running them through it over and over to calm himself and his rapid heartbeat.

He hated how helpless he had felt and still felt while others comforted his girl. He hated every single second of it and counted the moments until they left and closed the door again.

“Stephen…?”

Her small, shaking, and questioning voice pulled the sorcerer out of his spiraling thoughts, and without wasting another second, he ripped open the door. With a few long strides, he was back at her side, settling into their bed and pulling her flush against his chest. Stephen could feel the tears wetting his shirt, but he didn’t care. She could ruin every single piece of clothing he owned, and he would hold her anyway.

“I am here,” he whispered between kisses on her head. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” He could feel her short but stiff nod, almost as if she was a robot and didn’t learn how to move like a human. Both his hands stroked over her back - up and down, in a never-ending motion. Her body still trembled, and YN dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, clung to the man like a drowning woman clinging to a piece of driftwood. “I love you. I love you more than anything in this universe. I will always love you. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. They can’t hurt you.” He didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t matter.

After what felt like a never-ending eternity, YN stopped shaking like a leaf, her breathing slowed down again, and her hold on him was not that crushing anymore. “Sorry,” she mumbled, but Stephen was quick to brush through her hair and soothe the rising anxiety within her tormented mind. “Stop apologizing. There is nothing to apologize for.” He needed her to understand that, but his girl was smarter than anyone else – maybe except him.

She tried to find a more comfortable position but gave up because every single piece of fabric clung to her still damp skin. “Where did you hide?” Her voice was only a whisper, but the silence had settled back over the compound, so Stephen heard every single word and every single breath. “The bathroom,” he mumbled and pressed a soft kiss to her neck. YN’s soft chuckle was a good sign, and it put the beginning of a smile on his face. “Not your best move, love. Imagine one of them would’ve gone in there to get a cool cloth or something. What a sight that would be…”

He may roll his eyes, but Stephen was glad that YN could already joke around. That had always been a good sign.

The sorcerer pressed another kiss to her neck before looking into her barely lit face. “Do you want to talk about it?” Slowly, she shook her head. He knew she would decline just now, but he had to ask nonetheless. “Can’t. Need the sun to be up.” Her illogical fear of getting dragged back into the hell that was the Red Room still present in her overworking mind, and she knew how stupid it was. But Stephen never had judged her, not one single second. “Of course,” he said, caressing her face. “How about a shower?” She nodded against his neck, where she buried her face now, and Stephen picked her up with ease to carry her into his former hiding spot.

And that’s where they spent almost an hour under the warm water jet, her eyes closed, while Stephen softly washed her hair and did her entire hair and skincare routine. It always amazed YN how much attention this man granted her alone and how much he seemed to adore her. It was mind-blowing, really, and she desperately wished that this would be something lasting an entire lifetime.

;

Holding hands like lovestruck teenagers, YN and Stephen walked through Greenwich Village to enjoy one of the loveliest golden fall days they had encountered in a long time. She loved seeing the man next to her in casual clothes – a long dark jeans, grey shirt, and a dark green cardigan – though she wasn’t sure what about it made him look so irresistible. Maybe it was the domesticity of it, the warm feeling of home, and the comforting knowledge that one was deeply loved and valued. Or perhaps it was just his good looks and the eyes full of envy thrown her way by nearly every woman they’d passed so far.

Stephen gingerly pulled her closer to his side and put her hand around his bicep, wanting her as close as possible. Everyone should know that this woman wasn’t just an acquaintance, a mere friend who just happened to walk with him in the same direction. He could see the looks full of longing and the visible drool on some male’s chins. It was only natural that he did something about it, so he bent down and pressed a lingering kiss on YN’s temple to show the world what they needed to know. He was glad that reporters didn’t try to bother them anymore.

At least one thing Tony’s existence is good for, Stephen thought cynical, but different from his thoughts, his mood shone as bright as the fall sun over their heads.

“What are you up for today?” YN beat him to this crucial question. “Lazy walks around the block? A trip to Belvedere Castle? Exploring the new exhibition at the Louvre?” Her eyes looked as bright as the sky above them, and if the world paid close attention to the sorcerer now, they would’ve bared witness to the softest of smiles they’d have ever seen. But the world was blind, so the smile full of adoration and utter wonder over how his life had turned only visible for the one woman in his life.

Humming deep in thought, Stephen pulled one of her hands, which were both settled around his arm and in the crook between bicep and elbow, up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “I’ve heard there is a new patisserie only two blocks further which happens to sell chocolate strawberries,” the man suggested, and pride and satisfaction filled his chest and body at the sight of her round eyes and the radiant smile stretching across her lips.

His past self wouldn’t believe his eyes. During some days, even he had difficulties comprehending the change he went through in order to become as worthy as possible for the woman next to him. Still, he didn’t believe to be worthy enough and was convinced that better men were waiting for her, but he couldn’t let her go. He was, again, too selfish, but she seemingly didn’t mind.

Maybe the universe granted him the happy ending after all.

“Can we go there? Like… now? Immediately?” Grinning, Stephen nodded but didn’t think of using a portal. He needed to savor every single second he could get with her – just as she did with him. So they walked the two blocks, side by side, softly telling each other about their respective days and just basking in each other’s presence.

The idyll got suddenly destroyed as YN stopped dead in her tracks and stared over the busy street to her right. She needed to bent around Stephen because the stubborn man never let her walk next to the road if he was with her, but she was sure her peripheral vision hadn’t tricked her. And the Widow was right: on the other side were Clint and Nat, talking about something which made the archer laugh.

“Fuck,” was all she hissed for now, and even Stephen caught up to her observation. But he couldn’t form a single word because the woman had already grabbed his hand and pulled him to continue their route for now. Her eyes were trained on the opposite side of the road while she gracefully avoided collisions with every approaching passerby. The sorcerer didn’t know how exactly she did that, but maybe it was her own little magic trick. He only followed her, always alternating between looking to the other pair of Avengers and straight ahead to nudge YN in a different direction if necessary.

“We need to turn the next one,” YN decided at the sight of Nat and Clint waiting for the streetlight to turn green. “And we need to be faster.” As soon as the words had left her lips, Nat turned slightly and looked in their vague direction. “Stephen, now.” They dived behind a group of tourists and sneaked into an alleyway but didn’t stop. Instead, their steps increased in speed, and YN guided them through a labyrinth of hidden shortcuts, backyards, and a tremendous amount of turns and corners. “You definitely have Google Maps in that pretty head of yours,” the sorcerer decided after another complicated combination of turning and shortcutting, and YN chuckled cheerfully while he had lost track after the second corner. “The first premise is always to know your neighborhoods better than the content of your backpack. And since I’m spending almost more time here than at the compound, I believed it was time to know my way around – just in case.” Grinning, YN guided them through another alleyway, but now, they stepped onto one of the main streets of Greenwich Village, the Sanctum Sanctorum already in sight.

Stephen turned towards her and cocked an eyebrow. “But what’s with the chocolate strawberries?” YN softly shrugged and circled both arms around his neck; his hands almost immediately settled upon her jeans-clad hips, pushed underneath the long cardigan she had thrown over the old band shirt she wore and which was her pride and joy. She rubbed the tip of their noses against each other and kissed him quickly. “We can get them later. What about that trip to the Louvre? I’m tempted to bet that we won’t see any of their faces in Paris,” the Widow whispered temptingly against his lips, and if Stephen weren’t already sold, he would be now.

But before he released her out of his grasp, he bent his head lower to kiss her properly – one hand tangled in her soft hair while the other pulled her smaller body against his. Their lips moved in complete sync, eyes closed at the blissful feeling of warmth and butterflies, breathing labored, hearts beating rapidly against one another.

Smirking, Stephen ended the kiss with one last sweet peck. He wasn’t sure what had happened in the last two and a half years ever since that woman entered his life and turned everything upside down, but he never would want it any other way.

“Now, we can go,” he spoke with a raspy but tender voice, and the portal opened just behind him to lead the couple into the heart of the city of love. He held his hand open, so YN could take it what she did with a bright smile on her gorgeous face. “Madame.” She curtsied with a soft grin. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur.” The reply escaped her in flawless French as she stepped over the golden glittering threshold, and she pulled Stephen with her before the portal closed itself and released the couple into a carefree Parisian afternoon.

;

“Sometimes you have the greatest ideas,” YN sighed, stomach full and on an endorphin high with all the sugar and love in her system. Stephen stretched his long, toned body over the comforter laying atop his four-poster bed, head propped up on one hand, eyes locked on the woman on the other side of the mattress, the remnants of their small indoor picnic between them. “Only sometimes, hm?” He teased her, and YN laughed wholeheartedly while taking one of the napkins and throwing it in the vague direction of his smirking face. “Oh, stop it,” she grinned before stealing the last chocolate strawberry and plopping the sweet fruit between her lips. Moaning, she chewed with closed eyes and let herself fall back into the pillows. “Best thing there is on this planet.”

His hand moved softly through the air, from left to right, his scarred pointer and ring finger sticking out while the rest was balled to a half-fist, and suddenly, the picnic disappeared. The sorcerer knew it would find its way onto the kitchen counter left from the sink. But he didn’t concern himself with the whereabouts of the dishes because as soon as the magic was executed, Stephen rolled himself on top of YN, arms resting next to her face so he wouldn’t crush her under his weight.

“You’re really trying to insult me even more?” It was only a rumble against her lips, and now it was her to smirk up to the sorcerer. “Yes, because I know what those tiny hits do to you – and what it will bring me,” she whispered back before kissing him softly, the sound of heavy raindrops loud on the windows of the Sanctum.

They had planned for a picnic in Central Park, far away from the privacy-invading eyes of nosy New Yorkers and tourists as soon as they lay eyes on the two Avengers. The forecast had been perfect all week long, but then, just after they had gotten ready and opened the doors of the grand building in Greenwich Village, the sky opened its gates, and the heaviest fall downpour in the history of New York made its appearance. Other people would’ve been crushed – other people as in YN – but Stephen didn’t graduate with honors when he would own nothing but simple-mindedness. He had wrapped YN in his arm, brought her back inside, and with a few flicks of his hands, the master bedroom was prepared for a cozy day indoors. They had watched numerous episodes of Golden Girls – YN loved the sitcom ever since encountering it during her post-Red Room recovery under the watchful eye of SHIELD – and she had even etched Stephen to play one of his old interviews for the prestigious Medical Journal. He didn’t like to dive into his old life, but he loved to watch the evident fascination on his girl’s face at the sight of his accomplishments. Stephen was nothing but a sucker for praise coming from this woman.

The feeling of her soft hands on the nape of his neck and her fingernails gently carding through the short hair there was everything Stephen needed or wanted in his life. It reminded him of his childhood, which barely happens anymore, but with her, everything felt light and bright, just as it did back then. Her chuckle at the feeling of his goatee tickling her lips was the sound he almost loved the most. It ranked somewhere between the tiredly mumbled I love you, Stephen when she was on the brink of sleep and the nicknames she used to call him. Nobody had believed that Stephen was a softy, he at the very least. But he was, and he didn’t want to change a thing about it.

“Thank you,” YN whispered between pecks of his lips and rubbed their noses against each other. She loved doing that. It always gave her a heart attack, for sure, especially when Stephen looked at her like he did now – as if she was the most important and gorgeous being on this planet – but it reminded her that her life was a different one now, filled with soft touches and warmth. There was still violence in it, definitely, but it was the good kind of violence. A violence born in the attempts to make earth a safer place, which was the entire opposite of her upbringing and early adulthood. And the man atop of her was a crucial part of it, and she loved every second. “For what?” His question almost got lost in the kiss they shared, lips moving more heated against one another while the tip of YN's tongue teased his soft bottom lip. YN shrugged and let Stephen roll over the mattress and, simultaneously, pull her on top of him. She propped her arms on his broad, strong chest - one of her preferred places on earth - and peppered his chin with soft kisses while searching for the right words. “For showing me love and how it is to be loved, and for always reminding me that this is my life now and not a dream I will wake up from one day and find myself back at square one. You’re completing me, love.” Her last words were barely a whisper, still too shy and insecure about expressing the depths of her feelings for this man, even though they had enough reasons to already know about them.

She was always scared of pushing him away with the intensity of her emotions as if her soul tried to compensate her for all those years without them, and YN probably would be scared for the rest of her life, even though no one had left her so far. Quiet the contrary. She had gained friends and an unexpected family, lifelong companions, and a relationship meant to be until her last day on earth, whenever that might be.

Smiling up to her, Stephen kissed her a second and a third time right after that, his fingers pushing soft strands of her hair out of her face with the beautifully blushed cheeks and behind her ear. "No, darling," he said lovingly and tenderly caressed the side of her face. Instantly, YN leaned into his touch, and Stephen thought his heart might explode right in this instant. "Don't thank me for that. You deserve every ounce of love I, and everyone else, can give you. And don't try to deny it. I know it's true." He looked up to her with seriousness in his bright blue eyes, capturing YN instantly like they always did. The couple just laid there, gazing into each other's eyes, before the woman on top of him cracked a small, shy smile and gently caressed his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb. "You are a wonder, Stephen Vincent Strange," she whispered, blunt wonder and amazement evident in her soft voice. "I will thank the universe for the rest of my life for the path it had put me on." Now it was Stephen who felt the blood rushing swiftly into his cheeks, and clearing his throat, he chuckled awkwardly, not sure how to handle the emotions now rushing through his consciousness.

Whatever she is doing to us, don't let it stop, and don't you dare ruin it, a warning voice spoke somewhere in his head, and the sorcerer almost snorted audibly. As if he would ever destroy the safe haven these two had created together in a world where peace was sometimes hard to find and even harder to hold onto and preserve. He would be quite the idiot if he'd pushed or scared YN away. But to his very luck, this woman was as fearless as an amazon, born out of the stories of ancient times when gods walked the earth and granted individuals the power to conquer anything.

She owned that force of nature within her delicate body.

The fingertips of one hand had started to slowly stroke over the length of her spine, while his other hand had found its home on her right cheek, cupping the soft skin and smiling as YN turned her head to kiss his palm. "I'm not good with words, you know that, but the feeling is mutual, darling. I never had luck with relationships of any kind and nature, never knowing what to do and what was expected from me. But finding you was the greatest gift life could ever grant me because we're learning this together, experiencing everything together, without judgment and accusations if something goes wrong. This-," Stephen placed a gentle peck on the tip of her nose, "-us, is my safe haven. You are my safe haven. I don't need more." A grin formed on her face, and she cocked an eyebrow, doubtingly, and the sorcerer sighed and chuckled. "Well, plus some space for my books," he added, and YN laughed as well. "And for all of your suits and ties. Not to mention the space Cloaky demands in your closet over there."

Pulling her even closer to him - if that was even possible - Stephen growled lowly in his chest before pulling YN's face closer to his to steal another heated kiss. "I'm trying to express my feelings for you, woman, and all you do is continue to insult me. It's not the proper response." Now it was her to steal a kiss from him, and he felt the grin on his lips. "When did you ever care for properness and social expectations, Mr. Strange?" Stephen grinned a devilish smile before he moved his head to start nipping at the soft skin of her exposed neck. "No one had ever spoken truer words, but it still is Doctor Strange, my darling love, even for you."

YN couldn't fight the urgent need to let her eyes fall shut at the tingling feeling that Stephen's lips and teeth on her skin created in the pit of her stomach, and a deep sigh, suspiciously resembling an excited moan, escaped her.

But the mood was ruined faster than hurricane Katrina had reached the North American shore.

The sound of hurried steps, loud voices, and an overall hectic group of intruders let the couple look up and straight to the massive wooden door of the bedroom. YN didn't even have the time to roll off Stephen to find the perfect hiding spot - she already had a few spots in mind - because the familiar sound of voices let her freeze for a moment too long.

What is Tony doing here?! And is that... Steve's voice?

Her mind screamed question after question, and just as the steps reached the floor of their shared bedroom, Stephen did something she would never have expected to be on his mind, or he even dared to think of: He opened a portal right at the edge of the four poster bed and threw her an apologetic look. Her own eyes went wide, and YN shook her head - slowly at first until it became faster and harder with every passing heartbeat. "No. Don't you fucking da-...!" But it was too late because just as the Widow tried to finish the threat laying on the tip of her tongue, Stephen pushed her off his body, off the bed, and straight into the portal.

YN hated the feeling of falling - he knew that fucking well! - and a shriek fought its way out of her throat until she hit the edge of her own bed in her room at the compound. She felt and heard a crack as her back hit the edge of the mattress because this obnoxious, massive, and idiotic specimen of a moron had miscalculated everything, and she hung upside down on the furniture. Her arms were stretched over her head, hands resting on the carpet laying in front of her bed to prevent icy feet in the morning, and a groan escaped her as soon as her back started to protest vehemently.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

The portal was long closed, but YN felt the urge to scream her frustration out in the open before another groan left her.

"Fuck."

Stephen knew very well that he had a lot of making up to do after what he had just done, but they had never been this close to getting caught by the remaining team, who was still painfully unaware of the couple underneath them.

"Why do you barge into my home on a Saturday afternoon? Are you feeling lonely, Stark? Sorry to break it to you, but I'm neither your wife nor your boyfriend, which you brought here as well, what a surprise. Rogers." The two men, plus Wong and Wanda, almost stumbled over themselves as they pushed open the door and entered his bedroom, just as the portal had closed itself after one movement of his hand. Too close, reminded the voice in his head, and Stephen knew that YN and he had to discuss this very prominent issue in their lives.

The arriving Avengers composed themselves again before Tony spoke up. "If you would have been so kind and answered the thirty-six calls and messages, we wouldn't have to come all the way here, Gandalf. But as you obviously fucked up your phone, because I can't think of another reason for not answering, we had to come to pick you up like a damn lost kid at the information counter in a mall." His gaze didn't even flicker to the phone resting atop the bedside table. The sorcerer had put it in flight mode to have some uninterrupted hours with his girl, but that little habit of his bit them both in the ass. They really needed to talk about the whole ordeal. "So, swing your lazy ass out of this bed and do your job. Earth called to get rescued again."

And with that, Tony left, leaving a sighing Steve behind, while Wanda observed Stephen too closely for his liking. The sorcerer raised an eyebrow, challenging her with a glare to keep doing that, and the witch started to smile a small smile before following Tony down the grand staircase. After a "We should get going" from America's Golden Boy, he left as well, leaving only Wong and Stephen in his room. The other sorcerer shrugged with an expression almost describable as apologizing, and he shook his head before changing into his blue robes with a looping motion of his hand and a snap of his fingers.

Cloaky was right at his side and put itself on his shoulders but pushed the sorcerer to a sudden halt as it motioned into the direction where the portal to YN's bedroom had closed a few moments ago. "We'll check on her, I promise." The ancient artifact seemed pleased for the moment, but Stephen dreaded the future encounter with his girlfriend because he could already imagine her words and could vividly picture the scene unfolding in front of him a few hours later.

And he was right.

After a successful mission filled with otherworldly beings - the reason why 80% of the attending team had been able to handle magic - Stephen returned with the others to the compound and delivered his report before slipping away. He needed to find YN to evaluate the damage he had caused with his little stunt, and he obviously wasn't the only one with that thought because the red fabric around his shoulders parted from his master to fly a few steps ahead, even though it didn't know where they should head.

Looking up toward the corridor's ceiling, Stephen contemplated if it was a thoughtful idea to ask Tony's AI. The Stark was nothing but thorough, so it wouldn't surprise the sorcerer if the douchebag made notes after each and every day about what each team member had asked. But he had to take the risk if he didn't want to waste countless hours searching the vast compound by foot.

"FRIDAY? It's FRIDAY, isn't it?" He had never used the AI, not a single time, even though he had been part of this circus for longer than he liked to admit. "How can I be of assistance, Doctor Strange?" At least she doesn't sound like Tony himself, was all Stephen could think at that moment because it would be so typical for this self-loving prick. "Are you able to locate people inside the building?"

Meanwhile, he continued walking without a destination yet. "That is indeed part of my abilities. Who do you wish to locate?" He turned a corner and found himself in front of an elevator, Cloaky already levitating in front of it. "YN," it was almost a mumble, but the AI still understood him. Thinking about it in more detail, Stephen really didn't want to know what FRIDAY could hear inside the personal rooms of the Avengers.

Maybe Tony never took notes because if he would, there was not even the slight possibility that he didn't know about them - and Stephen would be long strangled in a random corner of the compound.

"Miss LN is currently on the second floor, gym 03." The elevator immediately opened its door and Cloaky floated inside, beckoning Stephen to follow it with an almost annoyingly raise of its fabric's edge. Sometimes the sorcerer wasn't sure if the Cloak of Levitation still saw him as its master or if he preferred YN over him. Sometimes it even felt like it was their child and had decided to be a mama's kid after hanging long enough at its father's heels.

Maybe he felt a bit betrayed, yes.

"Thank you, FRIDAY." Stephen could be polite if he wanted. "A pleasure, Doctor Strange."

And with that, the elevator closed and brought him to the second floor to face the mess he had made.

He only had sat one foot on the floor, and the distinct sound of metal rushing through the air reached his ears. Swallowing thickly, Stephen followed the artifact, now knowing where it had to rush in order to check on its favorite person, while the sorcerer dreaded to enter the gym, where YN clearly handled pointy and sharp objects.

Probably with a picture of your face pinned against the bull's eye.

A throwing knife hit the target with a dull sound at the moment Stephen entered the gym, and he could see that YN had already drawn the next one out of the holster at her thigh. She flipped it gracefully in her hand, without even sparing one glance at it. He couldn't tell if she looked particularly angry or just tired, but at the sight of her next throw, he knew that something was off - and he would bet the last bits of his former fortune that it had to do with him. But Cloaky cleared the field for now and saved him from being punctured as it wrapped itself around her shoulders and almost lovingly nuzzled itself against her cheeks.

YN turned to him, cocking an eyebrow and casually playing with the delicate knife between her skillful fingers. "Look who's man enough to show up," the Widow smirked while patting the red fabric around her shoulders. Stephen stepped in her direction but stopped abruptly as the former assassin swiftly spun around and threw the last knife. She was already turned back to face him as the weapon was still mid-air and Stephen stared in utmost wonder as it hit the bull's eye nonetheless.

"You wanted to say something, darling?"

Her sweet smile couldn't fool the sorcerer, and the blunt show of her skill was nothing that scared him because he was certain of one fact: They would both never hurt the other, not even in their furriest rage.

But this game could be played by two.

With a barely visual flick of his right hand, Stephen gained a hold of her body without touching her and pulled her the last couple of steps to him until their bodies stood pressed against each other in the room. He wrapped an arm around her waist and started to play with her braided hair with the other hand.

"I came to apologize."

YN lifted the other brow. Even though they were in a pretty healthy relationship, it didn't happen every week that Stephen Strange uttered those words or even the magical sentence I am sorry which automatically implied that he admitted he did something wrong. That's why she waited patiently, hands resting on his upper abdomen.

A sigh left him. “I only had your best intentions in mind, primarily because we never talked about how to approach the topic in front of the others, and I figured you would preferrer to crack it to them in a more… neutral environment than our bedroom.” She hummed in agreement but still waited. Stephen eyed her face and let go of her braid to cup her cheek softly. “I am sorry, darling,” he whispered now, and after a deep breath, YN nodded. “Okay. But don’t you dare do that ever again, especially if your mind isn’t fully focused because I don’t feel the need to hit the edge of my bed a second time. My back still hurts, you moron.” And with that, she raised one arm to hit the back of his head softly with an open palm, but it was enough to convey the message.

Instantly, a worried expression settled on his handsome face, and the hand resting on her lower back started to trace her spine underneath the red fabric of the cloak that now clumsily caressed her other cheek. Stephen put pressure on his touch, feeling every vertebra pressing unyieldingly against his fingertips, and Stephen observed her face almost painfully close. She didn’t move a muscle, but he witnessed the slight furrow of her forehead and brows as his fingertips reached the middle of her back, where her spine gently curved.

Right at the lumbar curve, between L2 and L3, he thought while his fingertips continued the pressure in various places. It’s probably the ligament between.

“Does it hurt when I release the pressure?” His question was softly spoken, and YN still looked up to him, eyeing his face attentively. She cocked her head from one side to the other. “Kind of? It’s probably just the bruise, nothing to worry about. But hey, now we know that the bed frame is exceptionally sturdy.” YN grinned up at him, but Stephen only shook his head before taking her hand in his. “We’re going to the med bay to check you out, right now,” he decided, and the sorcerer’s mind was made up.

When it came to her, he needed to be 100% sure that everything was okay.

But they didn’t come far. Instead, they stopped dead in their tracks as the couple faced Peter and Scott, both staring at them with wide eyes after they had processed the meaning of interlaced fingers. Peter started to grin while Scott’s expression didn’t resemble joy over the newly found love. YN knew that mischievous look in his eyes, the glimmer of a stupid idea developing in his mind. “Scott…,” the Widow spoke warningly, but this son of an ant chuckled before spinning around and starting to run. “I will revel in your embarrassment, YNN!” He shouted over his shoulder, but YN couldn’t let that happen. She stopped holding Stephen’s hand, and the sorcerer couldn’t utter a single word before his girlfriend bolted right after the other Avenger. “And I will revel in your screams filled with pain and agony after I broke your flat ass, Lang!” Her angry words traveled over the corridor, and now it was only Peter and Stephen facing each other.

The young man started to grin again after the confusion and surprise had vanished from his face. “I am really happy for-…” But Stephen only needed to shake his head to one side to let him fall silent again. “Don’t, Parker,” was all he said before following the path YN and Scott had taken, the young hero hot on his heels.

This was certainly not how he had thought everyone would find out about them, and he had already played with images of Scott dangling over a cliff or freezing his ass off at the foot of Mount Everest within his mind. It wasn’t himself who the sorcerer was concerned – he couldn’t give less shit on the other’s opinion about him. But he knew how much it meant to YN because this bunch of mostly idiots was her family. Not by blood but by choice, and Stephen had never intended to overshadow anything about that. Now he feared that everyone would give her a hard time and what that would mean for her mental health.

Stephen was nothing but an over-worryingly boyfriend.

With a sigh, he followed the sound of steps and canceled Peter’s voice out entirely because he couldn’t handle all these questions now or ever. He liked the kid, he was a decent human after all, but his rambling nature wasn’t something Stephen particularly enjoyed. Instead, he focused on the shouting and watched after rounding the last corner as the catastrophe unfolded in front of his eyes.

First-row seats for your own downfall, wonderful.

YN panted heavily while hanging on Scott’s back to try and hold his gossiping mouth shut, but he was too used to it with a daughter at home. So, the inevitable happened only seconds later.

“YNN and Harry Potter are a thing!”

Immediately, the entire living area was silent as a grave, every movement ceased, and every single pair of eyes turned to Scott and the other arriving parties.

YN slowly slid off his back and threw Ant-Man a death glare – she would definitely try and step on him during one of their next missions – but she swallowed thickly at the stares moving between her and a certain someone somewhere behind her. The Widow knew that Stephen was here because she could feel his body temperature in her back only a heartbeat later, before his hands settled on her shoulders, softly stroking them with his thumbs.

Nat was the first to speak. “Well, that’s a surprise.” Clint cocked an eyebrow and threw Peter an approving nod. “You were right. Good ears, kid.”

Stephen felt as if he could touch her boiling anxiety under his fingertips and bent down to press a tender kiss to her temple while Steve marched a few steps in their direction before stopping again. His eyes searched her face, tried to read her mind, and settled on the sorcerer to evaluate the situation. But he spoke to YN. “Is he treating you right?” The woman didn’t need to think for even a second. “Better than the Queen of England,” she answered without hesitation, and Steve could see the tender expression in her worrying eyes. So he gave one nod of approval and settled back into the armchair.

Tony, on the other hand, seemed not pleased at all. He marched to the couple and weaseled his way past YN to shove Stephen a few inches back. “First, you insult her at every given occasion, and then you have the audacity to fuck her and play happy family?! Is your ego this massive?!” The Widow had spun around the second he had reached Stephen and had touched him, but instead of relying on violence, she grasped his wrist in a soft hold. She urged him with a pull to turn to her, to look at her and not to Stephen, but her face wasn’t as sweet as her touch. The Stark could clearly see the burning fire behind those irises who once had looked up to him with a terrified expression, unsure of what to expect after being finally her own person and having her very own life.

“You know I love you like the brother I never had, Tons, but if you touch him again, I have to kick your ass, and not even your precious suits will safe you then.”

YN didn’t have to raise her voice to convey the meaning to everyone, but especially Tony, because the Stark swallowed dryly. He had never thought to once be on the other side of the situation – not standing next to her and listening with utmost joy and pride as she threatened others but being the target of said threat. It was an unpleasant feeling, and he didn’t want to imagine how unpleasant it must be to feel her full wrath.

Meanwhile, Stephen stood there, a tender expression settling on his face – an expression never seen before by the others which threw them almost off their feet – and a pleased smile on his lips. “That’s my girl,” he told no one in particular in a mumble. YN heard it, though, and started to smile before throwing Tony one last warning glare and leaving him to stand next to her sorcerer again. “To make it official,” she raised her voice and gestured to Stephen, who already had his arm wrapped around her waist again. “May I introduce you to my boyfriend of one and a half years, Stephen Strange?”

The team’s eyes almost popped out of their holes at the mention of how long this had been going on behind all their backs, and Sam chuckled. “Never accept missions again which require detective skills. We suck at it,” he stated the obvious, while Steve almost choked on his coffee. “And I once called her my best friend.” YN grinned at him and shrugged softly. “I know what a gossip you can be with the right people around you, so… sorry, sweets,” she apologized, and Steve looked at her with a tender expression nonetheless. “I’m just happy that you’re happy. It always was the one thing I wished for you to find.”

Looking up to Stephen, who battled Tony in a glaring contest, a small but loving smile tucked on her lips, she nodded before turning back to Steve, who seemed more than content at the view of his best friend. “I am, Stevie. I really am.” Those words almost got swallowed by Tony’s exaggerated scoff, but Steve had the advantage of super soldier hearing, so he only smiled and didn’t stop observing the new couple while Bucky settled next to him. “She still will be your best friend, punk. Don’t go all brotherly tears now because your baby sister is grown up and finds her own life,” he chuckled while patting his best friend’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, Tony stared YN dead in the eye. “If he ever hurts you, I will end him personally. He only has to raise his voice in front of you, and I’m on my way. If his ego tries some bullshit, give me a call.” And turned to Stephen, he told sternly: “She has my number saved in her favorites.”

YN rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and I can remove said number out of my favorites. Plus, he is on this list, too.” And with that, she pointed to Stephen right next to her. Tony scrunched up his face. “Urgh, then please, I beg you, put me off that list if he is on there.”

“You are an absolute ass without reason.”

“Born like that.”

“It’s a shitty character trait. Do I need to call Pepper?”

Now, Tony stared down at her challenging face and gulped. “No…?” He morphed the one syllable into a question before raising both hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. I approve of this relationship.” The sorcerer scoffed. “We don’t need your stamp of approval,” he clarified, and YN warningly rubbed over his back. “We only told you because YN considers all of you family and didn’t want to lose you. So, toughen up, Stark, and swallow the bitter pill so we can move on from here because this woman deserves a dinner in the comfort of our bed and some episodes of Golden Girls after this day.”

She couldn’t comprehend his words because suddenly, Nat stood in front of her and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. She wrapped both arms around the fellow Widow and felt the redhead’s lips pressing soft kisses over her head. They may be close in age, but YN had always been the little sister in this relationship. “Thank you for choosing us as your family, Солнышко 1,” (1: little sun) Nat spoke in the soft tone entirely reserved for her most favorite people. “Thank you for accepting me, сестра 2.” (2: sister)

Nat squeezed her shoulder before letting go of her, and the Widow turned back to Stephen, one brow raised. “You said something about Golden Girls?” The sorcerer showed his signature smirk, and while a portal started to open in his back, he grabbed YN around her hips and threw her over his shoulder. A squeal escaped the surprised woman, but a laugh followed close, and grinning, she waved the other Avengers while Stephen carried her over the threshold of the portal right into the foyer of the Sanctum.

“Don’t you dare call or text us in the next 48 hours, Stark!”

This was a wild ride, wow. pt. 2 is finally here! I hope you enjoyed reading it :3 I really loved writing those two parts. As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated!

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eviesaurusrex · 14 hours ago

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ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇꜱ, ᴘᴛ. 1 | ꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ

GIF not mine!

Stephen Strange x Avenger!Reader

word count: 5.2k (and that's only part one, ooooooops)

warnings: fluff and more fluff, cursing, sneaking around the team, lying, one suggestive and kinda steamy (but short) scene

author’s note: I’m so excited about this ask! This will get a part 2 because I couldn’t contain myself, and I had to write this out with all the background stuff. I really hope you like how it went so far @clockblobber!

»pt. 2 is here«

Tiredness was settled deep within her bones, and every single muscle inside her body ached at the sheer thought of moving again. But YN felt the soft rumbling of the Quinjet’s engines increasing while the autopilot initiated the landing sequence to softly touch the ground again. The almost fifteen-hour flight in uncomfortable seats would be stuck to her for another few hours, if not days; she was sure of it. The mission may have been a success – taking down a cartel of experimental drug smugglers, with a side income through even more experimental weapons which were supposed to be destroyed alongside Hydra, had been easier than thought – but her body still was sore and covered in bruises, scratches, and beautifully blooming hematomas.

Guess a rib or two got a hit as well, the Widow thought while softly rubbing her right side.

Gladly, she wasn’t the only one beaten up, but unlike Steve and Bucky, she didn’t own the ability to self-heal within hours. Sometimes, she really envied them down to her very core. But now, she was too tired to even start feeling the jealousy about the super soldier serum running through their veins. Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely without an asset she had gained through otherworldly substances – not drugs – but those were hard to control sometimes, which was why the Widow often fully relied on her brutal training and skills in hand-to-hand combat.

One look in the direction of Nat, and she knew that her sister wasn’t very fond of her approach to the last situation. But hey, a woman gotta do what a woman gotta do. Easy as that.

As soon as the jet finally touched the ground, YN unbuckled the seatbelt and pushed herself up with a groan. The pain shot right through her body again and reminded her of the inevitable reality of upcoming days full of soreness. Assessing the level of pain and discomfort, she estimated two weeks tops. With a hot bath here and there, maybe less.

The thought of one of these alone made her almost moan in pure bliss. But, of course, the compound didn’t own such luxury known as a bathtub. God damn you, Tony.

With clenched teeth and jaw, the woman hobbled out of the Quinjet as soon as the ramp was lowered and granted a breeze of fresh air to invade the warm insides and cool her cheeks. Maybe a cold shower would suffice for now. But the woman didn’t come far before Steve’s voice dragged over the small tarmac in front of the newly built compound in Upstate New York.

“We need to debrief, and I need your report plus a medical evaluation of your status, YN,” the blonde soldier spoke up, always the authoritative fun brake (he wasn’t, but she was grumpy and needed a shower and some comfort in the form of her soft blankets and pillows). Without answering for now because she had her phone in hand to type a quick text, she raised the other hand and showed Steve the finger. Her body became used to the throbbing pain in every single limp again, and the Widow could walk a bit faster to get away from the now overbearing man she called one of her best friends.

“YN, I mean it. You’re not dismissed until you went to the medical wing and got checked out.” She could hear his heavy steps, and even though she still showed him the finger, she spoke. “Whatever, Steve. I need a shower and my soft bed, and I’m good to go, thank you very fucking much. See you tomorrow morning with that damn report in hand, bye.” Usually, she wasn’t this rude to him, and that pushed him to stop in his tracks.

Before scurrying inside the compound, she could hear the other’s talk.

“Did I do something wrong?” Steve.

“Nah, she is just grumpy because I stole her that one guy she loved to punch in the face.” Bucky.

“The one that laughed because she is a woman? Well, you fucked up good, Barnes. She really loves to take those down herself.” Nat.

An apology was necessary, she knew that, but… later. Her mind was too tired to do it now, so she just walked to her room, always close to one of the walls – just in case. With a heavy sigh leaving her lips, she pushed open the door to her cozy room and let the duffel bag fall straight to the floor before pushing herself to walk the last few steps, so she could fall face down first onto the soft mattress.

Which wasn’t the best idea she had had all day, and a strained groan escaped her lips at the same moment as the soft sounds of an opening portal filled her room. She barely realized it. She didn’t even move as steps started to come closer. She didn’t move a single muscle until the mattress dipped at the weight of another body settling upon it. Slowly, YN moved her head from the face-down position to the side to eye the man with the pepper and salt hair. He already looked down at her, forehead wrinkled and the all too familiar deep creases between his dark brows visible.

“Hey,” the woman spoke, barely above a whisper, and she closed her eyes soon again as one of his warm, big hands came close to her face to brush over her cheek and push a lock behind her ear. “Rough day?” She nodded but stopped suddenly at the ugly feeling of raw skin rubbing against the fabric of her comforter. Eyebrows furrowed, and a hiss escaped her. But Stephen was prepared – just as he always was. “Come on, love,” he mumbled in the softest of tones. “We’ll get you a nice hot bath ready, a cup of tea, and some snacks, while I stitch you up.”

With that, the previous portal opened again, illuminated the room in its soft golden light, and Stephen helped the tired woman up from her bed. He held both her hands and pulled her up onto her feet, steadying her with his arm around her slender waist. He could imagine what happened during that mission in Seoul, her state not an uncommon sight for his eyes but hard on him nevertheless. It was easy for him to get scratches and be beaten up – he didn’t mind that – but seeing her in that constitution was something entirely different. And this side was a side no one knew about – and no one would ever get an insight about.

Looking up to Stephen, she allowed him to scoop her into his arms and circled both her arms around his neck while pressing a soft kiss onto his cheek. “You are a godsend,” YN whispered against his skin, the tip of her nose caressing his skin in a feathery touch. The doctor smiled the one smile that was entirely reserved for her eyes and only hers. “Not an idiotic and presumptuous asshole anymore?” He had to tease her with the statement that the Widow had smacked him with the second time they had met. A forceless hit with the flat hand against his shoulder was the first reaction he got. “Thought we already had put that in our past. It was a miscalculation. An assumption made upon false input and intel.”

Stephen chuckled while stepping over the threshold of his portal, right into his bedroom in the Sanctum Sanctorum, the busy New Yorker streets underneath the big windows. He didn’t spare a glance at the golden streets out there, glowing in the light of the setting sun. Instead, he carried the woman in his arms straight into the adjacent bathroom with the bathtub she craved the most. “I just love teasing you, darling,” the sorcerer grinned while gently putting YN down on the bathtub’s edge, and with a flick of his hand, the two faucets opened and unleashed the water.

Soon the bathroom was not only filled with the soothing sound of splashing water but with the wafting steam and the smell of her most favorite bath bomb as well. In the meantime, Stephen had organized the promised tea and snacks – consisting of cheese, crackers, and strawberries – while preparing the first aid kit for the small surgery he would perform on the most severe cuts that needed some stitching. As she attempted to step into the waiting hot water to let her bones and muscles soak in the well-deserved break, the phone in the back pocket of her combat gear pants, that pooled in the center of the bathroom, started to ring. The sorcerer was quick to peel it out and hand it to his girlfriend, not daring to accept the call or send it straight to the voicemail like he would’ve preferred.

With a sigh, YN accepted the call; a fluffy towel wrapped around her naked body, and she could see the hits that had attacked her visibly on her skin through the full-length mirror opposite her. “What?” That was all she asked the unwanted caller – who needs a greeting, right?

Shuffling was heard on the other side of the call, and YN cocked an eyebrow as whispered voices pushed to her ear. She took a look at the caller ID and didn’t get it. “Whoever thought it would be the greatest freaking idea to call me can go and fuck themself. I just want some peace and quiet, for fucks sake. Is that too much to ask?” YN was pissed to an extent she hadn’t felt in a long time. Another round of shuffling until Thor’s voice spoke up. “Lady YN, this is Thor, God of Thunder.” Facepalming herself, the woman sent Stephen a helpless look. “You don’t need to introduce yourself, Thor. I know who you are. This is a call, not a formal application for a new job.” What, in the name of the universe, had she done in her past life to be graced with this group of insufferable people? She loved them dearly, but sometimes they were just too exhausting for her poor soul. “Yes, of course, Lady YN. Mr. Stark had specifically asked me to start this conversation in order to learn about the nature of your whereabouts.”

Groaning, she hit the edge of the full tub with her fist. “Stop being such a child and talk for yourself, Tony,” she demanded. “Can’t. Have to find your location.” Eye rolling, YN knew that he knew that she had never touched one of his phones and had made sure that her location wouldn’t be found by any of them. Not even the genius that was Tony Stark. “Yeah, whatever. Good luck with that. You lot could’ve just, I don’t know, asked if I’m alright wherever I am and put it aside because I’m a fucking grown woman. Gosh.” Stephen chuckled softly at her outburst while preparing the needle for the stitches. “Plus, it was never my idea to call. Ask our ancient ice sculpture who had the idea to check up on you and found your room empty and throwing a tantrum about it,” Tony added, and YN softly smiled as the sorcerer knelt in front of her on the plush bathroom matt to take a closer look on the gush near her left wrist. “For fucks sake, Steve. Remember when I told you that your overbearing nature isn’t cool? It wasn’t a joke; I meant it!” Her face twisted at the sudden burn under her skin, and saw the drenched cotton pad, Stephen softly dapped over the wound to clean the dried blood off. “I’m sorry, YNN. Really, I am. But you took some pretty hard hits, and I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. You are okay, are you?”

Sighing again, YN leaned her head against Stephen’s shoulder. “I am. And now I have to go.” – “Wait, YN, where are yo-…” – “Byyyyye!”

And with that, she hung up and threw the phone back on the dirty pile of combat gear. “They’re getting suspicious?” She shrugged at his question and let him take the fluffy towel away from her, so she could finally sink into the hot water. “I don’t know what’s going on in their brains. And I don’t want to think about it.” With closed eyes, YN leaned back in the tub, softly moaning as she felt how every single muscle relaxed. “I’m almost tempted to believe that you only agreed to date me because of my bathtub,” the man chuckled while sitting on the edge and starting to stitch her arm.

In moments like these, he used that bit of magic he needed to steady his hands, but it was the only exception he made. “You don’t have to do it, y’know? I can easily head to the med bay,” YN mumbled after Stephen had finished his task of taking care of her, and he bent down to press a lingering kiss on her forehead. “Don’t make a fool out of yourself, darling. It’s my pleasure.”

He wanted to leave to pack the first aid kit back at its usual spot, but her fingers intertwining with his made him pause. One look at her pleading eyes, and the man was lost, his mental to-do list burned to ashes at her feet. “Can you get in? I’d love some cuddles.” It was a shyly asked question, as usual, but just as usual, he started to undress even before he nodded. “Whatever you need, darling,” he whispered after settling behind the woman in the still hot water – her body between his long legs, her back pressed against his chest, arms entangled underwater, and her face nestled in the crook of his neck.

Her deep breaths and soft skin against his were all he ever needed after days of her presence gone due to missions or his own duties, and Stephen craved those few stolen moments in a world where nobody knew about them.

;

Morning came too soon, and YN dragged herself out of the comfort of the warm bed to gather her belongings in order to make a move as soon as Stephen was awake enough to conjure the portal into her bedroom. She just left the bathroom, the pile of combat gear now over her arms, as Stephen yawned and felt around on the other side of the bed where she had laid only minutes ago. The sorcerer wasn’t a deep sleeper, but she was a Widow, trained in the arts of stealth, so it was an easy task to sneak out without waking him up. But even after more than a year of dating, he seemed not to be used to it because at the feeling of nothingness next to him, Stephen sat up abruptly and frantically started looking through the room. His mouth opened to call her name, heart racing in his chest, until his gaze settled upon the woman, only clad in one of his shirts that reached her mid-thighs.

She smiled, combat gear already dropped to the floor, to walk over to him. YN stood next to his bedside, both hands cupping his jawline while her thumb soothingly caressed his cheek, while she pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, the feeling of his goatee present on her lips. She could practically feel how he relaxed at her touch and leaned into it, reminding her again that Stephen was as touch starved as she was. It wasn’t a real turn-on for folks if she talked about the abusive past she had to endure in order to become her strongest self. But hey, those foolish boys were nothing in comparison to the man in front of her.

“Bad dream?” She softly asked before pecking the tip of his nose with a soft, feathery kiss. The sorcerer shrugged nonchalantly, but he couldn’t fool her – and he knew that. Sighing, Stephen pulled her back into the bed, holding her close, and nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. “I just don’t want to let you go again. Didn’t see you in four days.” It was a mumble, but YN could hear every single word and felt his lips moving against her collarbone. Slowly, she started to play with his hair – just the way he liked it – and scratched his scalp. “Caution, my love, or I could be tempted to think you’re touch starved and crave my presence.”

Stephen scoffed and pushed himself up with one arm to look into her eyes. “You know how it is, darling.” It was only a mumble because even though they opened up to one another like they never did before, Stephen was still wary if it wouldn’t bite his ass. But so far, the amazing woman underneath him never let him feel any doubts. She smiled softly up at him and pulled him in for a soft kiss. “I’m not sure if they’re ready. You know how they are. You know what Tony will say, something about not fraternizing with colleagues and all that bullshit, and you know that Steve will give you a hard time – shit, he would even give me a hard time about it.” The prospect of trouble in paradise alone made her nauseous. They constantly bickered, true, but it was all fun and smiles. With something like that, on the other hand… Stephen knew how it went.

“At least stay for a few more minutes?” He almost begged, something he would never admit, not even under torture, but YN kissed him gently and shook her head. “Need to write that damn report and get a going to the med bay if I don’t wanna get benched.” With that, the sorcerer released the Widow out of his grasp and opened the portal into her own bedroom. He stood on his side while YN scurried over onto her side but turned around to kiss him goodbye properly. “See you for dinner?” Stephen smiled down at her, nodded, and kissed her forehead. “Chow House?” Moaning, YN pulled him in for another kiss. “I know why I love you,” she grinned, and then she waved with a smile as the portal closed again, and she was back in her cozy room, the duffel bag now lying on top of the cushioned bench in front of her bed – its usual spot. Shaking her head, she made a mental note to thank Steve for it later that day.

;

Sitting at the huge glass table in one of the conference rooms inside the compound, YN listened intently to what Fury said over the video call, scribbling away notes inside that little notebook she always carried around for such occasions. She could feel a lingering stare settled upon her, and barely noticeable, she raised her gaze to catch Stephen staring at her over the cup of coffee he held between his softly shaking hands. A smile tried to tuck at her lips, but instead, she rolled her eyes as if he was as irritating as the uncomfortable seat she had sat on ever since the briefing started.

“Do I bore you, Miss LN?” Fury’s tone sounded bored himself, and YN showed him a pair of raised eyebrows. “No, sir. I’m just writing down what you’re saying. For later purposes.” Sam coughed and mumbled “Boaster” between his acts, and YN threw her eraser against his head. “Hey!” She smiled the sweetest of smiles and flipped him off. “I’m not deaf, Wilson.” Bucky chuckled behind his mug while Steve and Nat rolled their eyes, and Fury sighed exaggeratedly. “Behave, children,” he grumbled before continuing with the briefing about a new mission in Switzerland.

A half an hour later, the briefed team scattered over the compound after they had left the conference room, and YN found her way into the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled ever since she woke up to an empty bed because Stephen had to leave to get ready for said briefing.

On some days, it was exhausting to sneak around everyone, but it had its purpose. So far, they never had a close call, for which YN was more than grateful.

Softly humming, she rummaged in the fridge before moving to the cupboards after she decided that tea was more to her taste than one of the smoothies Pepper hoarded in one of the many fridges.

Suddenly, big familiar hands grabbed her jeans-clad hips and turned her around in one swift motion. Looking up, her eyes met the bluest ones of them all, and a smile etched itself on her face before she took a measured look to the entrance. After she gave herself an all-clear, YN pulled Stephen down to her level while pushing herself on her tiptoes and kissed him – hard and hungrily because the couple couldn’t stop showing their deep lingering affection for one another as often as possible, which was not often enough.

Labored breaths and lips crashing against one another were the only sounds in the kitchen – or the entire compound wing – and Stephen wrapped the woman tighter in his arms, pulling her closer and closer until their bodies were pressed against each other. His hands moved more south to grab the Widow under her thighs, long fingers stretching up to her butt cheeks, and he lifted her with astonishing ease up on the countertop. Settling there, YN wrapped her legs around his waist, crossed her ankles at his deliciously shaped behind, and burrowed her fingers inside his dark hair. The kiss grew more heated with every passing second, and a soft gasp escaped her mouth as Stephen pressed her lower region harder against him.

“I really hope you’re not thinking about canceling our dinner plans for tonight,” YN whisper-moaned at the friction between her legs and bit his lower lip gently. Stephen groaned at the sensation pulsing through his body – he still wondered how this woman was able to pull every trigger there was with nothing more than just a whisper of a touch – and kissed her again. “Why should I? I can’t wait for dessert. Maybe we should do dessert first, like responsible citizens,” he rasped, the raspiness in his voice always a trigger for her own pleasure. Gladly, Stephen didn’t know just yet how hot it made her hear him like that. If this man would ever gain the knowledge about that – it would be her downfall. Grinning, YN pulled away from his searching lips, teasing him. “Sounds like a plan, Doctor Strange.”

But before they could dive right back into the next heated kiss and continue this make-out session, approaching steps alarmed the Widow. With ease, she slid off the counter within seconds and positioned herself at the counter closer to the door before raising her voice.

“Oh, please. Stop prancing around and try to prove that you’re the smartest one. I can’t keep up with the bullshit coming out of that entitled mouth of yours. I have better things to do.”

Tony and Steve entered the kitchen, followed by a tired Clint, who clung to a mug of steaming coffee. The Stark was fast to assess the situation, and an icy expression settled on his face. “Is he annoying you again, YNN? I can do something about that, you just need to use the words.” Steve had his blonde brows furrowed and stared Stephen into the ground, but the sorcerer only shrugged and stole the tea she had finished preparing. “A simple conversation, that’s all. Keep your panties on, Stark, and thanks for the tea, LN.”

With that, the tall man walked past the group, mug in hand, and YN stared after him, mouth agape. “Hey, that was my tea, you tea stealing, obnoxious imbecile!”

Which meant in their secret language, I love you, idiot.

Steve turned towards her and shrugged. “Tell us, and we end him,” he offered, but all she did was roll her eyes and start to prepare another cup of tea while suppressing her heart from beating out of line.

That was a close call.

;

The soft tunes of the Best of Beethoven vinyl she had found in Stephen’s office echoed through the foyer of the Sanctum Sanctorum on a summer evening. The windows on the upper floor were open widely to let in the soft breeze from outside without getting the chills, and YN worked mindlessly in the perfectly stocked kitchen.

It wasn’t like that shortly after she had sat foot in the room supposed to feed hungry human beings. Instead, barely filled shelves and a half-empty fridge had greeted her, which was why many New Yorkers had seen a true Avenger walking their streets in a pretty summer dress – a sight none of them would have expected on this beautiful day or any days at all. But she didn’t mind the round eyes of kids and teenagers. The ogling stares of the male part of the grownup fraction were what put her on edge. But even them she could handle with closed eyes.

After a shopping spree in the grocery store down the block, YN had started to prepare dinner. It wasn’t often that she found the time and muse to cook, but when she did, she went all out because she wasn’t bad at it. Actually, she was quite good at the stove, even though she preferred baking over everything else.

The tune changed to Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61 – one of her favorites, even though the Red Room had forced her to start playing the violin – at the same time as the golden glow of a portal crept around the corner of the kitchen’s entrance. She just chopped the vegetables into the thinnest of slices as the soft but heavy feeling of fabric settled over her shoulders, and a red collar nudged her left cheek to get her attention.

“Well, hello to you too, Cloaky,” she greeted the magical relic, which resembled more a dog or cat than an ancient thing, with a smile. Soon after the first greeting, a set of arms wrapped around her, and a chin was planted on her shoulder. “Do I want to know how you got in?” Stephen asked, the grin audible in his voice. YN shrugged while chopping the rest. “Wong didn’t see me if that’s what you tried to find out.” Sometimes, her burglar skills were pretty useful, plus the building liked her – or Stephen had altered the spells that protected the Sanctum, but she liked the idea of a feeling and thinking building more.

“So, you thought instead of enjoying your first time off missions in the last couple of weeks, you break into the Sanctum to cook me dinner?” At her exciting nod, Stephen laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her temple. Cloaky settled onto her shoulders definitively – Stephen knew that it would stay there for quite some time now, but he couldn’t object because it was what he would do too – and instead, tried to help her, but YN hit his fingers. “Nope. You’re gonna take a hot, long shower to destress from whatever threat it was today you had to deal with, and after that, you’ll settle on that bar stool over there, drink a glass of whiskey and just look pretty and handsome while I wrap up dinner.” He would never admit it, but he loved it when she tried to boss him around. It was so different from the life she had lived before joining the Avengers and escaping the grasp of the Red Room, so it was his pleasure to let her boss around to her heart's desire. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else, ma’am?” She grinned up at him. “A kiss would be absolutely lovely.”

Stephen complied and bent down to taste her sweet, perfect lips, but Cloaky suddenly had other plans and pulled her onto the wooden floor. “What the…?” Both started, but Wong’s voice let her suck in the last word and hold her breath. The red cloak pulled her further to the kitchen island to hide her body against the wood and wrapped itself around the woman it was so fond of.

“Something smells divine.” Wong stopped at the frame between the kitchen and one of the many living rooms to eye Stephen. “You are cooking? Since when is this a possibility?” Stephen looked from the stove to Wong, back to the chopped vegetables and the casserole where YN had started to place the thin slices in an intricate pattern. “Yeah…” The sorcerer began and shrugged. “I saw something on my way home and thought it looked quite delicious.” Wong squinted his eyes suspiciously at the other sorcerer. “Aha.” YN on the floor really wanted to facepalm herself. “Well, let me know when the food is ready. I want to try it. I’m in the library upstairs.” And Wong disappeared as suddenly as he arrived.

Sitting up, YN patted the proudly moving cloak and shook her head. “Next time, you won’t drag me down to the floor, understood? That hurt.” Stephen helped her up and took Cloaky from her shoulders, and sent him up into his bedroom. “Another close call,” the man objected, and YN sighed. “I know, but I don’t know why we’re running out of luck all of a sudden. We were so good.” It didn’t sit right with her, and the realization that maybe, sooner rather than later, they need to come clean with everyone.

Stephen softly kissed her head and pushed a lock out of her face, tracing her jawline from her ear back down to her chin. He took it between his fingers, pointer finger underneath it to softly nudge it up, so she would look at him. “Whatever will happen, nothing is worse than being stuck in a fake octopus, smelling like plastic and trash, darling.” Eye rolling, the woman shoved against his chest. “Never remind me of that ever again. I had to soak for hours on end in that bathtub to get the smell off my skin.” Stephen smiled but cocked an eyebrow to see her nodding. And she did. “Okay, yeah. It won’t be the end of days if they knew, but… I don’t know how to tell them. Could we take some more time? Just a little while longer?”

Stephen could never deny her a single request, so he approved with another nod and kissed her softly on the lips. “Of course, love. But now you have to move your sexy bottom because Wong demanded food. I’m gonna take a quick shower and be right back.” With that, Stephen kissed her one last time and stepped through the portal – lazy sock – and YN continued with the veggy pattern inside her prepared casserole until an all too familiar voice startled her.

“I knew it!”

With wide eyes, the former assassin turned around to look straight into the very pleased face of non-other than Wong, and a curse fell off her lips.

One for them, minus one for us, she thought while explaining to the sorcerer how she came up with her altered receipt for Ratatouille.

Thank you so much for reading! As usual, comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! <3

Taglist:

@poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @seasonofthenerd @onecrazydirectioner @meeksmusic83

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eviesaurusrex · 19 hours ago

Text

through the seasons || f.w.

summary: he would love you till the end of time. everyone can see it, and they can only hope that you’ll come to your senses and realize that too.

words: ~6.4k (i went overboard LMFAO)

warnings: light angst, some mentions of death / violence (but dw it's a happy ending)

a/n: first ever hp fic in like, ever LOL so apologies if this seems off in any way. the timeline for this is a lil weird?? but basically the fic starts during the spring of GOF: you’re a year below fred & a year above the golden trio : ) ALSO i highly recommend listening to 'moonlight serenade' by frank sinatra ESP during the parts it's mentioned in. you'll see why :))))

spring

Given that springtime was nearly over, it was rather cold outside.

The sky gleamed a bright, cornflower blue, with the May morning breeze hitting your skin. You, Hermione, and Ginny found yourselves huddling together in the stands and tightly clutching each other to keep warm.

Anticipation nipped at your insides like tiny needles. You had spent the past half-hour at breakfast listening to a nervous Ron ramble on about how he hardly knew what he was doing, and seeing an unusually quiet Fred pick at his food. You knew it wasn’t like him to spend almost an entire meal without saying more than a few words.

“You ok?” you mouthed, glancing over at the redhead in concern. “As long as you’re looking at me,” Fred replied, attempting a small smile. He pressed something warm and fuzzy into your hands under the table. “You’re my good luck charm today. Keep this for me during the match.” You nodded, and felt your heart warm as you looked down to see that it was the fuzzy scarf he always wore during Hogsmeade trips or around the castle when it got particularly chilly. His initials had been hand-stitched into one end—undoubtedly Mrs. Weasley’s handiwork. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” “That’s my girl.”

“Look!” Ginny whisper-shouted, ending your momentary flashback. “I think that’s them!”

The Gryffindor team filed out into the stadium to be instantly met with a cacophony of loud cheers and applause. Your throat was already starting to hurt from screaming alongside the seas of blazing red and gold, though the match had yet to begin.

Without even realizing it, you found your eyes scanning the area for a particular ginger-haired Beater, and the tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulders loosened as soon as you saw him.

“You’re not even playing, yet I’d say you’re as big of a mess as poor Ronald,” Hermione chuckled lightly. “Concerned for someone?”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, tightening Fred’s scarf around your neck just a bit more. “It’s the last match of the year—I’m just as nervous as everyone else. I need to see someone beat Malfoy’s egotistical arse to a pulp.”

Both her and Ginny snorted at this.

“You’re right…but that’s not who I was referring to,” your best friend reminded you.

You rolled your eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Don’t you think you care a little too much? More than a friend should?”

“No,” you stated flatly. But Hermione knew this was a lie—after all, she had known you for five years now and could tell when you were lying. She watched as you fiddled with the ends of the colorful scarf around your neck—a flash of something caught her eye, and she squinted to see F.W. embroidered in delicate gold.

Of course you were being serious, she chuckled to herself. She decided to not say anything about why you had Fred’s scarf on, and instead joked, “Do you think he or Ron’ll make it without getting a concussion?”

“Now that’s hard to say…” you began, knowing how the two boys were sometimes often quite clumsy. “Fingers are crossed that my Fred will be just fine.”

“Your Fred? What about Ron?” she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you care about both of them?”

“—Both of them will be just fine,” you quickly corrected yourself. “They’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” she said, unconvinced that your reply wasn’t just a slip of the tongue.

Turning your attention back to the game, you heard Lee Jordan’s classic, enthusiastic voice echo across the grounds. “Welcome to the last Quidditch match of the YEAR! We have quite the game in store today, Gryffindor versus Slytherin…”

Eventually, after the captains shook hands and everyone mounted their brooms, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the balls into the air. Loud cheers filled the stadium once again, and all fourteen players shot up into the sky. You were only really focusing on one thing—or person, really. It seemed that you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“—aaand that’s a Bludger to the head from Fred Weasley, ouch, that’s gotta hurt…There goes Katie Bell, making a swift pass over to Johnson…there’s Johnson with the Quaffle! And then, ,there he goes…Fred Weasley does it AGAIN! Malfoy gets a hard Bludger to the back—”

Right then, Fred caught your eye and winked. You sent back a shy wave in response.

Everyone tries their best to ignore the Slytherin section’s jeering taunts and chants of Weasley Is Our King. You didn’t need to look over to know Ron was hardly taking it.

From there on out it was a blur of motion, noise, and loud sounds, and before you knew it, the match was over and done.

“—GRYFFINDOR WINS! WITH WEASLEY’S GAME-WINNING BLOCK AND POTTER’S SHEER SPEED, THEY WIN!” The excitement is clear in Lee’s voice. “GRYFFINDOR WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

The crowd went wild again as Fred made his downward descent. As soon as the tips of his shoes touched the grass he jumped off and immediately rushed over to you as fast as his feet would take him.

Your head was spinning and you could barely tell what was going on amidst the ground-shaking noise and overall chaos. But there he was in front of you now, sweaty and tired but grinning wildly nonetheless as he brought you into a tight embrace. He started spinning you around and you couldn’t help but join in on his contagious laughter.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he whispered into your ear as he set you down, breath fanning against the skin behind your ear.

Having no words left except pure joy, you shook your head and smiled as you leaned into him, squeezing him back even tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Both of you were too busy to notice that your friends around you had stopped congratulating the other players and chattering with one another, their eyes now on you two. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione exchanged a look, and Ron, amidst his nerves and exhaustion, cracked a grin as he watched his older brother and best friend savoring a moment with each other.

Hopefully, they’ll realize it for themselves…he thought. Amidst the chaos of the past year, he knew that all of them—especially the two of you—deserved a bit of peace more than anything.

summer

“Last one there is a rotten egg and has to take the soddy backup broom!” Ginny shouted. You all immediately broke into a sprint at this, scrambling to go outside for yet another round of backyard Quidditch. Harry damn near tripped over his own feet as he and Ron tried pushing over each other to squeeze out the back door. Fred and George were doing the same thing, and you and Hermione used this chance to sneak past them. You silently high-fived each other at this.

“Boys will be boys…” she laughed quietly, linking your arm through hers as you continued walking across the meadow, the grass brushing against the fabric of your trousers. “There’s no catching a break around here.”

Lo and behold, poor Ron was forced to take the backup broom, grumbling the entire time as everyone put their gear on. “I hate you guys. Haven’t I been through enough already?”

Everyone took turns being the score-keeper, and this time it was Hermione (she had also been score-keeper the last two rounds as she was a bit tired, and didn’t really mind). She sat down under the giant apple tree as she chose the teams.

“Harry, George, and Fred!” she called out. “Versus the rest of you.”

“That’s so not fair!” Ron complained. “You have two Beaters and the—”

“—youngest Seeker in a century on one team,” Harry finished his sentence with a cheeky grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “At least I’m with you, Y/N…I guess…”

“Thanks for the compliment, Ronald,” you said with a slight hint of sarcasm.

It was only a few minutes in the match when Fred found himself distracted. He was supposed to be on guard, but his eyes kept wandering over to you, zipping around on your broom with ease, gliding through the air like a bird. He wondered when he stopped seeing you as just his ‘best friend’ and started seeing you as someone who made his heart beat faster; someone who he desperately wanted to see smile because that’s all he needed to make his entire day.

“Awe, come on, Freddie, get your head back in the game!” you called out to him in a teasing voice as he just barely blocked a flying Bludger hurtling towards his face. “Don’t wanna be slammed into, now do you?”

He shook his head and quickly snapped out of it. “Of course not.”

“Blimey, Fred! You nearly gave yourself another concussion there from ogling at her!” George exclaimed.

“I can’t help but be charming,” you joked, sending Fred a wink. “Enjoy the view while you can!”

It was only mid-morning/barely afternoon by the time you finished the last match, but if anything, your sore muscles told you that it felt like days had passed. Adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins as everyone headed in, laughing at the thrill of flying through the skies without a care in the world.

“Remember that losers have to make lunch!” Harry reminded.

Ginny groaned. “Come on. Way to ruin the vibe.”

You, her, and Ron all let out long sighs before heading straight to the kitchen to whip something up for the six of you. Food bets needed to stop…

After a quick meal of sandwiches, everyone headed back outside to play more rounds of backyard Quidditch. You opted to stay in this time around; the dull ache in your shoulders and lower back telling you you’d had enough for the day. One cold shower and some quiet work helping Mr. Weasley organize his home office later, you slumped onto the sofa.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening went by slowly but peacefully. Eventually, you found yourselves sitting around on the living room floor, playing board games well into the night while the crickets chirped outside. The days were long, and cracking jokes and long talks came much easier than they normally did. Of course, Fred sat next to you the entire time, finding a way to be touching you in one way or another no matter what. Shoulders pressed together closely, fingers tracing patterns into your palms, a hand rubbing your back.

Harry gulps down his mug of butterbeer before launching into a dramatic retelling of when Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret, earning roars of laughter and “That git deserved it” from all around. Fred follows up with the first time him and George tested prototypes of their Puking Pastilles, which ended with a delirious Lee Jordan and Ron’s face turning greener than mandrake leaves (much to Mrs. Weasley’s horror—she sent both twins death glares at this).

You were too busy losing it to notice an arm—Fred’s—snaking around your waist, pulling you into his side. But when you did realize it was him, you didn’t say anything, and just simply relaxed against him. It was second nature to you both; you’ve learned to anticipate him sliding up next to you. And, it was comforting to know that he would always be nearby.

Despite being the last one to go to bed, Fred was the first one awake before dawn had even broken over the horizon. The skies were clear but grey, and the roosters had yet to make a sound.

“Wake up,” you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Whaddayawant,” you groaned, voice groggy. “Listen Ron, it’s too early to play Quidditch, tell Wood that you want to go for a round instead…”

“Hey, it’s only me,” Fred replied. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you got up, being careful not to step on Hermione or Ginny’s hands or arms on the way out the door. He kept a hand pressed against the small of your back the entire way down the creaky staircase.

“Ta-da…” he whispered, the classic Weasley grin spreading across his face. “Take a look at this beauty.”

“A…record player?” your brows furrowed in confusion. “This is what you woke me up at 4 a.m. for?”

“Dad got it at this old Muggle store in central London years ago, he said it was a ‘thrift shop,’” Fred explained as your eyes glanced over the cracked, but beautiful record player on the kitchen table. “D’you reckon it still works, though?”

“We’ll have to see for ourselves,” you shrugged.

He placed the vinyl CD into the player and adjusted the needle, and within seconds a slow Muggle tune began to play.

“Oh, I know this one…Hermione has told me about it before. Frank Sinatra is quite famous in the Muggle musical world.”

“Well, then…may I have this dance?” Fred extended a hand out to you. You shake your head and roll your eyes, but take his hand and allow him to pull you close. His arms wrap around your torso as your hands rest on his shoulders, and you allow yourselves to get carried away by the slow, melodic ballad.

My love, do you know That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you, and I sing you A moonlight serenade

Fred gently twirls you around the kitchen before bringing you back in and smoothly catching you by the waist, and you’re surprised at how easy it is for him. You often forgot that he had a knack for dancing—it wasn’t often that you got to see him do so.

“And you were about to be upset at me for waking you up,” he leans in to say.

“You’re forgiven,” you exhale, resting your head against his chest. “But you know I could never be upset with you.”

Long after the song had ended, you still found yourself wrapped in his embrace.

Mrs. Weasley was heading downstairs to start preparing breakfast, but suddenly stopped midway. Her heart warmed as she took in the sight of you and Fred standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as he hummed a foreign tune, slow dancing without a care in the world.

Deciding not to interrupt, she stands there for a moment, smiling as she watched her boy fall in love with the young woman that she hoped to call her daughter one day.

fall

“—Godric’s sake, I’m so tired of losing,” Ron groaned as you quickly smacked the top of the deck with your wand, dust flying into his face. “I’m never playing this with you again.”

You rolled your eyes as he coughed and dusted himself off. “Okay, no Exploding Snap, then no more sweets from Honeydukes ever again.”

“Fine, I’m playing, I’m playing,” he sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead as the colorful deck of cards reshuffled themselves. “You’re almost as horrible as my brother.”

“Almost as horrible as who—hey, Y/N, is that my jumper?” Fred paused as he approached you and Ron sitting at the coffee table, as Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny watched on.

“Dunno, is it?” you shrugged innocently, tapping your chin. “Hey, Nev, you want a go? I have to finish reading my book for McGonagall’s class.”

Neville nodded, and Ron raised a fist in triumph. “FINALLY! Bring it on, Longbottom.”

You shifted onto the couch so Neville could take your spot, and without another word, Fred sat down right next to you. The deep burgundy color of his Gryffindor sweater only further brought out the color of your eyes, he noticed, which sparkled brightly under the dim lighting.

Fred then shifted to lay his head down in your lap, and you didn’t even do so much as flinch. With your book in one hand, you used the other to start brushing your fingers through his hair. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you heard him let out a quiet sigh of contentment.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re absolutely brilliant?” he glanced up at you from where he lay, watching carefully and intently. “Sometimes I’m surprised that you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” you laughed softly as you turned the page.

Right as you were about to turn the page again, he stopped you by lightly tugging your wrist. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

He carefully turned your hand to look at the scratches etched into the back of it. They were beginning to fade, but the occasional shifts in movement would cause them to sting and sometimes crack open.

“When did Umbridge do this to you?” Something unfamiliar flashed in Fred’s eyes, and he seemed angry for the briefest of moments. But the darkened look was quickly replaced with one of concern. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not at all,” you lied as you set down your book, but he didn’t miss the way you winced slightly as he adjusted your hand to look at it again.

The rest of your friends had scattered elsewhere at this point, the typical noise now having faded into a soft chatter of sorts. Hermione came back with a bowl of yellow liquid, eyeing you worriedly. “Strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles…these should help…”

“Oh…thank you…” You placed your hand into the bowl and immediately exhaled with relief.

“I think I’m going to sleep a little early tonight…I’ll see you two at breakfast? Take it easy, Y/N,” Hermione gave your shoulder a squeeze. You nodded as she gave you one last smile and walked away.

Once the pain had faded into a dull ache, you set the bowl of murtlap on the table and leaned back against the sofa. Fred was now laser-focused on something he was holding, fiddling with it using what looked like a small pair of tweezers. Assuming that it had to do with the joke shop he and George were working on, you paid it no mind, and picked up your copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration again.

You were far too absorbed into your book to notice when Fred had slipped whatever that thing was onto your finger. It was cold to the touch but fit snugly.

“D’you like it?”

“What is…” You put your book away and glanced down, about to say something half-sarcastic, but immediately stopped.

It had to have been the most beautiful ring you had seen. Although it was slightly on the thinner side, it glittered brighter than any star you had ever seen. You twisted your hand this way and that as you watched the material catch the light.

“...You know my ring size,” your voice trailed off as you took notice of the hopeful look in Fred’s eyes. “But what is this for? You know we’re—”

“For when the time comes,” he explained simply, raising your scarred right hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. His gaze on you remained steady and comforting in the same way that his presence made you feel. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes, and you nodded, feeling a sudden lump form in your throat. You were filled with a warmth that you knew had nothing to do with the blazing fire in front of you. “You know there’s no one else.”

How your best friend could make your chest ache in this way, you had no clue…For some odd reason, you thought, it wasn’t all that difficult to picture a future with him in it.

Not when he was your future. You loved him, no doubt, but when it came to describing your exact relationship all words fell short. You were close friends, but was it in the same way that you and Hermione were friends? Or you and Ginny?

But he’s my best friend, you told yourself. He’s been my best friend for over six years.

But ‘best friends’ don’t make you feel the way that Fred does.

Best friends went beyond just saving you a seat at the Great Hall if you woke up late for breakfast or slept through lunch because of a long nap. They didn’t pull you away on Hogsmeade trips and insist on hanging out with you one-on-one when you could very well just hang out together as one big group with all your friends.

They definitely didn’t fashion you a ring by hand in the middle of one quiet fall night, but he did.

“Earth to Y/N?”

“Hm…what?”

“You okay? You seemed a little spaced out there, love,” Fred raised a brow at you as he sat up, taking your hand in his.

“Just…thinking,” you hummed, letting your head lean against his shoulder. He pulled you into his side at this, tenderly brushing his lips against your forehead.

“About how I’m your favorite person on the planet and that I’m loads funnier than Georgie?”

“As if you’d ever be the only thing on my mind.”

Fred pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“I’m kidding,” you glanced up at him, pouting slightly. “You’ll never leave my mind. I’m holding you hostage.”

“And that’s a sentence I’d want to extend for as long as I could,” he responded.

Voldemort's return and the premise of another war loomed overhead. But he found that when your warm hand slipped into his, body leaning in close, and your laughter ringing through the air like shooting stars, it was easy for him to forget. To fall into you and feel as if you're the only thing that mattered in this world because frankly, you were.

winter

There was one big thing to look forward to today: another Hogsmeade outing. The final weekend trip before Christmas was always a little bittersweet, but filled with the most pure joy.

The Great Hall was decked out from ceiling to floor as it always was during the holiday season. Bits of snow delicately floated down from the crystalline ceiling as the classic giant Christmas tree stood tall behind the staff table. You stopped every few seconds to admire the decorations despite having been here for nearly seven years now and seeing (and even having helped one time) the grandiose setup.

Excited chatter filled every table as you went over to the Gryffindor table to sit with your friends. Ron was already piling his plate with food, grinning excitedly as he did so.

“Where’s Fred?” you asked as you sat down next to George.

“Already missing your lover boy?” the younger twin teased. “He’ll be down in a sec. The lazy arse overslept so Lee went to drag him down here.”

“Oh, okay…” You paused for a moment. “Wait, he’s not my—”

You felt someone squeeze your shoulder behind you before pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, stopping you from finishing your sentence.

“Morning, my love,” Fred greeted casually as he slid into the spot next to you, seemingly oblivious to the stares he got from his gesture. “You sleep okay?”

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, when are ‘ou going ‘o admid it?” Ron groaned, in the middle of chewing his third drumstick.

“Yeah, when?” Ginny echoed. “I’m going to hex you if you don’t.”

“Tell me what?” you tilted your head to the side as you glanced between them.

“Oh, uh, nothing!” she said quickly.

“Nothing!” Fred grinned sheepishly. Ginny sharply jabbed an elbow into his side. “OW!”

You rolled your eyes, deciding not to question the odd exchange.

Fred placed a soft hand on your thigh, using his other to swipe a croissant from your plate.

“Hey!”

“You know you love me,” he teased.

“Shut up,” you muttered, feeling your face burn, a smile crept up on your face nonetheless. You continued eating, his hand remaining in place, and pretended like you didn’t mind what he was doing.

You exited Hogwarts to flurries of snow blowing around, adjusting your hat and (Fred’s) scarf accordingly to protect your face from the biting winds. Hogsmeade was relatively quiet today, so you took every second you had to relish in the peace.

“Godric, you’re freezing,” Fred’s bright smile turned into a slight frown when he noticed you were shivering, rubbing your gloved hands together. “Here.”

He shook off his coat and handed it to you, helping you put it on by holding the sleeves out. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief once the warmth enveloped your body.

“T-thanks, but aren’t you gonna get c—”

“Trust me, I’ll be alright,” he assured you, squeezing your hands. “Don’t want to get sick before Christmas, right?”

You managed a nod, and he casually slung an arm across your shoulders. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he grinned. “Now come on, I think we have some drinks waiting for us.”

As always, he had pulled you away from your friend group to “spend extra special time with the coolest and funniest girl in the world” and though you rolled your eyes at this, you allowed him to take the lead. (You weren’t complaining.)

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was the added heat from Fred’s jacket, or maybe it was something else, but you were in an unusually good mood today. Fred noticed how you smiled more than usual, eagerly tugging his hand as you pulled him from shop to shop.

“Y/N…you’ll drain my pockets,” he groaned as you stopped in front of Honeyduke’s, positively beaming. “And you’ll rot my teeth.”

“Please…?” you begged. “I’ll die if I don’t get a bag.”

“Y/N, love, come on…” But seeing the blissful and innocent twinkle in your eyes made it damn near impossible for him to say no. “Alright, fine. Pick out what you want, it’s on me.”

“You’re the best!” you squeezed his arm before heading into the shop together, hand in hand. “This is why I love you.”

“Ow? Placing my worth based on how many sweet treats I am willing to bestow upon you?” Fred feigned offense at your statement. “But it’s okay. I love you too.”

Half an hour later, you were walking out of the sweet shop with a bag filled to the brim, and Fred was magically several Galleons lighter.

The two of you were only a three-minute walk from the castle grounds when the wind started to pick up. What was once a light snowy drizzle had suddenly turn into a full-blown blizzard, obscuring your vision for meters.

“I can’t even—I can’t see a thing!” you yelled over the whipping winds, trying to shield your face. “Fred, where are you?”

“Right behind you,” he murmured, circling an arm around your middle. “Don’t worry.”

But then, you felt something cold and icy slip down your jumper.

“Fred Weasley!” you yelled as he ran away, laughing with another clump of snow in hand. “You get back here right this instant before I kick your arse—”

You lunged forward and went sprinting after him, well, as fast as you could through the thick blankets of snow. Fred’s laugh echoed through the frigid air as you rolled up a giant snowball and chucked it at him. It hit him square in the back and he nearly fell from the impact.

The blizzard added an extra layer of difficulty, but you were determined to win by sheer talent and not take the easy way out with magic.

Your arms began to ache from forming and throwing snowball after snowball, and you were sure that you’d be getting bruises all over your body (especially from one particularly hard hit between your shoulder blades when you’d been distracted). But seeing Fred so blissfully happy made it worth it—for a split second, you could pretend you were both thirteen again, no worries in the world except for beating each other in Quidditch.

“Okay, this is so over!” you shouted as you chased him over a small hill and finally jumped on his back to tackle him, causing him to fall face first into the snow.

“You absolute—” he began, voice muffled. “Ow.”

He fell silent for a few seconds and stopped moving, causing you to worry. “Freddie, you alright? Fred!”

After you panicked for a few more seconds, Fred finally flipped over, clutching his stomach as he laughed at you. “You actually thought I was hurt?”

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. Your face flushed as you realized you practically sitting on him and awkwardly shifted off, opting to kneel by his side as he sat up. “What if you actually were? I’d like to be the one that heals you, not hurts you, thank you very much!”

He smirked. “Aw, so you were worried about me. You care, don’t you?”

“Shut it, I do not,” you scoffed.

His eyes trailed down your ring, which still shone so brightly, as you absentmindedly fiddled with it.

“...I think you’re missing a little something, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s me that is,” he said so quietly that you almost missed what he’d said. “A diamond, perhaps….”

“A diamond?” your voice came out in the tiniest of whispers as well. “I think you’d look alright in a little silver…”

Fred then cupped your face in his hands, which forced you to look back up at him. He gently grazed his thumbs over your cheekbones and there was now what seemed like a look of longing in his bright hazel eyes. He’d always gazed at you admiringly but that was because he was your best friend, you told yourself (a lie that, time and time again, you’d try and fail over the years to convince yourself of). Best friends loved and cared for each other, that’s what they’re supposed to do.

But here he was, making you feel things that a friend normally didn’t. And you didn’t even try to push him away because you didn’t want him to leave; you never wanted him to.

He finally closed the ever-decreasing gap between you two and kissed you, capturing your lips in his. You buried a hand in his messy hair and pulled him closer; as close as you possibly could, desperate for the way he made you feel so alive because he was the one thing keeping you anchored to the ground.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, he says over and over. You swore you’d explode, feeling him smile against your lips, tugging you even closer.

the in-between

The chasm of grief, so cold and uninviting, seemed to open up and swallow you whole.

You hated war. You hated watching the blood of innocent people being shed by the ruthless works of evil. You hated that you had survived while so many you had grown to know and love didn’t. They’re just kids. They’re too young. They didn’t deserve to die the way they did. They’re just kids. They’re just kids.

You weren’t sure how you even survived.

As soon as you locked eyes with each other, you, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati collapsed into one giant hug on the floor, tightly clutching one another. You had all been incredibly lucky to have made it through together.

Fred’s eyes carefully scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. When he saw you there in the corner, eyes squeezed shut and clinging to your best friends, he wanted nothing more than to approach and comfort you. But he knew you all needed this time together—you had lost many loved ones, and they were some of the only family you had left. So he let you be, leaning against the wall and watching from afar.

Over the next hour or so, people slowly started trickling out of the Great Hall—parents coming to pick up their kids, families reuniting—until it was just you, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Fleur, and the Weasleys. There was an unspoken feeling of gratitude lingering in the air and you could sense the relief all-around.

Your heart clenched as you watched Harry embrace his godfather. Your mother had died when you were young and your father had suffered a similar fate as the Longbottoms, so watching families reunite always sent a spear through your chest.

“Hey,” you heard, feeling someone intertwine their fingers with yours. You didn’t need to look over to know it was Fred. “Sickle for your thoughts? Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Leaning into him, you closed your eyes, attempting to will the tears away. “I don’t…I don’t know. I just hate war. While I’m glad this is over, I can’t help but think how unfair it all is. People losing each other, being torn apart…Voldemort’s gone, I know, but it just feels like he took a part of me to the grave with him.”

“I hope it’s not the part that made you fall in love with me,” Fred joked, and the corners of your lips quirked up in a grin.

“Of course not…” you murmured, “you’d have to pry your heart out of my cold, dead hands to try and take it from me. I’m here now, whether you like it or not.”

“For good?”

“For good,” you stated, reaching up to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

“And you know I love you more.”

epilogue (it’s a new spring with you)

With the Dark Lord gone, there were many loose ends to tie up and much-deserved resting to do. You had stayed behind to help start with cleaning up the castle grounds, before deciding to take the Hogwarts Express back home all togehter—for old time’s sake.

“What about the shop?” you asked George as you sat down between him and Fred. “Don’t you two need to be there?”

“We reckon it’ll be just fine—it’s not just us there anymore, remember?” he said, “but, Freddie thought you were more important. That’s why we’re here.”

Resting your head against his chest, you gazed up at Fred and smiled. “You left for me?”

“You know all that I do is for you,” he explained as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ew my teeth, they’re going to rot from the cheesy sweetness,” Ron groaned. “You’d think that the war would wipe all that out.”

“Oh shut it, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let them live.”

You drifted off and slept through the entire ride home, feeling a tad bit more refreshed when pulling in to King’s Cross station. It was a blur from there: taking the Floo network, carrying bags, washing up, and whatnot. You felt as if you were on autopilot with a barely functioning Muggle battery. All you wanted was to collapse on the floor and sleep forever, but you wanted to sit around the living room floor with your friends and catch up like you always did during the summer.

Lupin and Tonks had gone home to take care of Teddy while the rest of you were settling in. Chatter filled the Burrow as you spent time unpacking, and you found that you’d missed all the noise more than you initially thought. Dinner was an equally chaotic but also peaceful affair, filled with plenty of toasts, extra servings, and laughter, of course.

While Sirius was busy telling the table about the Mauraders’ antics, Fred squeezed your hand, jerking his head behind him to indicate that he wanted to go out back.

Now? What is it? you mouthed.

Fred nodded. Yes, now, so come on.

He took your hand and led you out the back door to the orchards, crescent moon shining overhead. A faint smile graced your face as you thought back to the days you spent together under the giant apple tree, reading stories from Hermione’s books to one another, skipping stones by the lake, and tending to the chickens.

A familiar tune started drifting through the air, and Fred extended a hand towards you.

“May I have this dance?”

You were immediately hit with a wave of déjà vu at his question, and allowed him to sweep you up into his arms. He placed his hands on your waist and you felt sparks shoot up your spine at his touch. Your arms wound their way around his neck as you swayed to the melody, losing yourselves in a dreamy lullaby. Though you had done this with him before on several occasions, it still felt like you were falling in love all over again.

You swallowed hard as you thought about how you had both been forced to grow up so fast. Moments like these—of pure bliss and childlike innocence—were far and few between, so they were to be greatly cherished. It was easy when he was twirling you around like this; effortlessly guiding your motions, to forget that anything and anyone else existed.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the feeling of his warm hands through your sweater and the soothing sound of his soft hums, allowing them to carry you away.

At one point, he briefly stops before spinning you outwards—but this time, he doesn’t pull you back in to catch you. You’re about to be confused but then, you turn around to see him down on one knee, a glittering diamond ring in hand. You froze in place, completely shocked.

“A diamond, perhaps…” you echoed, recalling that one winter night when you had kissed him for the first time, feeling like your heart was going to explode out of your chest.

“It’s always been you,” said Fred in a simple, soft tone of voice. “Always has been and always will be.”

Your eyes began to water. “You’re bloody kidding me…”

“Y/N, I know I joke around a lot—hell, I opened a whole shop with Georgie…but one thing I’ve never joked about is the way I feel about you.”

“Fred…”

“...Will you marry me?”

You opened and closed your mouth but no words seemed to come out. All you could manage was a small nod before tears fully blurred your vision and you stepped forward, hand shaking as he slid the diamond ring on.

When his lips brushed against yours, time seemed to splutter to a stop, and you felt your weary heart slowly but steadily stitch itself back together.

Except, he was the one holding the needle and telling you that there was no need to be anxious or scared because he’d be by your side for the rest of your life.

So don't let me wait Come to me tenderly in the June night I stand at your gate And I sing you a song in the moonlight A love song, my darling A moonlight serenade

tags: @htchnr @arkofblake @xhanthexzoria @antriimx @pinkdaiisies @lovely-whale-is-lovely

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eviesaurusrex · 2 days ago

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maybe i was born to read fanfic and obsess over fictional men idk

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eviesaurusrex · 2 days ago

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It’s always

“When will fanfic writers update their stories?”

And never

“Does this fanfic writer have adequate enrichment to engage in writing behaviours?”

Fanfiction writers (Scriptor fictus) are intelligent animals who need plenty of enrichment as well as encouragement! If they’re stuck in poor conditions (e.g. have studies, work, have to actually write to have something written) then they require the proper enrichment to engage in more healthy behaviours, like writing. Remember, due to poor breeding and socialisation, over half of all fanfic writers suffer from low self confidence and executive dysfunction so take care of them!

Give your fanfic writers proper care. Fanfiction writers are a life long commitment.

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eviesaurusrex · 2 days ago

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This was SO WONDERFUL!!!!! 😭💕

scary? my god, you're divine

Hitman/Mob!Bucky x Reader

Run-through: Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right?

Themes: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, bucky’s in his late thirties), mentions of violence and death, hitman!Bucky, smut, fluff, explicit language, virgin!reader, HEA

Something woke you up in the middle of the night.

And you’d been staring at the dark ceiling above your bed for the past few minutes now. What had woken you up? It could’ve been the strong winds hitting the large Georgian windows. Or perhaps it was the soft ticking of the nearby clock. Or maybe even the weight of all the incessant thoughts running through your head.

Gods, you thought, what a day.

It had started out like any other. Your father was pacing around, worried and barking orders on the phone, trying to find a way to put a stop to this chaos that was quickly forming into a full war between him and his number one rival. Small attacks had turned to frequent drive-bys, threats had turned into taking turns and blowing up each other’s warehouses and clubs. And it would only get worse and worse.

But this morning, as he watched you come downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, something in his eyes was different. And you could tell what was coming. You had been thinking about this for days. So when he sat you down and discussed how you could do your part in helping to put an end to all of this.

“It’s only a matter of time before he sends his son, his favourite weapon after us all,” Your father sounded defeated. “And none of us would survive him. No one ever does. You know that.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I know.”

The son of your father’s rival, Bucky Barnes, was a name which could make even powerful men like your father tremble in fear. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. No one knew what he looked like. Those who had seen him claimed that he always wore a muzzle-like mask to conceal his identity. He was known for being his father’s most prized weapon. They say he never misses, that his aim is and has always been as sure as Eros’ arrows. He was like an evil Cupid.

“The marriage would only be on paper of course, you don’t have to live with him.” Your father explained, seeming desolated, “But you being married to him would make us family, and…” He trailed off, sighing.

But you knew what he meant. Family meant everything in this society. If your family and the rival’s were joined to each other by marriage, all attacks would cease. Because keeping family safe was everyone’s number one priority, even in this line of work.

So this was all up to you now. Your family’s safety, the safety of people who worked with and for your father, all the allies, and friends, and acquaintances. It was a heavy weight to carry.

“I’ll do it.”

Things happened so quickly after that. Phone calls were had, arrangements and deals were made, and by the afternoon, a sheet of paper was brought to you. That’s it. No groom, no fancy shit. Just a piece of paper on which Bucky Barnes had already signed. And with your signature added next to his, you two were now forever husband and wife by law.

It was weird, being married to a man you had never seen before. He was just a name. Granted, a name with immense magnitude in the society, but still just a name. No face to go with it.

By the evening, your things were packed. It was an order by your new husband. He wanted his new bride in his home, and things were so freshly mended that neither you nor your father wanted to argue. So Bucky sent cars and a bunch of his soldiers to escort you to his house. It was not unexpected that he was so absent from all this. Bucky Barnes had a reputation of living in the shadows. He was so rarely seen.

Bucky’s house was not too far from your family home. In fact, the closer you got to your new home, the more you realised that despite everything, you did not mind this as much as you thought you would.

Your husband’s home was this stunning piece of architecture. A lavish Georgian-style mansion. Beige stone, carved details and mouldings around the many windows and main entrance. Dark shingles on the roof, well-manicured lawn, a long driveway giving it a sense of both elegance and exclusivity. The mansion sat on a beautiful, seemingly endless estate. Lush and green. It was a testament to the wealth and the power of its owner.

You were politely led inside the home by one of the many staff members who took care of the house. And the interior was just as breathtaking. Luxurious, with the right amount of vintage accents.

“We did what we could with the limited time we had to prepare a room for you.” The kind lady had said to you. She also mentioned that this room would be entirely yours. Bucky apparently had his own on the other side of the mansion.

You murmured that it was alright, and when she finally showed you to the room they had ready for you, you were pleasantly impressed. The layout, the colour theme, the decor, all of it was to your liking. You even had a personal little balcony which looked over the endless green backyard.

That night you dined alone, which was not a surprise. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes was a busy man, and he was apparently above trivial things like dining with his new wife. But the silence was welcomed. After dinner you found yourself back in your bedroom, and soon in bed with a book.

Well, maybe this was your new life now. Grand mansion with an impressive library. Solo dinners and kind staff members. A giant, dreamy bedroom all for you. Dare you say, it wasn’t too bad.

–

But here you were now, unable to fall back asleep after some mysterious thing woke you up. You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You couldn’t even blame your new surroundings for your inability to sleep. Everything here was so quiet, and comfortable. Even this new bed felt like laying on the fluffiest cloud. Perhaps you could read some more–

You froze when you heard it.

Someone breathing. Someone else’s breaths. A soft exhale, but it was enough to make your heart race in panic. It was the middle of the night. And there was someone in this dark room with you.

Slowly, you tried to reach for the lamp on your bedside table to turn it on, but then you heard a voice say, “Don’t.”

A smooth, relaxed, male voice. Sounding like it came from one corner of the room. It could only be one man, couldn’t it?

“Bucky?” You questioned, for some reasons pulling the covers up to your chin as if he was not a man but a ghost.

A pause, then he said, like he was gently teasing you, “Hello, wife. Can’t sleep?”

You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness better. You strained your eyes until you could see the silhouette of a man in the corner of the room. He was sitting in one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, quiet, still like a marble statue.

There was almost no light coming into the room. The thick curtains allowed very little moonlight in, and it was hard to see. But you couldn’t ignore that large silhouette now that you’d noticed him. Something near him was shiny, almost metal like, you couldn’t tell what it was.

“Do you always lurk around in the shadows like a ghost?” You asked, wondering where the hell you found the confidence to talk to one of the finest hitmen like this. It’s not like he would shoot you if he didn’t like you. A small voice said. Would he?

A chuckle. Deep, and careless. A boyish sound.

“It’s my house,” He responded in that same gentle but teasing tone, “I lurk wherever I please.”

Well, he did have a point there.

“Well then,” You said in a casual tone, “If you’re done lurking and spying on me, I’d like to go back to bed.”

A soft scoff. Then he said, “I’ve watched you toss and turn for the past half an hour. I’d say you’re having trouble turning your brain off.”

Half an hour?!

“Wouldn’t you?” You retorted, keeping your voice calm and steady. “If you were forced to marry someone who’s so mysterious that no one’s ever seen them before, wouldn’t you have some trouble turning your brain off?”

“Ah.” He got up, and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he was approaching the bed, “No one forced you to marry me. A suggestion was made and you agreed to it.”

You replied quickly, “The alternative was watching everyone I love and myself be murdered by you, so semantics.”

Another chuckle as he stopped at the edge of the bed, so close to you. You refused to move. You tilted your head up but could still only see his silhouette. He spoke in that teasing tone again, “They said you were smart, and beautiful. Guess they forgot to mention you were bratty too.”

You frowned. “What?”

Silence. Then he began moving away from your bed and towards the door. “Good night, wife.”

“Good night,” You muttered, slightly annoyed and confused, “Ghost.”

You heard his soft chuckle right as he shut the door behind him and left you all alone again in the dark. You didn’t dare turn the lamp on even after he left.

—

“Is Bucky ever home?”

You asked one of the staff members at breakfast the next morning. The lady smiled at you and answered, “He keeps to himself. We rarely ever know if he’s home or not. He works at odd hours, you see? Besides, our job is to take care of the house. We clean, we make the meals and leave them in the fridge, we get our paychecks each month. Everyone is happy. We don’t pry.”

You nodded, sipping on some tea. “So… are you one of the people who don’t know what he looks like?”

“Oh no. I saw him recently.” She said, smiling.

“How recent?” You asked.

“A couple of months ago. He’s a busy man, he’s rarely ever home.”

Unbelievable.

“Doesn’t it feel like you’re employed by a ghost?”

She smiled again, refilled your cup and said, “Oh, we’re used to Mr. Barnes. Sure, sometimes it feels like the house is way too empty. But look, now you’re here! We get to take proper care of someone for once.”

She was so cheery and kind that you couldn’t help but smile at her words. How on earth did a man that grim manage to have the best staff members in the whole world?

—

The following night, Bucky came to see you again.

You woke up upon hearing the door of your bedroom opening. You sat up again, leaning against the headboard. You didn’t reach for the lamp on your bedside table this time. Instead you said, “Lurking again, I see.”

“Oh yes,” He answered, taking a seat on the same sofa by the dark fireplace. “How was your day, wife?” He asked, as if this was the most normal way to have a conversation.

“Good.” You said, “I spoke with your staff members. They say they barely ever see you at home.”

He sighed, “I barely ever am at home.”

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see it. He was too… intangible. Faceless. There was nothing you knew about him aside from his profession. And not knowing was starting to annoy you.

“Why can’t I see you?” You asked. “I mean it’s not fair. I married you. I’ll eventually see you someday.”

He was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Will you?”

“Well, yes.”

“What for?” There was that teasing tone again. So subtle. But it was there.

Your face burned. “Well… we’re married.” You stated the obvious. “And it won’t be long till our families start asking for, you know, grandbabies.”

“Babies can be made in the dark.” His smooth voice felt like a gentle caress. Like the finest, cool silk sliding over your warm body…

Oh no. You can’t like his voice. Not yet.

“That’s not what I–,” You sighed, “Why are you so against showing your face? Are you ugly?”

He chuckled then. Loudly, if you could see him you’d surely see his shoulders shaking. “You think too much, wife.” He got up again, ready to leave. “Good night.”

You sighed, defeated, and listened to the sounds of him leaving the room. Then almost angrily whispered, “Good night, husband.”

—

“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it?” You asked two of the staff members one morning while they set the table for your breakfast. “That’s why he doesn’t show his face?”

The two ladies chuckled to themselves, and one of them said, “No he isn’t.” She sounded confident too.

“Have you seen his face? Like properly?”

They both nodded.

“And? You don’t find it weird that he doesn’t show his face?” You questioned. “He refuses to let me see him. He only comes to talk to me in the dark. Like some messed up Eros.” You whispered the last part to yourself.

One of the ladies said, gently, “Give him time. He’s not… terrible.”

—

“Your staff speaks highly of you.” You said to him when he came to see you that night. Again, sat in that corner like a ghost whose only purpose was to haunt your bedroom specifically.

“Do they?”

“Yes,” You made yourself comfortable, leaning against the headboard like you had the habit of doing. “Do you pay them to sing your praises?”

He chuckled. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m not some sort of monster?”

You sighed. “If not then why can’t I see you?”

“Not yet.” He said.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He replied, and by the sounds of it, he stood up. Surely ready to leave. “Now, is there anything you need?”

You tried to see if you could tell where he was standing but the room was too dark. However, it seemed like, judging by the sound of footsteps, that he’d gotten closer to the end of your bed. “There’s nothing to do around the house. The ladies take care of everything. I appreciate the library, but…”

He was quiet, like he was thinking. Then said, “I’ll see to it.”

“I’m assuming you won’t let me go back to work in my family’s companies.” You could tell he wouldn’t.

“No,” He said, as expected. “You’re my wife now. I’m well equipped to provide for you and see to your needs for the rest of our lives. But if you have any hobbies, please, indulge away.”

Something about his calm tone made you confess your little secret, “I like to paint. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.”

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Perhaps the dark helped you open up better. Maybe the fact that you didn’t know him made it easier to talk. Like how people tend to prefer texting over calls. Him being so invisible made it so much more effortless.

You continued, “I always wonder what it must be like to have an exhibition of my works.” You chuckled. “I know it sounds vain but… I’ve always wanted to let my mind and soul leak all over canvases, and share it with the world. I think it’s such a brave thing when people do that.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in that teasing tone, “Painting, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of me, ghost.”

He chuckled. “Get some sleep, wife.”

And then he left.

—

The following morning, you woke up to two surprises.

The first one was waiting for you at the breakfast table. You noticed the box on the floor immediately. It was partially opened, and had a note stuck to it.

The note read: ‘Since there’s nothing to do around the house…’ written in a messy handwriting. Surely Bucky’s.

You opened the box and in there, on a folded blanket, was a sleeping, fluffy little puppy. A black lab it seemed. With a pink collar around her neck. You gasped as you gently picked it up and couldn’t resist bringing it up to your face. Puppies always smelt so good.

The little one yawned and let out some cute noises as you held her up to look at her properly. By now the two ladies whom you saw frequently around the house walked up to you and one of them said, “He left something else for you.”

You followed the ladies, new puppy in hand, and they led you to what seemed like a newly built studio. It was in an area of the mansion where you didn’t go very often. And as you walked in, you gasped in surprise for the second time that morning.

It was located on the ground floor. A bright and spacious space. The beige walls felt like a giant blank canvas in itself. The large Georgian windows allowed the perfect amount of light in. And everything in the room was neatly organised. Art supplies, paints, canvases, palettes, easels.

Oh, it was perfect.

The ladies left you to explore on your own, saying something about bringing you breakfast in here. But you were distracted by the bright yellow sticky note on one of the easels. You walked up to it and it read: ‘For your mind and soul to leak all over. Paint me something. I’ll consider it a wedding gift.’

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read and re-read the note left by your mysterious husband. You whispered to your sleeping puppy, “Maybe our ghost isn’t so bad, huh?”

Hours went by.

The ladies brought you and the puppy your meals, a bed for the pup, snacks for you, all while you were busy letting your creativity flow as much as possible.

The first few canvases were horrible according to you. You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in so long so it felt like day one all over again. But gradually, over the next few canvases, you could see what your brain was trying to create.

The blank canvas soon turned into flowy shapes. Curves, facial features, hands. Entwining bodies. Two of them. And the colour purple, lots of it. It didn’t make too much sense at first, but the more you worked on it the more you realised what you were painting.

It was your version of ‘The Abduction of Psyche’. How fitting.

By the time you were done and happy with it, your back was aching from sitting on that stool all day. It was almost time for dinner. The sun had set. The puppy was awake so you held her up to show her the canvas and asked, “You think our ghost will like it?”

She let out the tiniest, softest howl.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

You left to shower and have dinner. Then once it was time for bed you asked one of the staff members, “Does Bucky have some kind of an office?”

She replied saying yes he does, and that she could show you where it was. You grabbed the not yet dry canvas and carefully carried it all the way to where Bucky’s office was. The lady again left you all by yourself to explore.

At first you didn’t want to spend too much time in there. It was Bucky’s space after all. But then you thought, if he was comfortable walking into your bedroom at odd times during the night, why shouldn’t you check out his office?

So you did. You left the canvas where it could dry without any problem and where Bucky would see it upon entering the room. Then you began exploring. The room was not what you were expecting for someone like Bucky. You thought it would be less… old school.

He had a vintage looking typewriter on his desk for gods’ sake. Not one he used of course, but it added layers to his character you thought. Dark wooden furniture, comfortable looking chairs, more bookshelves filled with cloth-bound books. It was… cosy.

So cosy in fact that you grabbed a book and made yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. You’d read for an hour or so then head off to bed, you thought.

But soon, you drifted off to sleep. Right there. In Bucky’s office.

You woke up and felt something soft and fluffy moving around on your lap. You opened your eyes and quickly realised you weren’t in bed. The room was dark. With very little light coming in from the outside. There were no curtains in this room, but also it was situated in an area of the mansion where very little moonlight came in.

Before you could panic though, a voice spoke up from not too far away, “You’ve been busy today, I see.”

Ah, Bucky. And fuck. You’d fallen asleep in his office.

You refused to feel embarrassed. So you asked, “Did you like your wedding gift?”

“Yes.” He replied, and gauging by the sound you could tell he was sitting at his desk, in the darkest corner of the room. “I’ll hang it in my office.”

You smiled in the dark, feeling a little proud of yourself. “And where’s my wedding gift?”

“In your lap.”

Fair.

“What should we name her?” You asked, reaching to caress your puppy who let out an adorable grunt. “Hedone? Donnie, for short?”

He let out a chuckle. “You are really leaning into this whole Eros-Psyche thing, huh?”

You shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just show me your face. But you keep choosing not to, so deal with it.”

A pause. Then he asked, “You like your new studio?”

That made you sit up straighter. “I love it. Thank you.” Then you added, “My family always thought painting was a waste of time. They said it kept my head in the clouds too much. That it was… pointless.”

He was quick to say, “It’s not. Besides, your hobbies don’t have to make sense to anyone else but yourself. And I’ve seen the other canvases you left in the studio. They’re good.”

You turned to face the dark corner he was in. “You think?”

“Yes,” He said. “We can hold an exhibition if you want. Let me know when you’re ready.”

You let out a surprised chuckle. And when he didn’t laugh you realised he was serious. “Bucky, it's not so easy.” You explained calmly. “There’s so much work that goes into it, there needs to be some cohesion to the art pieces. There’s marketing, there’s research, there’s…” You exhaled, “There’s a lot of work to be done. Art exhibitions aren’t as easy or quick as you think it is.”

He replied, “Leave all that to me. Just let me know when you want to hold one.”

Just like that?

“I… okay.”

You felt warm in a way you’d never felt before. No one had ever taken your interests so seriously before. You’d never even been able to discuss this freely about your hobbies. And here Bucky was, ready to listen and interact with it.

You got up to leave because this was… a lot to process. “Well then. Good night, Bucky.”

A soft scoff. “Think I liked it more when you called me a ghost.”

You smiled as you approached the door, puppy in hand and amazed at how well you were able to navigate in the dark. “Night, ghost.”

He gave you a satisfied hum, then, “Good night, wife.”

—

It was bizarre to admit but you’d gotten used to those conversations in the dark with your husband. Days went by quickly given how engrossed you were with painting. Especially with the thought of a potential exhibition now in the back of your mind. Gods, that would be a dream.

And while your days consisted of painting, playing and training your puppy, exploring more and more of the grounds and your new home, making quick trips to the stores to get more supplies, catching up with your friends who were still trying to grasp the fact that you got married so quickly, getting to know the household staff and the guards better, your night consisted of waiting and fighting your sleep until Bucky came to talk to you.

It was always short conversations. Filled with easy banter and teasing tones, sarcastic comments and you asking each and every night if he was in the mood to show his face. Bucky always said no. And you always sent him off with a ‘good night, ghost’.

You had gotten used to your ghost. As had your puppy. She would bark happily each time Bucky would enter your bedroom door at night. She’d run to him for playtime and cuddles as he sat in his dark corner and spoke with you until you fell asleep.

Bucky would often leave you some kind of a note, for you to read in the morning. At the breakfast table, or in your studio. Sometimes he would leave compliments and comments on your dry canvases. Eventually, you stopped fighting the smiles which formed on your face as you read his notes.

But all of it only made you want to see him more. Not that it would change anything. Bucky had quickly become… a friend, you’d say. A confidant if you will. He had become a habit. Part of your routine.

And then one night, he didn’t come to see you.

You waited. He usually came around midnight. It was well past 2 a.m. and he never came.

At some point you went downstairs, pretending as if you just needed some water. One of the guards caught you trying to peek out into the driveway from the kitchen window.

“Boss is not home yet, ma’am.” He said.

You acted like you didn’t care. But still asked, “He does this often?”

“Sometimes.”

You nodded. You took your drink and with your puppy in your arms you walked back upstairs, passing by the many guards who were on duty inside the house at nighttime.

“It’s alright, he’s probably just busy.” You whispered to the sleeping pup as you made your way up. “Or maybe he’s hurt and tending to his wounds somewhere else.” You felt a gentle pinch in your chest at the thought of Bucky hurt and alone out there. So you forced yourself to think of something else. Something way worse. “Or maybe he’s with someone else.” You scoffed, nuzzling the soft fur of your pup, “This marriage means nothing to him anyway. But that’s alright, we don’t need him. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other. Don’t we?”

Safe to say, you went to bed slightly annoyed that night. And in denial too because you refused to admit that you missed him.

–

There was a note waiting for you in your studio the next morning.

It read: ‘No I did not spend the night with someone else. I’ll explain later. See you tonight, wife.’

Huh. Looks like the guards have really good ears.

Well, whatever. It’s not like you were impatiently waiting for night to come just so you could talk to your ghost of a husband. Right?

Except you were though. So much that you couldn’t paint a decent thing. You were easily giving up on each canvas, and leaving a trail of unfinished work the more time went on.

Eventually you sighed and left the studio. You tried reading but that wasn’t happening either. So you did the only thing you knew would take your mind off things. You asked the ladies to show you where everything was kept in the kitchen and you got to baking.

Which you did until it was time for bed. Your mood was off, and it was all because of a faceless man. And that somehow annoyed you even more.

You grabbed a plate of the mini muffins you’d made earlier and made your way upstairs. Your puppy had just gotten used to the stairs so she happily followed you everywhere you went now.

You proceeded to sit in bed, and eat your muffins angrily and forced yourself to try to sleep.

You woke up sometime later. And you just knew who was in the room with you.

Except he wasn’t in his usual spot.

He was standing by the windows which faced your bed this time, with his back to you. The curtains were pulled, the moonlight came and there was his dark silhouette. And… you frowned as you noticed the shiny metal arm.

“You’re home.” You said.

Bucky turned his head to the side, “I am.” He said.

You took a second or two to admire the side profile. With the moonlight shining all around his silhouette he looked like a fallen angel of sorts. “You didn’t come home last night.”

“I was out working,” He said.

“Maiming and killing?”

“You know me so well.”

“Is that a… metal arm?” You questioned.

“It is.”

“Were you hurt?”

“I was.”

You sighed again. “Is it always going to be bland answers and mystery with you?”

“Get used to it.” He said in that teasing tone.

You got out of bed as quietly as you could. “I think I liked you better without the attitude, when you sat in the corner like a ghost.” You took some steps away from the bed, approaching the giant windows. The room was rather spacious so it would take some more steps to get close to him. If you’d only–

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He warned, but remained in the same spot.

You groaned. “Don’t you think this is getting tiring? I mean, I’m married to a man I’ve never seen before. In fact, no one has ever seen you. Why? What are you hiding?” You added, sounding defeated.

Bucky lowered his head, which only accentuated how broad his shoulders really were. He sighed. “Do you know how much trouble could’ve been avoided if only Psyche trusted Eros?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think she had her reasons. A mysterious, faceless lover who only shows up in the dark and hides in the shadows is bound to raise some doubts. Don’t you think so?”

He chuckled. You blinked and he’d turned around to face you. But despite that, you couldn’t see his face at all. Even though he was inches away.

He was quiet. Observing you with interest. The moonlight allowed him to see all of you, and he just… stared for a moment or two. A shiver ran down your back. An unfamiliar, but pleasant shiver.

Without a word said, Bucky reached out and gently touched the thin strap of your silky night dress resting on your shoulder. His metal finger gliding along your skin and making you gasp at his cold touch.

“What’s this?” He asked in his usual teasing tone. “Trying to tempt me with this excuse of a night dress, wife?”

Fuck. Had his voice dropped lower?

Fuck! He was so close to you. You didn’t even notice that your heart had begun racing. Your breaths had deepened. Shit. Why was this so hot?!

“Are you? Tempted?” You asked with a steady voice, without thinking obviously. You just needed to say something so he wouldn’t notice the way you were basically panting after him like a thirsty dog.

He chuckled. But remained quiet.

So you said, “Thought so.” You sounded smug but you were feeling the complete opposite.

Bucky scoffed in that arrogant way he often did. It was insane how easily you were able to pick up on his mannerism when you hadn’t even known him for that long. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to sleep with you?”

Oh.

Oh this was bad. Because now your brain was making up hot, steamy scenes in your head. Scenes involving you and your faceless, mysterious husband in the dark. Entwining bodies on soft bed sheets. Fuck, you should paint that. No, what?

“Then why haven’t you?” You found yourself asking.

Okay then, bold as fuck it is. You’d gone past the point of no return now. Guess it was time for this conversation.

Bucky’s fingers remained on your shoulder, tracing the thin strap there. And you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he asked, “You want me to?” His metal hand dropped to your waist and before you could fully process it, he pulled you closer, leaned in to whisper into your ear, “You want my hands all over you, wife?”

You could feel his slight stubble against your skin as he spoke. His lips brushing against your ear, making you gasp and tremble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders. And oh, he was pulling you even closer. Your chest pressing against his. The cool material of his suit felt amazing against your warm skin.

“Look at you,” He cooed into your ear. “Is this what you want? Hmm?” He placed both his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips moved lower, brushing against your neck as he spoke. “You like how rough my hands feel?” He moved his hands up and down your sides. “Do you know how many people I’ve hurt with these hands?” He chuckled when he heard the tiniest moan leave your mouth. “You’re so soft and warm, aren’t you worried what these hands might do to you?”

He nuzzled your neck, hands roaming all over your sides and back and squeezing your butt. You became so pliant under his touch. Tilting your head back to allow him to kiss all over your neck, pressing your chest more and more against his like you couldn’t get enough. The layers of clothing, you wanted them gone.

With a shaky voice you murmured, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or turn me on.”

He laughed. And it was the best sound you’d ever heard.

“You’re sick in that pretty head, huh?” He teased. “That beautiful brain is filled with filthy, dirty, dark thoughts, isn’t it?” His metal hand reached up and carefully wrapped around your throat.

You gasped as he squeezed just a little bit. Those dirty thoughts he spoke about really started to fill your head.

“Are you just all talk or–,”

He cut you off by dragging you all the way to your bed, still holding you by the throat.

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he gave you a slight push, ending with you falling onto your bed on your back. You looked up at him, hovering above you, his lower body pressing into yours.

“Do you just run that mouth?,” He asked, supporting himself with one hand while the metal one remained wrapped around your throat, his voice low and menacing but in a way that made your legs part on their own so his hips settled in between them. Your bodies fit together like the most perfect puzzle pieces. “Or do you know how to take it like a brat as well?”

You felt the need to let him know then. “I don’t know,” You said, sounding both breathless and bratty. “I’ve never had to take it.”

He paused for a moment. Then asked in subtle surprise, “What do you mean?” Even his grip around your throat loosened completely.

You squirmed in slight embarrassment but that only caused your hips to grind against his and for a moment there both of you let out a strained moan. Fuck. The tension between the two of you was almost physical now. Even in the dark, even with Bucky being nothing more than just a shadow above you.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, still feeling his cold fingers all over your skin, “I’ve never been with anyone before.”

He was quiet. As if thinking. You tried your hardest but you couldn’t see any of his facial features. You knew he had a slight stubble because you’d felt it earlier. But aside from that, you knew nothing. Not even his eye colour.

“You want us to stop?” He asked, shifting his body slightly as if he was ready to pull away if you asked him to.

“No,” You answered way too quickly. Then you got bold again and let your hands find their way back to his shoulders. You pulled him down, closer to you just a little and said, “This is okay.”

His fingers moved up, from your neck to your mouth. “Yeah? You want this, huh?” He mumbled, tracing your mouth with his fingers. You shivered under his touch. “You’ve been a whiny little brat lately, haven’t you, wife? Pouting and all just because I wouldn’t show myself to you.” He whispered, leaning in to just brush his lips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his soft lips rubbing against yours. Bucky chuckled at your reaction. “Don’t think my staff doesn’t report back to me. I’ve been well aware of all the times you asked the ladies to give you details about me.”

Now that made you squirm in embarrassment. Still you said, sounding a little annoyed at being caught. “Can you blame me?”

“Can’t you just trust me?” He argued.

The danger and authority in his tone had your thighs clenching together to try and alleviate the torturous pain in between your legs. You were almost certain you had never been this turned on and annoyed at the same damn time before. You sighed in frustration. “This isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” He said, pulling away and began undressing you to your pleasant surprise. “Deal with it.”

Oh fuck.

Fuck… You had to hold back from whimpering each time his hands rubbed against your skin. He took his time in sliding the straps of your night dress down your shoulders, dragging the silky fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked under him.

You shivered once he left your night dress bunched around your waist carelessly. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air. It was because even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was staring right at you.

You spoke in a hushed voice, not daring to speak loud in fear that it might break whatever spell you were under. “So you get to see me naked all you want, but I can’t see your face?”

He chuckled. “You want me to leave this room right now? Leave you here all wet and squirming? Or do you want me to take care of it and make you come? Huh?”

That shut you up really quickly.

“I thought so.” He sounded smug again when he said that. “I should spank you for the brat you are. But since it’s your first time… I’ll be nice.”

His hands touched you everywhere, your thighs, your stomach, your sides, your chest, your neck… everywhere. He left you gasping and trembling under him.

“Please.” You caught yourself whispering.

Bucky leaned down, his soft mouth brushing against your cheek as he said, “Please what?”

You squirmed, “Touch me, please.”

He chuckled. You felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your naked body. “Look at you,” He murmured, lips brushing against your stomach, “You’re so eager already.”

You heard the faint chuckle which left his mouth the moment he noticed your legs spread apart for him naturally. Your face felt like it was burning but fuck, you were too turned on to even be properly embarrassed. Also, being in complete darkness helped.

Damn. You were really getting intimate with your husband whom you hadn’t even seen yet. And somehow that fact was making you want this even more.

But that mystery stopped being an issue the moment Bucky leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.

He poked at your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than before. Back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan at the foreign feeling. Fuck he felt good. You whimpered as you felt his tongue stroke your most sensitive parts. Your immediate reaction was to pull your hips back from the overwhelmingly good sensation his mouth was causing. And that made him grip your thighs tighter, keeping them pinned to the bed.

“Stop moving.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble.

You whined as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to his mouth. The metal hand on your warm skin made you shiver and tremble so much that you were thankful for the darkness.

The small amount of moonlight which came in allowed you to only see the silhouette of his broad shoulders, and his head moving slowly, sensually in between your legs. Fuck… somehow the mystery only made it hotter.

Oh you were fucked in the head for real.

And oh, Bucky was a fucking tease. Once he noticed how easily you cried out and moaned for him, he slowed down and began kissing around your clit just to purposely mess with you. He kissed your thighs, purposely avoiding touching where he knew you needed him the most. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin around your inner thighs.

“Bucky, please!” You cried out, hand reaching for his hair. When you managed to grab a fistful of his soft hair, you gave it a gentle tug. “Stop teasing me.”

“You don’t get to give me orders, wife.” He said, sounding all proud and mighty. “I could just walk out of here and leave you like this. Naked and squirming.”

“Please,” You begged again. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you.

A scoff. Then he leaned in again. You whined and whimpered under him, with your legs wrapped around his head. Fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp instinctively as he flicked, and sucked, and teasing your clit as much as he could.

“You’ve been a brat because you wanted your husband’s attention so badly, huh?” He taunted. “Is that what you wanted? Just my attention?” He chuckled. “You’re as calm as a happy kitten now, aren’t you?”

His stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and the friction burned a little but it was the kind of pain you kept wanting more of. You wanted more of him.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” You murmured, throwing your head back, moaning as he kept teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

“Come for me, wife.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud.

You couldn’t even hold on for much longer, and ended up coming undone all over his tongue. Heart racing, legs trembling in his grip as you came. Your moans were soft and incessant.

Fuck… that felt amazing.

You had barely gotten your heart to stop racing, and Bucky was already standing up and in the dark you couldn’t see very well but it did look like he was moving away from the bed.

“You’re leaving?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from sounding a little upset at his departure.

All he said was, “Good night, wife. See you tomorrow.”

You scoffed after he shut the door behind him, leaving you in darkness yet again. “Ghost.”

—

That night ended up being the first of many.

Your days consisted of painting, and finally finding a flow in most of your pieces. Perhaps if you’re able to make a decent collection, you could start thinking about the exhibition seriously, you thought. When you weren’t painting you were either training your rapidly growing puppy, or baking. You’d begun taking your puppy out for walks around the mansion, consequently doing some more exploring of the grounds.

After all that, each night you’d get in bed and wait for Bucky. It became part of your routine. And each night with him was different. He’d spend his time touching you slowly until you were purring for him like a kitten. Kissing you all over your body in the dark. Making you come all over his tongue and fingers. Kissing you until you moaned and pulled him closer just to feel his weight pressing down on you.

But he would always leave after making you come. And you two never actually fucked. Neither would he let you make him come.

On nights when he wouldn’t make it home, you’d worry yourself to sleep. But then each morning you’d find a note from him either in your studio or the breakfast table. He would always say some cheesy shit. And he would always promise to come see you later that night.

On nights when you two didn’t engage in anything sexual, it was still just as fulfilling. Bucky would tell you things about his work, his past, his family. You learnt that he was over a decade older than you, and teased him about being an old man until he pinned you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe.

You learnt that he liked to keep to himself and stay as far away from his family as possible. He liked peace and quiet, which would explain his lovely home being here away from most people.

The more you learned about him, the easier it was to grow fond of him. But the more you grew fond of him, the greedier you got. You wanted more. More of his time, his touch, his attention, and most of all, you wanted to see him.

The mystery, while hot as fuck, was killing you.

—

One night, things changed.

Bucky came into your room as usual. He’d gotten bolder lately, he wouldn’t sit in the corner like a ghost anymore, instead he would find his way to your bed and only leave that bed after making you come hard.

Tonight started out the same way.

You felt his hands all over you as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. You giggled as he bit and licked that one sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers had a habit of finding themselves in his hair. It was insane how easily you’d gotten used to being with him in the dark. How easily you could find his mouth with your own. How easily you’d find your way into his arms.

It was weirdly comforting. His warmth, his voice, his touch.

“Tell me about your day,” He murmured, kissing your neck while his hands grabbed you and caressed you wherever he could reach.

You squealed when you felt his metal fingers wandering dangerously close to your clit. Then said, “It went pretty well. I went out to buy some supplies, made a new friend at the store, I went to see my father but he wasn’t home. I took our dog for a walk, I painted…,” You gasped when his mouth trailed down till he took a nipple into his warm mouth, while he slid two fingers inside you gently. “Oh fuck…” You whined.

He kissed his way up to your mouth again and said, “You sound so good when you moan for me, wife.” His lips brushed against yours.

He was so close. And it was dark. And you wanted so desperately to see him.

He moved his fingers expertly in and out of you. Making sure to brush against your most sensitive spots each time, turning you into a whimpering mess under him. He gave you a gentle kiss, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge.

You whimpered and whined, then in the moment you just blurted out, “Can I please see you now?”

Bucky stopped. He pulled away from you, making you whimper again as he got up and got out of your bed.

In the dark it took a while for you to figure out where he was, whether he was still nearby or already making his way out the door. But he was here, standing near the bed.

“We talked about this.” He said, sounding grave and disappointed.

“But it’s been so long.” You argued. “I trust you.”

He let out a loud exhale and said, “Then trust me when I say, it’s better this way.”

You let out a sigh. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Bucky. Literally!”

“Yes I can. I will.” He said arrogantly. That tone of his bothered you. “It’s better this way.” He repeated, but it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself instead of you.

“Oh screw you!” You said with enough bitterness to make a grown man flinch. “If you won’t let me see you then stop coming into my bedroom. I don’t want to see you unless you agree to let go of this weird persona.”

“Fine.”

—

That night was the last time you heard from Bucky.

He didn’t come home the following day. Nor the one after that.

And no one knew where he went.

You could tell something was wrong when you began noticing that the guards were talking in hushed voices whenever you were around. You noticed that the amount of security around the house doubled. That’s when you began to worry.

By the third night, the entire house was filled with this almost tangible tension, worry, and fear. The house staff wouldn’t talk to you as much. The guards were always in and out of the house. The head of security advised you to not wander too far away from the house while you roam the grounds.

You noticed the guards would follow you whenever you left the property. Be it when you left to visit your father at your old house or when you went out to buy supplies.

Then you worried some more. But no one had answers to your questions. Nobody knew where he went. Whether he’s away for an assignment or if he’s simply choosing to be away from home.

You tried your hardest to pretend that you didn’t care. You were still a little angry. After all, why couldn’t you see what he looked like? You’d spend so much time with him in the dark, running your hands all over him, tracing the outline of his facial features, he never had an issue with that. But why couldn’t you see him?

You were angry, but also very much worried by the fourth day. You missed him, you realised. He had become such a habit, such a constant in your days. His sarcastic humour, his gentle hands, his comforting embrace, the way he left you notes in the morning, the way he took your art seriously.

Fuck. You sat up in bed one night, patting ‘his’ side of the bed softly. You missed him. Badly. You felt a pinch inside your chest which you had never felt before. It hurt. You wanted him home. You admitted to yourself with a painful sigh.

“Where are you?” You whispered, looking at the dark corner of your bedroom where he used to sit in silence like a ghost. “It’s okay if you want to stay in the dark forever.” You looked around the dark room which now without him seemed so much bigger and empty, “Just come home.”

—

The next morning, as you half-heartedly approached the kitchen, you overheard something. And quickly realised you shouldn’t have heard it. It was the two ladies talking in hushed tones, the ones who usually served you your meals and often kept you company while you baked.

“...cannot tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.” One of them said gravely.

Sudden panic made your body freeze. You pressed your back against the nearest wall to keep yourself hidden while you processed those cryptic words. No, no, no. Is he hurt? Do they know something you don’t?

The other replied, “But she deserves to know. Even if it’s not confirmed yet. I mean, do you see how she smiles when she reads his notes? Clearly she had grown to care for him. She needs to know.”

The other argued, “I know, but I cannot imagine how hurt she will be when she hears about the rumours that her own father kidnapped her husband due to some past rivalry which was supposedly laid to rest after their wedding.”

“They’ve been looking for him for days now. It’s been too long, he should’ve been found by now.”

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

No. This cannot be happening.

You carefully walked away from the kitchen. Thinking, processing, analysing.

If your father did it, it must’ve been for some shitty, arrogant reason. He probably just wanted to rub it in Bucky’s family’s face that he could still eliminate his biggest threat if he wanted to. To show that he could still get rid of them by holding their most precious weapon hostage. To toy with them by making them wait in anticipation. Your father had done it before. Not with Bucky, but other people. He usually never asked for ransom but he liked having his rivals beg him for mercy.

Shit. He’s had Bucky for days now.

You moved without thinking twice about it. For some reason, your brain knew exactly what to do even though your heart was still bothered by a multitude of emotions. It felt like you were on autopilot.

You rushed into Bucky’s office and grabbed a handgun from his desk drawer, checked if it was loaded. It was. You knew Bucky kept it there for safety, he had told you that one time when you two were in bed together.

You let out a frustrated sigh, then felt movement around your ankles. You looked down at your puppy and gave her a sad smile as you bent down to pet her. “I’m gonna go find daddy, okay? I’ll be home soon.” You left her with a kiss.

You rushed back downstairs and found a group of armed guards in the foyer near the front door. You didn’t have the time to explain it all to them, especially since you were driven by a gut feeling. Instead you asked, “Do you guys have a way of tracking my phone, or my car?”

One of them nodded. The rest frowned in confusion.

You tried to keep your calm as much as you could even though your heart was racing. “Okay, I’m gonna go to my father’s house. Don’t follow me yet, but I need some of you to come find me as soon as I begin driving away from there.”

Surprisingly, they just nodded and let you go.

The whole time you drove to your father’s house, it felt you were constantly having to force yourself to keep calm. After four days of having no idea where he was, and now as all the puzzle pieces fit together, it was hard to remain calm. You just wanted to get to him.

And while you drove, unanswered questions tormented you.

Was he hurt? Where was he being kept? Was he beaten up? Was he even conscious? Would this end badly? How far would your father take this? Would he hurt him?

Before you knew it, you were entering your father’s property. The guards let you in like they always did. You had to take a minute to breathe in your car before stepping out and going inside your old home.

Luckily your father was home.

You walked in and stopped in the middle of the foyer as you saw him making his way down the stairs. He slowed down when he noticed the glare you sent his way. And when he stopped in the middle of the grand staircase, with you still glaring at him, the guards who were scattered around the entrance noticed. You caught the way they silently got closer and closer, slowly reaching for their guns.

Good thing you’d brought your own.

The guards, as well as your father, froze in place the moment you pulled out Bucky’s gun and pointed it at the man responsible for all of this shit. No one made a single sound. No guard moved to even try to disarm you.

You looked at your hand, which was surprisingly steady as it held the gun. And there, on the side of the shiny metal, you spotted Bucky’s initials. Your heart throbbed in a painful way, but you refused to be emotional right now, even though you needed a good cry after having bottled up your feelings for the last few days.

You glared at your father, who was still shocked, and asked in a cold tone you’d never used before, “Where’s my husband?”

Your father frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You repeated, “Where is he?”

Your father scoffed, “You’ll shoot your own father? Is this how I raised you?”

“And you’ll kidnap your own son-in-law? For what? To show that you’re still the shit?” You questioned in a slightly raised voice.

He sighed like he was disappointed, “You don’t know what–,”

You cut him off. “We had a deal, right? That these petty attacks would stop after the wedding? That’s why I got married, isn’t it? Because we’re supposed to keep family safe?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then began talking again, “If I could just get them to–,”

“Enough!” You sounded just as tired of his bullshit as you were. “Whatever plan you have, just stop!” Then it came spilling out of your mouth, “You were supposed to protect me. All of us,” You said, referring to your older siblings, “Instead you married each of us off in exchange for whatever or whoever was going to benefit you more.”

He argued, “If this works, you can come back home. Don’t you want that?”

“No,” You said, and realised you meant it. “This was never home.” You admitted. “He treats me better than my own family ever did. He doesn’t tell me that my art is a waste of time. He doesn’t keep me imprisoned inside his home. He doesn’t choose who I should mingle with and who I shouldn’t. He doesn’t force me to join family businesses because it’ll be good for his image.” You taunted your father. “And he’ll never sell me to the highest bidder.”

Your father made a sound like he was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him?”

You remained quiet. I care for him, you wanted to say, deeply. But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? Truth was… you did fall for him. His calm voice. His gentle but playful demeanour. His dark humour. His brilliant mind and sharp tongue, always ready to argue and debate. His gentle touch… you loved him.

“What I do and who I care for is none of your concern anymore.” You concluded, stepping forward and keeping the gun aimed at his face. “Now, where is my husband?”

The smirk on your father’s face was maddening. “You’ll never find him,” He said. “I’ve hidden him well.” He added.

You gave him a smirk as well. One which mirrored his.

“Oh don’t make me do this.” You cooed. “Did you forget all those times you got drunk and confessed all the bad things you did?” You began listing, “All those times you spilled all your little secrets. About our family businesses, about your allies, the lies and betrayal. The bodies that are buried on this very property. The skeletons in your closet.” You gave him a sick, sweet smile. “Imagine if all that information just magically ends up in the ears of your rivals, dad. Imagine the carnage.”

His smirk disappeared. “You would betray me by siding with them?” He asked in disbelief.

You were getting tired of this. So you lowered your gun and said, “I am one of them.”

You walked out without a single glance back at your father, but you could tell he had his jaws clenched in anger. He hated being outsmarted. But his mistake was underestimating you.

And as for Bucky’s location, well your father gave it away when he said ‘I’ve hidden him well.’

There was only one place he believed you knew nothing about since at the time that he told you about it, he was drunk out of his mind as he confessed more of his crimes: the rundown warehouse which he used as a hideout/storage for weapons and arms.

Your father had always referred to Bucky being a ‘weapon’ so it was only fitting that he would think to hide him there. Thinking no one would find him.

But you would.

As you drove to the warehouse, you hoped that the guards were tracking you as you had instructed them to. Because if Bucky was truly there, there was a high chance that there would be some guards, and that Bucky must be injured. And you’d need help getting him out of there.

Driving to the warehouse, you had silent tears streaming down your face. Not just out of sadness, but also frustration. Fuck, what had your life become?

The warehouse was a disaster, you realised as you approached it. Large, crumbling, windows boarded up with rotting wood, broken machinery scattered around the outside. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. And it was exactly the type of structure no one would bother to look twice at. The perfect place to hide illegal things, and son-in-laws you hate.

There weren’t as many guards as you expected. Which would mean that Bucky was either chained and locked up like an animal, or that he was injured to the point where he was too weak to fight his way out of here.

Or both.

You shivered as you got out of your car. The few guards who were around noticed you and one of them began walking faster towards you the more you got closer to the entrance.

“Miss, you can’t be here. Your father explicitly said no one is allowed–,”

You scoffed and said, “Oh, I know what he said.” You kept walking. “What will you do? Shoot me?”

“Miss,” He tried again, “I can’t let you–,”

You turned towards him and placed the barrel of Bucky’s gun right under the guard’s chin. “You were saying?”

Then you heard it. A fleet of cars approaching. The guards heard it too. You heard them yelling at one another while the one in front of you remained frozen in place. You smirked at him and said, “Now go play with them.”

You had just enough time to duck and run inside before the gunshots began. You didn’t stop. The interior of the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the outside, and by the sound of it, there were quite some guards on the roof. Their heavy footsteps as they ran to duck and try to escape the bullets raining down on them echoed inside the empty warehouse.

It was fairly easy to spot Bucky. But fuck was it painful to see him that way.

He was chained to the wall, shackles around his wrists and ankles. His body slumped on the ground, his breaths ragged. You could tell he was tired. Perhaps tired of fighting against the chains. You couldn’t hold back your soft sob as you ran to him.

They had left his muzzle-like mask on him, covering the lower half of his face. The leather jacket and gloves he wore were covered in blood and dirt. A lot of blood. You knelt down in front of him and that’s when you noticed the bullet wound on his thigh. It looked fresh.

“Bucky?” You called, reaching a hand to touch his face. He was cold to the touch, but stirred at the sound of your voice. “Bucky, come on. Wake up. Please.” You sniffled and inched closer to him, “I’m here, I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?”

He let out a weak cough. You could barely hear it over the sound of the gunshots outside.

“Bucky,” You tried to get the chains and shackles off of him, “Come on, wake up. We need to go home.” Your own voice cracked as you felt the silent tears streaming down your face as you were unable to get the shackles off. “Please,” You begged.

Then as the gunshots outside faded away, you heard Bucky’s faint voice saying, “Use the gun.”

You turned to face him. “What?”

He spoke again, his voice raspier than usual and sounding muffled due to the mask. “Shoot at the chains.”

Your hands trembled just a little as you reached for the gun you had brought. His gun. And you said, “Okay, don’t move.”

You did. And only missed twice.

Breaking the chains left the shackles still around his wrists and ankles but that could be dealt with later. You were panicking, wondering how you’d get him out of here but the guards barged in just in time. And you let out a sigh of relief when they ran straight to Bucky and carefully picked him up.

As a couple of them managed to get Bucky in the backseat of your car, one of them let you know that there was a doctor and his assistants already waiting at home to tend to Bucky. Another one asked you what to do regarding the warehouse.

“Burn it.” You told him. “I’ll deal with my father later, right now we need to get Bucky home.”

On the drive home, Bucky kept trying to talk. But he was so weak he could barely get full sentences out.

“Weren’t you mad at me?” He asked.

You sniffled and said refused to answer that. Instead you said, “Try not to talk. You’ve been shot, we don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” You rambled. “Let’s get you to the doctor, okay?”

“S’okay,” He mumbled, “It went through.”

That only hurt more. “Bucky please, you need to save energy, okay? We’re almost home.”

“They�� shot me with my own gun.” He refused to keep quiet.

At first you thought his brain was being delirious and making him ramble. Because of the pain, exhaustion, thirst, hunger. But then a weak sound left his mouth. Still muffled by the mask because no one removed it, and it sounded a lot like a very weak, faint laugh.

“Eros got pierced by his own arrow after all.” He mumbled.

You held back a sob. Then muttered, “I hate you so much, Bucky Barnes.”

Another weak laugh. “No, you don’t, wife.”

Then he passed out cold.

—

The next few days which followed Bucky’s rescue went by so fast and so painfully. The medical team kept close watch on him for days. Bucky was in and out of consciousness a lot. All the meds and the exhaustion kept him constantly out cold.

The nurses and the house staff were constantly around him. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to go into his room. Not yet. You’d linger near the door and the doctors and the staff would constantly update you about his condition, but you never went in.

Mainly it was because of shame. At what your father had done to him. But also you were still making peace with and processing your own emotions and you couldn’t face him until you were fully ready. What was important was that he was rescued and safe in his home.

About a week later, the medical team finally left. And promised they would do frequent check ups and told you that Bucky needed a lot of rest.

And that night, you managed to find the courage to finally step inside Bucky’s bedroom. It was a lot like yours, just larger. The room was dark when you walked in. But the open curtains allowed some light in from the outside.

Okay. You spoke to yourself as you approached Bucky’s bed. It’s high time you find out who you married.

Your hands shook a little as you reached for the dim lamp on his bedside table. But you turned it on quickly before you could talk yourself out of it.

The golden light illuminated the room partly, and there he was. A little bruised, with a cut on his lip. His handsome face made you smile and tear up at the same time. You couldn’t hold back from reaching to touch his face softly, carefully. You ran your knuckles along his cheek and whispered, “There you are, ghost.”

He stirred. And soon, a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at you. For a moment you panicked, wondering if he would be upset. But instead he said, “This is cheating.”

You let out a soft laugh and asked, “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for days.”

“I feel like beating your father up.” He mumbled.

“Oh, same.” You agreed. Then added, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you.”

Over the past few days, the guards had gathered what had truly happened the day Bucky went missing. Turns out, he did leave for an assignment but your father and his men had been keeping a close eye on him for days, and since the wedding was supposed to have ended all rivalry, Bucky had his guard down as he entered your father’s territory. And your father had the upper hand for once and took advantage of it. Bucky was cornered, outnumbered and taken. He was kept in that warehouse up until you found him.

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered, reaching for your hand on your lap. He gave your hand a soft squeeze and said, “You saved me.”

You couldn’t look away from Bucky. It felt so intimate to finally be able to see his face. Then rather sheepishly, you asked, “Can I sleep here? I’ll be careful.” He was still injured and in pain, but you just wanted to be close to him. You needed to.

He smirked, “Come on.” You walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, keeping some distance between you and him. He turned to look at you and said, “Want me to leave the light on?”

You nodded. And he did.

—

A lot changed after that.

Bucky was healing from his injury and was starting to walk again. Which meant that he was home a lot. He did ‘work’ but it mainly consisted of him ordering people around on the phone.

Him being at home meant that he followed you around as much as he physically could. He would spend time in your studio, sometimes he’d stay for hours and watch you finish your pieces. He also spent a lot more time with your dog, taking her on short walks and teaching her new tricks.

He’d stay with you in the kitchen while you baked. He’d go with you whenever you went shopping for supplies. Bucky became your shadow. And consequently, spending this much together made you feel closer than ever to him.

He became your best friend.

He also became a lot more… bold.

—

One night Bucky found you in his bathroom. After that night when you first slept in his bed, you hadn’t gone back to your bedroom. So now, most of your things slowly found their way into his space. Like your night time skin care products.

Bucky crept up behind you and wrapped his arms around you.

You met his eyes through the mirror and gave him a smile. “Your limp is nearly gone.” You announced, noticing the way he walked was so much better now.

He gave you a look which meant nothing but mischief, “And you know what that means?”

You could already tell where this was going. You immediately turned him down. “Bucky, we cannot. You’re still injured.”

“But it’s been weeks.” He said it like it was the ultimate torture. “Don’t you miss those nights we spent together? Hmm?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck. He knew it was one of your weaknesses. “Remember how good it feels when I make you come?”

You sighed, letting him kiss you and hold you for a moment. “Buck… you’re still healing.”

“Come on, baby,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll make it so good. I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

You almost gave in the moment he playfully bit your neck, his hands finding the belt of your robe and shamelessly undoing it before sliding in to touch your warm skin. “But,” You tried to find something even though all you wanted was to drag him to bed, “Your stitches…” Your words ended in a soft moan as his metal fingers found their way in between your legs, circling around your clit.

Bucky growled. Growled. Then said, “Fine, you get to be on top then.”

You froze, and let out a nervous chuckle. “But I…,” You opened your eyes and met his through the mirror. “I–,”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He reassured you, remembering the time you told him you’d never done anything with anyone before. “I know.” He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.”

And he did. Patiently.

He took his time in undressing both of you and held your hand in his as he laid down and pulled you on top of him.

“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” You murmured.

He gave you a reassuring smile. “You won’t, baby. Now come on.”

He watched as you carefully straddled him, settling comfortably around his waist. One hand holding his metal one tightly while the other remained splayed over his chest.

Bucky looked up at you with nothing but adoration and lust as he tugged on your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned down gently and pressed your mouth to his. His warm hand immediately rubbed up and down your side lovingly. He pulled away just a little and whispered against your mouth, “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?”

You nodded, already breathless.

“Tell me, baby. What do you want?”

You told him the one thing you desperately wanted. “I want to touch you.”

Bucky smirked and supported his upper body up on his elbows, with you still straddling his waist, your core pressing down on his crotch. “Go on then, touch me.” He murmured.

He watched you intently as you reached out and touched his face first. Bucky’s heart was racing, you could tell by the way he breathed, as your finger slowly trailed down his face, along his neck and down till his abs, so slowly that you could feel his muscles tensing underneath your touch.

You gave him a teasing smile when you noticed the effect you have on him, and how he couldn’t help but stare at your naked body.

“Don’t tease me,” He mumbled.

You chuckled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before hesitantly wrapping your hand around his cock. Part of the reason why you kissed him while doing it was because you were worried about your lack of experience, so you did it to distract him.

But he caught it. And wrapped his own hand around yours, making you grip him tighter. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his pretty eyes. Bucky was breathing heavily. You let his hand guide you as you gave him an experimental stroke, a gentle up and down movement.

He felt thick and hard, and big. You looked down for a quick minute as you let him continue guiding your hand, lazily stroking his cock, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you looked back up at him and kissed your way down his neck, around the base of his throat, making him gasp in pleasure.

“See?” He whispered, “You’re learning already.” He said as he slowly let go of your hand and let you touch him on your own.

You continued exploring this new feeling. He was completely fine with just being there and letting you take your time. And you did take your time, touching him everywhere you could, stroking him as slowly or as quickly as you wanted to. Until he was so close to the edge, eyes rolled to the back of his head, lips parted and occasional moans escaping his open mouth as pre cum started dripping down his cock.

Oh he was a sight to behold. But you were getting impatient, and you wanted him in you as soon as possible. So you stopped, earning a groan from him.

“I want you,” You said.

Bucky looked like he was barely able to hold back either. “Come on,” He held your hand again, pulled you in for a quick kiss as you straddled him properly. His hand reached down and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole, teasing you with it by sliding it up and down your slit a few times until you were whimpering. “Now sit on it baby come on,” He encouraged you as you began sinking down on him, gasping as his cock stretched you out. “You can do it.” He murmured, breathless as he watched his cock disappear inside you more and more. “That's it. All the way down, come on baby.”

You were a moaning mess by the time you sunk all the way down, impaling yourself down on his cock. Fuck. You had never felt so full before. So fucking full.

“You okay, baby?” He asked, holding you by your hips, moving you back and forth just a little bit to create some friction.

You nodded, moaning at the slight movement.

“Want me to help you move?” He asked, lips parted and he had that wild look in his eyes.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

“Yes, please,” You whined, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself for what was coming.

He wasted no time. Bucky grabbed you by the hips and helped you move up and down his cock. Your wet warmth wrapped all around him, making him swear under his breath and groan at how good you felt.

You couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes while you rocked your hips against his. You moved against him perfectly, your walls gripping him tightly and feeling him twitch inside you.

“Look at you.” He cooed. “Look how well you're taking it.”

You couldn’t help but lean in to kiss his open mouth. He was so perfect. He was everything you had ever dreamt of, you realised.

His metal fingers moved to touch your clit while you rode his cock, teasing you and bringing you closer to that edge. It wouldn’t take much. You were so overwhelmed already.

“Bucky…” You whined, dragging your hands down and pressing both your palms against his toned abdomen, carefully avoiding touching him around his thigh area, where he was shot.

Bucky watched you, your breasts bouncing gently, lips parted, softly gasping as you got so, so close to the edge.

And he knew. So he quickened his pace, still moving you up and down his cock while he rubbed your throbbing clit.

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to come for me, okay?” His voice was low, barely even a whisper. His desperation was quite clear. He began to thrust his hips up even harder, matching your movements.

The air around you got hotter, and that look in his eyes made you want to live in this moment forever. Bucky was the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen. A sweaty, moaning mess under you, messy hair, swollen lips, and a throbbing cock.

You were sure you looked like a mess too as you felt your walls clench around him, gripping him and milking him perfectly.

“Come for me,” He whispered, “Come on, baby.”

You came without a warning, crying out loud and impaling yourself down on him one last time as you did. Bucky thrust up into you one last time and came undone as well, both of you breathing hard and fast.

You carefully got up from his lap and laid down beside him, body limp and slightly sore in between your legs.

You were still catching your breath as you asked, “Did I hurt you?” You sounded just as worried as you were.

Bucky chuckled. “I should be the one asking you that.”

You smiled and snuggled into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer.

“I’m fine, baby.” He said and kissed your forehead.

You both laid there in silence for a while.

Cuddling and relishing each other’s warmth, caressing each other’s skin.

You felt his fingers drawing random shapes on your back as you laid your head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeats against your cheek. You felt the need to ask him, “Why were you so against showing yourself to me?”

He gave you a soft chuckle. “You just can’t let that go, huh?”

“Nope.”

He sighed, pulling you closer. “I was… afraid.”

You frowned. “Afraid of what?” You pulled away and looked up at him. “Why did you hide this pretty face from me?” You gave him a quick kiss on his chest as you waited for his answer.

He sighed again. “Everywhere I go, I… whenever people see me up close, it’s already too late. They don’t see a human anymore, they see death staring back at them.” He paused. You remained quiet. He continued. “I see it, you know? In their eyes. When they look at me and plead, or beg, or curse me.” A humourless laugh, then, “After some years of that, I began seeing it in the mirror as well. I saw the same thing they see. After years of brutality, and killing, and spilling blood,” A soft chuckle, “Years of being an evil Eros as you call it, I grew to hate my face.”

You felt tears forming at your waterline but you couldn’t look away from him. Not when he was being so brave and vulnerable.

He continued. “And then before our wedding, I looked you up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “And you were so beautiful.” He looked you right in the eyes and repeated, “You are so beautiful. I guess, I didn’t want you to look at me and see death, and ugly and all the other dark stuff. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the same one I see in everyone. That look of fear and disgust.” He finally admitted, “So I thought, I’d just hide and be a ghost.”

“My ghost.” You corrected him, reaching out to cup his chin in your palm. “And I’m gonna need you to never stop haunting me.” You said, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “I want you to always be in the shadows. Be with me, even in the dark.” You gave him a smile. “I look at you now and you know what I see? I see a man who treated me with respect. A man who wouldn’t touch me unless I asked for it. A man who gave me so much space for my creativity.” A faint smile, then you added, “You made me fall in love with art all over again, and now everything I paint, I paint with you in my mind.”

He gave you a smile which both broke and mended your heart.

“Oh Buck,” You cupped his gorgeous face with both hands and said, “You’re not death, or scary, or any other dark shit. You’re mine, and I love you.”

He pulled you in for a kiss so quickly you barely processed it. “And I love you.”

You giggled into the kiss and only pulled away when you were breathless. You kissed your way down his chin and nuzzled his neck, sighing in delight.

Bucky said, “I think I should retire.”

“Hmm,” You asked, “And what would you do in retirement?”

“Watch you paint, raise our dog, adopt some more animals, attend your art exhibitions, and eventually make some babies with you.” He listed it all so easily.

“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed.

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #fic rec #bucky barnes fic rec #my heart is melting #i love them so much

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eviesaurusrex · 4 days ago

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ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴡɪꜱᴇʟʏ | ʙ. ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: 5 incidents in which Bucky gets proven how lucky he is to have found you.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MDNI, fluff, mobster typical themes, illusions to violence, more fluff, cursing, talks of marriage, starting a family etc., pregnancy, phantom pain, allusions to smutty time, slight dirty talk, my Google Translator skills for all things Russian, children, not perfetly proof-read

author’s note: Am I in my mobster era now? (Please don't try to strangle me when I butchered the Russian parts. I had only Google Translator as my trusty helper ;_; Dividers are made by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics!

Russian translations:

малышка (malyshka)—baby

милая (milaya)—darling

“Every day I wake up next to you, I pray to the gods and thank them for the love you give me. Every day I spend with you is more than I deserve. Every day I call myself lucky that you love me back, my dear. I love you more than anything in the world, more than the world, more than life itself. You are my everything. Thank you for making me the happiest man on this planet.”

“Should I stop telling you how good you feel around me? How good you take me? How perfect you look, all filled up with my cock and already pregnant with my baby?”

Привет, папочка (Privet, papochka)—Hello daddy

Привет, солнышко (Privet, solnyshko)—Hello sunshine

The first incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes—fearsome crime lord, bratva leader, king of New York City’s underworld—found himself in the aftermath of a crossfire after a deal gone south. His doctor had just arrived to check out the gunshot wounds littering his arm and shoulder, and in his opinion, everyone made too much of a fuss about it.

He was fine. He made it out with barely any scratches.

“Nine gunshots, only one bullet I have to remove. This is a new record, Mr. Barnes.”

… a few scratches; he had to give him that.

On the other hand, his entire left arm had been reduced to nothing but a pile of scrap metal, so perhaps Bucky had been hit rather badly if he took that into account. He wouldn’t because he had to be okay, invincible even. The world he was born into was a cruel one that reprimanded one’s weakness with downfall and despair, and he had to uphold the legacy that had been bestowed upon him the moment his father took his last dying breath in the same car crash that had taken his arm. He had people to protect—his associates, partners, workers, everyone that he considered friends or even family.

Topped by only one person, one woman, who sat above them all on a throne he had created for her right next to his. Not beneath him, not a step below—right fucking next to him.

Speaking of which… The commotion outside their bedroom sounded a lot like the whirlwind he deemed to be the love of his existence, and cursing above his breath, his eyes moved a second from the slightly opened door toward the doctor holding the single bullet between a pair of forceps.

“Don’t you dare step in my way.”

Her voice rushed like opium through his veins, making the mobster forget about the burning pain of holes inside his body.

“I can’t let you in there. Not now. The doctor is with him, you don’t want to see that,” Steve’s voice echoed through the hallway, probably stacked with high-towering security men. Just as high-towering as the blond was, and still, his girl did not show fear. No, not her. Never her.

A scoff was heard, and the physician beside him chuckled under his breath as he started to clean the wounds meticulously. Even Bucky showed a rare hint of emotion around other people than her when a grin parted his lips for a moment. “You’re his second. He is his doctor. I am his girlfriend. Think again if you want to continue standing in my way, Steve. I’m not above using brute force to get to him.”

Hearing that from a woman stopping not even close to all their eye levels would be laughable with any other person, but her? Everyone knew she would move heaven and hell in order to get wherever he was. He had learned this the hard way and would never dare leave her behind again, not when she demanded to tag along.

She really is a wonder.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he had spoken those words out loud, his mind starting to struggle with the blood loss and pain seeping deeper than necessary into him.

Shuffling before the door made the brunet open his eyes again. “Fucking hell, woman…” The hardwood door opened, and he could see the woman ruling his world without even starting to grasp the extent of her power over him, turning toward his second in command. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers,” she spoke sweetly before she finally turned, her eyes immediately finding him on their shared bed.

Worry creased her forehead, brows deeply furrowed, eyes jumping from his shoulder to his injured arm, then right to the one missing. Without another heartbeat, she rushed through the grand but still cozy room, showcasing her taste because Bucky had let her redecorate this entire fucking house as soon as she had agreed to move in with him—after much persuasion on his part. He wouldn’t have given a fuck if she would’ve decided to paint every single wall a screaming yellow if it would’ve made her happy.

“Hey, милая.” His raspy voice from all the shouting broke a bit at the signature endearment for her, and he wished to reach a hand out to her, but the lack of his arm was jarringly apparent. So all he could do was watch her carefully settling down onto her side of the bed, scooting over the mattress, a warm, soft hand cupping his cheek while the pad of her thumb started to caress his cheekbone. “Hey, love,” she returned the greeting with a smile, worried gaze flicking to Dr. Strange. “How bad is it? And don’t you dare try to sugarcoat me like Sam bloody tried on our way here. I do possess eyes, you see that, right?”

Dr. Strange nodded while preparing the stitching material. “I have removed one bullet from his shoulder. Nine shots in total. I’ve cleaned them and will stitch them as soon as the anesthetic takes effect.” Bucky could see her nodding at the doctor’s explanation and tried to nuzzle closer into the palm of her hand. “Milaya?” She finally looked down on him. “I’m okay, ‘promise. They busted m’arm, though.”

His words turned slurred, slowly but steadily, and he focused on her soft smile that was always entirely reserved for him and baby kittens. He could live with that sort of competition.

“We will talk later, but I promise I’ll take a look at your arm, and in case there isn’t anything left to save, I’ll make you a new one, James.” She pressed a gentle, loving kiss to his sweat-covered forehead. “Now relax, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Her voice echoed in his ears when the drugs finally kicked in, clinging to the sound of her.

Yes, he had been smart enough to ignore his stupid rule of not letting anyone get closer than necessary. She proved him right every damn time.

The second incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was on a regular day in December. Snow fell softly outside the grand brownstone they had chosen to spend the holidays at rather than the house outside the city. His girl had wanted to finally spend Christmas in the buzzing city again, and he had ordered their things packed and moved within a blink of an eye.

Now, everyone enjoyed their little piece of heaven surrounded by their families. Yelena and Natasha had returned to Russia for the holidays, Steve spent time with his own wife, while Sam had decided to go south to see his parents and check in with a few associates while he was already there.

Meanwhile, the feared bratva mobster, leader of the darkest pits of New York’s underworld, watched his girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée add a few more pieces they had picked up at Tiffany’s today to their Christmas tree, humming to the soft tunes of an old record wafting through the living room. His blue eyes, usually so menacing and threatening, rested with a loving expression on the woman he had sworn to protect with his life, one arm thrown over the back of the comfy couch he had spent a fortune on—but his queen fell in love with it at first sight and couldn’t find anything better suiting. Not that she had to. The shining black Centurion Card had been pulled out of the inside pocket of his black suit jacket the second Bucky had seen that look on her face.

He would buy her anything in this world, spoiling her rotten until she’d drown in pretty things.

“I think we need more lights,” she stated in a mumble, almost to herself, before turning toward him. “Don’t we? We need more lights, yes.” And so it was decided, and he smiled at her turning back when she started to roam through the red holiday box to find the last remaining string of colorful fairy lights. “No, wait.” Lifting a dark brow, the man watched her reach for the small package he had eyed since they’ve returned instead, all wrapped prettily and neatly.

Scooting across the soft carpet toward where he sat, his girl smiled up at him, holding the small present out to him before folding her hands over his muscular thigh, waiting patiently. “It’s not your Christmas present, but I saw it and… and I needed to do this. To have something for our tree.”

Their first real tree as a couple. The past three years, they had been too busy during the holiday season, barely being at home, not to mention the little time they would’ve had to go out, find a tree, and decorate it, so it would be appreciated as it deserved. This year, however, Bucky craved the comforts of their home, and he wanted to start collecting memories like this.

He bent over to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, hand cupping her cheek tenderly, the little gift almost vanishing in the vastness of his hands. “Thank you, моя милая.” How in all the hells had he become so lucky in finding this woman who now grinned up at him with unabashed happiness? “Open it! Open it already!” And he obliged, feeling giddy himself as she almost bounced on her knees, unwrapping the small box and opening the lid to reveal a perfectly crafted snowflake ornament, a picture of them together in Central Park during the worst snowstorm the city had witnessed in over a decade placed inside the clear crystal. Their smiling faces, almost hidden behind scarves and beanies, angled to one another, her lips pressing a snow-filled kiss to the corner of his smiling lips.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

Gods be damned, but in that moment, when his eyes found hers again, he felt the overwhelming urge to drop down on his knees and ask for a lifetime together. But he wouldn’t. He had it all planned out, and he used to stick to his plans. He was patient beyond compare, but not when it involved this woman before him. So instead of caving to this sensation, Bucky carefully placed the crystal snowflake onto the coffee table in front of him and pulled his girl up into his lap in one smooth motion, wrapping her in his strong arms, fingers—both flesh and metal—tangling in soft strands of hair or gripping the soft black fabric of the hoodie she wore which once belonged to him.

“Каждый день я просыпаюсь рядом с тобой, молюсь богам и благодарю их за любовь, которую ты мне даришь. Каждый день, который я провожу с тобой, больше, чем я заслуживаю. Каждый день я называю себя счастливчиком, что ты любишь меня в ответ, моя дорогая. Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете, больше мира, больше самой жизни. Ты — мое все. Спасибо, что сделал меня самым счастливым человеком на этой планете, малышка,” Bucky rasped in Russian with his forehead pressed to hers and eyes intimately locked, watching the shy smile he loved so dearly spreading on her lips and making her eyes twinkle.

“I don’t know if you have insulted me just now, proclaimed your undying love for humble me, or started the dirty talk earlier than usual, but either way, I don’t mind.” Her fingers wrapped around his chin to pull his face closer to hers, lips touching when she added in a breathless whisper, “It sounded hot, so keep talking dirty to me, love.”

Giggling, his girl accepted the tender kisses of chapped lips to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. He felt the uncomfortable pull on his skin again when Bucky smiled at her, his split lip still not entirely healed after a punch he couldn’t dodge in time. Under her care, it will have vanished until next week when the photographer planned to take a few pictures for their first Christmas postcards.

Bucky still struggled to grasp how his life had turned in that particular manner. He never thought he’d be one for domesticity and familiar bliss, but with her?

He was all in.

The third incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes, invincible mob boss, returned home in the dead of night in a frantic temper, his entourage strolling behind him, accepting his orders with grave faces and solemn nods.

“Don’t let him out of your fucking sight. Track him as soon as he leaves his godforsaken home, track him inside his own walls, hell, track when he takes a piss. I don’t fucking care!” His booming voice echoed through the foyer, and with another deep growl, he handed his weapons to Sam; two remained in the holster, hugging his broad shoulders. He wouldn’t take them off, not until the threat was decimated under his foot. “We’ll do a 24/7 surveillance on him, boss. He won’t come near her,” Steve promised, knowing damn well what would happen to all of their heads if they couldn’t protect her.

Bucky bared his teeth in disgust. “You better not fuck this up, Steve.” This would be his first and only warning, and the blond knew that, so he nodded and retreated into his office, knowing damn well that sleep would be nothing but a pleasant memory for a while—he wouldn’t be alone, though. Everyone knew how their boss got when his queen was threatened by others. Those threats had already started to grow in numbers as soon as the underworld learned of their engagement, and outsiders trying everything to get in and on good graces with certain families smelled a quick victory.

How wrong they were in those foolish assumptions.

Sam watched his boss almost anxiously while he desperately tried to cool off, fists pressed against the pretty surface of a pretty sideboard she had most definitely chosen.

“I will kill him. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

At Bucky’s deep rumble, Sam could only hum in agreement. He would be right at his back, killing all who wanted to harm anyone he cared for, especially those inside this building.

“I could reach out to our associates in Louisiana, get some more backup and gunpower. There’s this kid who’s a marvel with tech. Maybe he can come up with a discreet solution for the in-house surveillance,” Sam suggested, knowing damn well how excited Parker would be when he finally allowed him to tag along, currently bored out of his brilliant mind at college. Bucky looked up and over his shoulder, icy blue eyes resting on one of his best men—and friend. But the creaking above their heads let him pause in his answer, and both men stared up the stairs, knowing who eavesdropped at the railing.

Bucky sighed deeply. “We need to work on your stealth skills, малышка,” he spoke up and waited for her steps to pick up and for her to shuffle down the stairs. She did in a pair of cozy yoga pants, a large hoodie hanging on her form—the one he had worn before changing into his suit this morning—and fluffy socks with reindeer and candy canes printed all over them, her hair wrapped in a messy bun on the top of her head, strands framing her face. In her arms throned a king amongst pets, and white fur littered the soft fabric of his hoodie where she held Alpine close to her chest.

His heart ached at the sight of her in the best possible way.

Her eyes wide with worry—not for herself, but for him and all his men—jumped between Sam and himself as she reached the second to last step and waited there.

“I didn’t mean to, but… I heard voices and thought you’d come home, but then I heard everyone talking and it was kind of too late to go back to bed anyway, so I figured I could… learn a bit.” Bucky started softly shaking his head, his outgrowing hair tickling his cheeks. “You meant eavesdropping, малышка. That’s the word you’re looking for here,” he deadpanned, and one corner of his mouth slightly lifted at the sound of her quiet laugh, her fingers comfortingly petting the white fluff ball currently purring at the attention and headbutting her hand for more.

With another sigh, he stepped up to the stairs, raising his gaze to his all-ruling queen, and he felt the tension in his shoulders slightly disappear when her hand came up to his neck and rested there comfortingly, fingers playing with the soft strands of his dark hair. “I’ll be alright, James,” she whispered, and he wasn’t sure how she could say that with such certainty when not even he felt so sure. “We’ll be alright, I just know it. Nothing and no one will keep me from you, from becoming your wife and living a very happy life with the man I love more than anything in this world, giving him the cutest fur babies and children the world has ever seen.” Bucky sucked in a breath, and after gently putting down Alpine, he pulled his soon-to-be wife in a bone-crushing hug, wrapping her legs around his hips with ease. “We will live until we turn old and grey and can look back at all the memories we made along the way, annoying our children and grandkids with endless, embarrassing stories,” she continued to whisper against the soft, tattooed skin of his neck and yes, he could see all that and more, too.

It was easy with her to picture this picture-perfect life—and he would do anything to make it a reality. He wouldn’t stop at murder and anarchy, not when it came to her.

So when he slightly turned to Sam with his woman in his arms, ready to put her back to bed, he only needed to mouth the words, and it was done.

Do it.

The fourth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was during one of those forsaken nights.

He woke with a startle and a groan escaping him involuntarily, the dark bedroom embracing him, a soft, warm body tucked into the expanse of his back, slow breathing fanning across his heated skin. His hand shot up with another groan leaving him, cupping the stump where once had been an arm, feeling the same agonizing pain he had felt in that car all those years ago, almost bleeding to death after a rivaling family had tried to kill them all off.

Unfortunately, he had survived—and the revenge had been brutal the moment he had recovered enough to go on a killing spree.

Trying to breathe through the crashing sensations, Bucky tried to move as quietly and carefully as possible, not wanting to wake the woman sleeping peacefully beside him because she needed all the rest she could humanely get. But the pain was blinding, the feeling of warm blood flowing down his skin so real, he could’ve sworn there was still an arm to lose, and his fucking legs were still tangled in the damn blanket!

With a frustrated huff, the mobster tried to just roll out of bed in a desperate attempt, not minding falling face-first to the floor, but the blanket didn’t budge, and suddenly, an arm snaked across his waist, and a warm hand rested on his muscular abdomen.

“D’not go…”

The sleepy mumble pierced through the agony, and usually, Bucky always obliged to his wife’s every demand, but not now. Not this time. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t crumble in front of her. She needed him to be strong and capable. He had to protect her and the little plum. He couldn’t show weakness, not even in the comforts of their own home. Word would get out, the pit of New York City would smell blood, they would come and kill her in front of his very eyes, make him watch when the life would vanish from her breathtaking eyes, taunting him, before they would end his life as well, releasing him into the bliss of afterlife where he would search for her, and—….

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

Her voice, now sounding more awake and aware, startled and pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he could feel the mattress dip and move when she sat up and scooted closer to him. “Hey…” A soothing hand started to rub over his back. “Talk to me, love. C’mon, handsome, I can only help when I know what’s bothering you to such an unholy hour.” Her teasing made him almost smile—almost. But the pain returned in full force, and his hand gripped his shoulder even tighter.

“Phantom pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle, malyshka. Go back to sleep, you need it,” he rumbled quietly, his legs finally escaping the trap that was their blanket, and the man sat up, feet hitting the floor. He attempted to get up in order to leave her to the quietness of their room, but his wife had nothing the like on her mind. She held him back and scooted off the bed. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” Blinking into the dim light of her bedside table, he reached for her and tried to get up. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Go back to—”

She shushed him gently and pressed a finger to his lips. “I said Stay. I mean it.” With that, his woman granted him a serious glance before she patted into the adjacent bathroom, one hand cradling her already quite prominent bump, and all Bucky could hear was rummaging sounds in their cabinets and a quiet mumbling.

“Your papa is a handful sometimes, little one. Prepare yourself because I need you in my corner, okay? Okay.”

Smiling through the irritating pain, the mobster waited for her to return and watched her closely when she finally left the bathroom and patted back to their bed, a bottle of lotion in her hand. “You think you need the mirror, love?” Bucky glanced at the full-length mirror in their walk-in closet shrouded in darkness and decided with a soft shake of his head. “Maybe later if it’s not getting any better,” he mumbled in defeat, accepting the loving kisses pressed to his right temple and lips. “Just let me know, yeah?” He nodded at her request, and blue eyes watched her like a hawk when she settled right next to him, on the side of his missing arm, a squirt of lotion already between her soft hands warming it up.

“I told you to wake me up if it’s happening again,” his wife scolded him quietly, her incredible hands massaging the hurting stump of his shoulder. At first, it hurt like hell, but the more she kneaded and caressed, the more bearable it got. “You need your rest, milaya,” he returned with a lingering glance down her form, eyes equally heavy with worry and love when they settled on the little bump he had grown to love so dearly, it almost hurt.

Bucky felt her eyes on him in return and opened his arm when she stopped what she was doing to climb into his inviting lap, straddling him comfortably. Taking his hand into hers, she pushed the warm skin of her husband under his shirt she wore to sleep and placed his palm right on top of the soft curve before continuing.

“Not more than you need it, too. You’re running the mob empire, not me.” Her voice reminded him softly, and he let his forehead fall onto her shoulder, eyes closed, thumb caressing the warm skin of her bump, hoping, praying, he would feel something, anything. But according to all the books he had read so far, it would take a few more weeks until he could feel the slight movements their child did inside his wife. “And you’re growing a whole fucking human,” Bucky returned and got shushed again. “Watch your language, Barnes. I don’t want their first word to be anything obscene.”

But she couldn’t fool him. He heard her smile in the scolding.

A comfortable silence settled between them, then, reminding Bucky yet again why he had felt so good around her the second she had walked into that room in the hospital, only raising a brow at the sight of six buffed men clad in black suits, armed with more guns than one human could possibly need, and him sitting in the middle of it all—disheveled, still hurting, ice cold. She had smiled, wearing those ridiculous blue scrubs, and he had spotted a splash of blood on her light grey sneakers when she had come closer, pointing it out in almost something resembling disgust. Still, she only had rolled her pretty eyes at the pitiful attempt of an insult.

She hadn’t given a single fuck about those intimidating men—including him—all towering multiple heads above her, tattooed, guns always visible, the rough Russian language floating through the room occasionally. And he had respected her for that, even though he didn’t bother to be nice at first. In hindsight, Bucky would’ve earned a beating from his mother if she had been still alive. She had raised him better than treating a beautiful, kind, intelligent, and compassionate woman like he had initially treated her. But after a while, Bucky had felt how she had snaked her way into his thoughts, catching himself repeatedly thinking about her over the course of his day, starting to anticipate the next appointment to get his prosthetic measured, built, and adjusted, always looking forward to seeing her face.

She hadn’t given a flying fuck either when he finally revealed who he was and what he did, only cocking her head to the side in question and asking him, “Will you or one of your guys kill me after our time is over?” And when he had shook his head, denying those thoughts, she had smiled brightly, before turning back to the prosthetic arm she had crafted for him. “Then we don’t have a problem. Everyone has to earn their money somehow, James.” That was also the first time anyone had called him by that name since his parents had died, and he had fallen for her right then and there, ready to kneel at her feet and surer as hell that he would make her his queen.

“Don’t count on that, malyshka. Everyone around here is using filthy language, and do I need to remind you of certain… situations where the little plum currently has to listen in? Or do you want me to stop? Мне перестать говорить тебе, как хорошо ты себя чувствуешь рядом со мной? Как хорошо ты меня принимаешь? Как идеально ты выглядишь, вся заполненная моим членом и уже беременная моим ребенком?” He felt the pain slowly but steadily subside under her knowing and well-versed hands, feeling them stop in their magic as the huskily whispered Russian words flowed effortlessly over his lips, feeling her squirm in his lap.

Leaning slightly back in order to have a better look at his face, his wife bit her lower lip, making now the feared bratva leader squirm underneath her, his hand protectively pressed into her lower back, not daring to let her fall off of him. “You are a very evil man, James Barnes,” she hummed with almost a purring edge to her voice, making him grin as cocky as possible. “You married the worst of the bunch, malyshka—and you like it. You can’t hide it, not from me, never from me. Not when I’m balls-deep it that deliciously tight…—” Her lips pressing against his made him moan deep in his throat and stop taking altogether. Forgotten was the pain of the past. It still bothered him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but her scent, her taste, the feeling of his wife against him made him forget about it.

The past was the past, and now, only the present and the future held importance to him.

Lifting her with one arm with ease, the mobster carefully moved her to the middle of their bed, hovering above her and watching her pretty face with a loving gaze. “You’re my everything,” he dared to whisper. “You both are.” He felt her hands cupping his face tenderly as if he wasn’t the killer everyone feared across the East Coast as if he was something precious even though he was broken beyond repair. “And you are ours, Bucky.” She kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his lips, and his left shoulder without disgust, without apprehension, but with deeply felt love.

As if he was perfect the way he was.

The fifth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was after a business trip to Sicily that had taken too long for his liking, even though the business was good and the newly knitted connections invaluable. But it had made him leave his family for far too long than humanly tolerable, not even the many FaceTime calls had eased the sting in his heart.

“Make sure Enzo receives the gift for his wife and put a little something for him inside as well. Perhaps the Yamazaki Single Malt?” The 55-year-old whisky sure would make a fine gift for the young leader of the Sicilian Mafia, remembering an evening here and there when both men had shared a glass of scotch.

Steve walked beside him as they left the car and made their way over the sidewalk and behind the gate of the old brownstone in the best area in New York City. The cherry trees along the road were in full bloom, and the spring breeze was pleasant enough that the Barnes considered taking them all out for a day in Central Park. Work could wait after two weeks away from them. “Sure thing, Buck. I’ll call Stark to get a bottle,” the blond nodded and opened the door for his boss after walking up the stairs before entering the family home as well, happy sounds wafting through the air already.

Bucky visibly relaxed when he heard his family without a phone between them and handed Steve the concealed guns. They had made a rule for the house, and everyone obliged happily because everyone had been wrapped around their little fingers since the day they were born.

And no one would dare to go against Mrs. Barnes.

“I don’t want to be disturbed for the next couple of weeks, so handle everything and only bother me with situations that need my explicit attention,” was the last order the mobster could get out before the sound of small feet erupted from the living room and barreling toward the foyer.

“Papa!”

“Dada! No, waits for meeee! Annie, pwease! Mommyyyy!”

Bucky laughed as his eldest rounded the corner in full sprint, her little legs carrying her as fast they could, and the tall brunet crouched down to catch her little body. The little girl, resembling so much his wife, looked at his face with bright eyes, hands pressing against his cheeks and squishing them with an adorable chuckle.

“Привет, папочка,” she greeted him shyly, stumbling over her sounds and pronunciations, but Bucky kissed her little cheeks with such enthusiasm that her insecurities vanished in an instant. “Привет, солнышко,” the father returned with a kiss to her forehead and watched the questioning expression morphing onto his daughter’s face. Her tongue poked out between her lips, eyes wandering to the ceiling, brows drawn together in concentration—just like his wife. But then, she looked at him again, leaning closer as if she wanted to conspire with him. “What does that mean, papa? Yelena didn’t teach me that word yet,” she whispered, and Bucky laughed again, feeling almost crushed by the happiness he felt at that moment. “It means sunshine, my sunshine.” It made her smile as brightly as the sun outside the windows before she waved at Steve. “Hi, Uncle Stevie. You can go now. Papa is mine; you can have him back in… a long time.”

Nodding to underline her case, the almost six-year-old looked expectantly at his second in command, and Bucky turned with her still in his arms, looking just as expectantly as her. “You heard the little lady, Steve. Off you go,” he teased, and the blond shook his head with a smile, bowing before them. “As you wish, Princess Anastasia.” The girl huffed and showed the blond giant her tongue. “It’s Anya, Uncle Stevie! You always forget!” Chuckling, Steve took her hand and shook it apologetically. “You are right; my apologies, princess. Enjoy your time with your father.”

And with that, he left for his office, leaving the two in the foyer when they heard another set of steps.

“Anya, next time, wait for your brother, please,” Mrs. Barnes scolded the little girl gently, a smile on her lips and the little boy on her arm. His son nodded, holding his stuffed bunny at its long ears. “Yesh, waits for me, Annie! Dada!” More excitement echoed through the home as the small boy started to wiggle in her arms, and Bucky rushed over to her, catching Elijah before he could plop out of her embrace. “Careful, little troublemaker,” he laughed and held him with his other arm, hearing Anya scoff quietly. He threw his wife a questioning look, and in return, she only rolled her eyes at their children, softly shaking her head and taking Anya to her.

“They had a… falling out earlier.” Anya scoffed again as if her mother understated the entire ordeal, wanting to be put back on her feet, and hugged her mother’s hips closely. Elijah leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, bunny pressed tightly into his chest, watching his sister. “He ruined my homework! Miss Pepper said she’s suuuuuper excited for my solar system model, and then, papa, Eli just banged his stupid bunny on it!” Angry tears gathered in her eyes, almost rolling down her pretty face. His youngest looked positively undisturbed as he watched his sister unraveling over her homework, and Bucky sighed.

“Bunny s’not shtupid. Annie’s plant-… plants-… planets! Annie’s planets looks ugly, dada. Not pretty like mommy,” Elijah stated with confidence, making the tears finally spill over Anya’s cheeks. “I hate you! You’re not my little brother anymore!” And with that, the little girl pulled away from the soothing hands of her mother, almost tumbling over the stairs as she ran upstairs, a loud bang echoing through the house when she closed her door with force.

Another sigh escaped Bucky and his wife alike, both parents looking down at their little boy who started to chew on his bunny’s ear. “Honey, that wasn’t very nice to say,” she reprimanded her son and took him from Bucky when he stretched his little chubby arms toward his mother, keeping a hand on his little back. “Annie is sads?” She nodded and kissed the dark mob of hair her son had inherited from his father, just like the blue of his eyes. “She’s upset, baby, yes. We will give her a moment to calm down before we’re going upstairs to apologize, yes?”

Elijah nodded with tears in his eyes, and the father couldn’t hold back, so he gently cupped his youngest head and pressed a lingering kiss onto the wild dark curls. “Can me and bunny asks Miss Melina fors cookies?” Smiling, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before putting him onto his small feet. “But only one, baby!” He was already on his way, chanting for cookies.

In an instant, Bucky pulled his wife into his arms, capturing her lips with his, a rumbling moan escaping him at the taste and feel of her. “Two fucking weeks are too long, malyshka,” he stated with another lingering kiss, fingers tangled in her hair. “Tell me about it. Try to manage two kids who switch between being the bestes of friends and each other’s enemy number one multiple times a day.” Taking her in more closely, Bucky could see the dark circles under her eyes and the tight muscles around her lips. His thumb swept across the dark circles, and his lips followed to kiss them better. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he murmured with another kiss to her forehead and felt her hand hitting him against the back of his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had to be there, and we had to stay here with school for Anya and Eli’s first day at kindergarten. We managed. I wouldn’t mind if you take over bedtime duty for a while, though.”

Bucky grinned happily at the prospect of spending time with his kids, feeling the love only a father could feel coursing through his body. “Of course, love. We’ll get you something nice on our stroll over Fifth and let the kids play in Central Park while you enjoy a book, alright? I’ll pick up a few new bedtime stories as well, so you will not even be remotely needed and can enjoy bath after bath. Would that make my wife happy?” Sighing, she leaned heavily against him, gathering strength through his strong body supporting the weight resting on her shoulders during the worst and most exhausting days—which they have had many in the past two weeks. “Sounds lovely. But don’t you dare spend a fortune on me again!” Her warning was unnecessary because Bucky would spend a fortune on his wonderful wife, and she knew that as well. “Please,” he chuckled and pressed another heated kiss to her lips, his fingers cupping her chin tenderly. “I’ll buy whatever you want, milaya. Perhaps we could even get something for us.”

He loved his wife in pretty clothes, but he loved her especially dearly in pretty lingerie he had no qualm of ripping off her gorgeous body the second she’d appear before him, reducing the masterfully crafted pieces to lacy shreds on their bedroom floor. The first time he did that, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to pull her to bed, receiving a scolding he had gotten the last time, probably as a boy. She had been royally pissed at his antics, mourning the pretty set she had bought for their first night together. The next day, she received a delivery of all the pieces she had eyed at the shops and saved online, making her closet filled with more lingerie than a regular woman would need in her entire life.

Only that she wasn’t a regular woman with a regular man. He could buy her anything and in any quantity possible, so he wasn’t one to hold back when the urge to see this goddess of a woman naked made him growl and impatient—and even a tad jealous of the fabric touching her skin instead of his hands and lips.

“You are the worst of the bunch, Barnes. Seriously.” Exasperated, she looked up at him, her cheeks warming under his touch, and Bucky nodded with a serious expression. “I am insatiable when it comes to you, malyshka. And you thrive on the power you have over me.” Eye-rolling, she shook her head again, winding out of his arms and smacking his ass with a teasing smile. “Stop being a seventeen year old horndog and move your sexy backside up to your daughter. She’ll listen to you more than me after two weeks filled with my constant presence. I’ll see what I can save from her project, and stopping Elijah from munching on too many cookies…”

The last part was barely a mumble, already distracted by whatever thought wandered through her beautiful mind, and Bucky watched her retreating back with a smile before shrugging out of his suit jacket. Throwing it over the stair railing, he made his way to his eldest’s room, softly knocking at the door littered with pictures and posters of her favorite animals and characters—he could even see the remnants of a glitter pen—and knew how lucky he could count himself when he was allowed to enter his sunshine’s room.

He had the perfect wife, two healthy, wonderful children, and had found happiness despite the way his life had taken.

He had indeed chosen wisely.

author's note: Tysm for reading my silly little writing. As usual: likes, reblogs, and comments are so much appreciated! I love to read your thoughts <3

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eviesaurusrex · 4 days ago

Text

Escaping | Azriel x High Fae

summary: Azriel carries his mate off to a much-needed picnic, away from her duties at the Court of Dreams.

word counter: 3.2k

warnings: none, pure fluff, Az being a simp for his woman, mentions of reader being an empath/reader having empathic abilities, Az’s pet names being always accompanied by “my” (bc he needs to remind himself constantly that she’s indeed his), reader is part of the Night Court ever since

author’s note: This is also my first time writing anything for ACOTAR, so please be gentle with me, but I just had to, okay? Az deserves every ounce of happiness I can offer him. Also: This is my first time writing and uploding anything in a minute, so this is definitely not perfect

Dividers are made by @enchanthings and @sweetmelodygraphics <3

He had planned this little escape for weeks now, always trying to find the perfect moment to whisk his mate away between duties and obligations, only to grant her and himself a much-needed break from quite literally everything. His shadows had been restless ever since, just as their wielder, the growing stress and frustration traveling along their strong mating bond only a figment of an indication of how she grew to feel every morning she awoke to tend to the court and their cause to protect and free Prythian in the War looming on the horizon.

And today had been finally the perfect day—due to Rhys’ helping hand after he had seen the growing and building anxiety of his brother.

“Is it not strange how adamant Rhys has acted earlier? I think it’s weird. Do you think I should go and check up on him later? Maybe trying to ease his mind? I think I should.” Her sweet, melodic voice filled the warm air, and a rare chuckle escaped the spymaster at her fast-working mind. Gently, he took the blanket out of her arms, placing it over the arm that already carried the basket filled with all her favorites, and tenderly, his free arm found its home around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

A perfect fit. It was as if the Mother and the Cauldron had molded them to fit just as perfectly as two puzzle pieces. Made for one another… He still couldn’t grasp how his lifelong wish had been answered and granted after so many centuries.

Azriel’s head dipped to press a lingering kiss to her temple, his nose slightly buried in her soft strands, the soothing scent overpowering the scents wafting around them. “Will you scold me if I tell you how I asked him to give us at least today to ourselves?” His voice was soft, tender, a loving and humored edge to it. Hazel eyes began to twinkle as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze, not surprised in the slightest at his revelation, and the teasing twinkle in her eyes in return made his lips twitch into a smile. “Did you now?” She teased and nudged his side, tickling Az because she knew of every existing weak spot—the only person aside from Cassian and Rhys. Her growing smile made him feel light, free, and still, it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever achieved in his long life; felt as if his heart might explode any second when she turned and stretched slightly to press a kiss to his jawline. Reaching further wasn’t possible with the towering male walking beside her. “Thank you, my love.” Only a whisper, but loud enough to travel to his ears, accompanied by the warm and fuzzy feeling sent down the bond by her.

Another pull with the arm around her waist put her even closer—if that was even possible—and Azriel couldn’t hold back the urge within him to kiss her soft lips he had already kissed so often ever since they had accepted their mating bond. Still, it wasn’t often enough, in his opinion. Giving in, the shadowsinger stopped their path in the hidden passageway towards the lush green rolling hills along the coast of Velaris and slowly bent his body, letting their noses run alongside one another. “Nothing to thank me for, my darling,” he hummed, lips almost already touching in the softest of kisses, and he felt her fingers run through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her and letting their lips melt into one. Neither he nor she could tell where the kiss started and where it ended, where his lips began and hers ended.

The low rumble of her stomach put a pause to their antics, and Az hummed once again before entwining their fingers and continued on their path. “Let’s find a place where we can ease that growl, my darling.”

Wildflowers of all kinds surrounded the place they had finally settled on—the glittering ocean right next to them, the rolling green hills as far as sight could reach, and Velaris in the close distance, beautiful as it had always been. Az had made himself comfortable on the blanket, the picnic basket opened right next to him, his body propped up on his forearms, and his eyes followed his mate as she strolled through the flowers. He could see her fingertips gracing the soft petals that stretched their colorful heads towards the sun, his shadows slowly, almost lazily winding around her wrist and fingers, always keeping her company, making sure she was alright. Not that Azriel minded their own ways, but sometimes he suspected they might abandon him entirely for her if they had the chance—and the shadowsinger couldn’t blame them either. He would do the same if it meant being at her side at all times.

“Eat at least a bite,” he now called over to her as she picked the first flower. She only spared a quick glance at him, but her radiant smile couldn’t fool him, nor could it hide the roll of her eyes. “Yes, yes. Only a minute, love.” Azriel himself rolled his eyes now, but the tuck at his lips was too strong to withstand it. Not when they were alone, not when she was the cause of that rare smile sneaking its way onto his face.

So, he watched her while already eating some of the fresh berries, patiently waiting, eyes moving when she moved toward the next flower in full bloom, bending down to pick her, placing the delicate thing in the soft embrace of her arm he knew wouldn’t dare crush her new possession. She wasn’t violent or cruel to beings who couldn’t defend themselves, who didn’t possess a single malicious thought in their entire body. And even for those who might commit evil deeds, she still held compassion if necessary. By the Cauldron, she even had accepted him from the very beginning of their friendship all those centuries ago when Rhys had brought her into the Court of Dreams, right after the War had been won.

A sigh left him when she finally strolled toward him in her pretty flowy dress, hair flowing in the warm breeze, her smile growing the closer she got to him. “What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” Az had pushed himself from his arms into a sitting position, legs slightly crossed, an arm resting on his muscular thigh, while the other reached for her, enveloping her fingers as she sank onto the blanket and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The sound of his wings stretching and rustling behind him accompanied her adorable chuckle, and he almost melted at the sight of her shining eyes when she pressed his scarred palm against her cheek, her lips leaving a warm mark on it, letting him forget about the pain of the past in an instant.

She had that power over him.

“Az, you had more than four centuries to get used to my antics.” Grinning, her lips pressed another set of kisses to his palm before letting his hand sink onto her knee, where it immediately started to wander and found its place on her thigh, squeezing it tenderly. “I should know by now, you mean?” A nod followed his question, grin still prominent on her lips, but he felt her concentration slip toward the many flowers she had sprayed over the blanket in front of her, and her soft and delicate fingers had already started to weave some of them together. “Perhaps even a lifetime isn’t long enough,” he dared to hum and tease, moving closer toward her side and holding a strawberry in front of her lips. The tip of Azriel’s nose nudged her temple, and she took a bite, sighing in satisfaction. “Perhaps.” The sweet berry muffled her words, and without thinking or even considering he was prepared for it, the woman scooted closer and leaned backward, pressing her back against her mate’s strong chest—because he had been ready. He was always ready and always there if she needed or craved anything.

Even though the bond had taken its sweet time before it had finally snapped into place, they had been close from the beginning, a mutual feeling of closeness and understanding the root and foundation of their slowly blooming friendship. And over the decades and centuries, they had started to learn to know one another. Now, with the bond in its rightful place, it all was merely heightened; no longer a want to fulfill anything they wished for, but an urging need. So Az just knew without thinking when she needed his arms wrapped tightly around her body, his chest pressing against her back like a steadfast wall in a sea of uncertainty and fear.

His chin rested on her right shoulder, the strong and powerful wings softly tucked behind his back, granting the sunlight to kiss and warm her skin while she weaved flower after flower in a steadily growing circle.

“When all of this is over…” The soft voice of his mate traveled alongside the warm breeze. “When all is over, I’d like to leave for a while. Just… the two of us. Somewhere enjoying life itself, forgetting about War, bloodshed, and intrigues. Healing and growing,” she continued even softer, reminding him once again of her calm and peaceful nature, and Azriel felt how she longed for all those things after everything that had happened in the past fifty years. He didn’t dare to think about all that had happened Under the Mountain when she had been forced to live there, didn’t try to recollect everything she had shared with him in those days after Rhys and she had finally returned to Velaris.

All that was important was the exploding sensation of relief since she had followed Rhys over the threshold in the House of Wind, stepping out of the shadow of his broad back and came running right to him. That immaculate sensation had been his companion since that day.

Burrowing his face into the warm crook of her neck, the spymaster released a deep breath. “Whatever you wish, my darling,” he whispered against her skin, making her giggle and squirm in his grasp. “Az! Stop it, or my flower crown will be ruined!” He hid the growing smirk against her skin and nipped at one of her weak spots, making it tickle once more. “They always turn out beautiful.” Azriel could practically feel the playful roll of her eyes at his words, and dutifully, he picked the next flower for her to weave into the growing circle before a small lemon tart found its way to her lips, reminding his mate that they indeed had something else in mind when they had left the House of Wind earlier.

The deep, soft sighing after the first bite of the masterfully baked tart warmed his heart, and Azriel didn’t object in the slightest when the small cake was eaten within a heartbeat, her sweet tooth demanding even more after weeks of relinquishment because they had all been so busy with the preparations for the meeting with Prythian’s High Lords.

“Another one?” He whispered quietly as the shadows now surrounded their legs, resting like they did. “Do we have one of these tiny strawberry cakes we had for Starfall?” Immediately, the memory of the last festivities occupied his mind as he looked for the mentioned dessert and presented it to her like an offering to the gods in his open, scarred palm. “My Lady.” She chuckled at that and abandoned the almost finished flower crown with a gentle “Thank you, my Lord,” only to take the delicate cake and took a savoring bite out of it.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you looked at Starfall? More radiant as the stars…” Az’s voice trailed off into the distance, pictures of that night clouding his mind once again. As she turned her head to look at him with that one smile entirely reserved for his eyes, he pulled back and let her kiss his lips in a heart-wrenchingly soft kiss. “You told me that countless times, my love. Especially when you see the dress hanging in the armoire.” She grinned at that, making him almost blush. “But do I need to remind you how handsome and dashing you looked that night? All those ladies turning and twisting their heads as soon as you walked through the room…” Even though she knew that no one could take her mate, the bitter feeling of jealousy boiled in her blood for just a second before it vanished at the glowing and warm, but also shadowy feeling of their bond, reminding her once again that they were bound for the rest of their existence.

“No need to be jealous, my darling. There was never anyone but you, and there will never be anyone but you.”

His index finger under her chin moved her face upward to face him, skin touching skin and lips brushing over even softer lips. “I know,” she whispered against Azriel, and for a moment, she leaned her forehead against the strong line of his jaw, feeling him pressing a tender kiss on her hairline.

A rumble in the far-off distance let them look up at last, and both watched the building and rolling clouds over the sea, knowing that rain was a mere thought away. But still, they took their time.

Az continued to feed them both, watching her tirelessly weaving flower after flower into the crown, humming a tune they had danced to countless times by now and savoring the warmth radiating off his body. “Another one for Elain?” Azriel dared to ask as she seemed to be done. All the flowers she had gathered were woven into a beautiful, intricate pattern, and none were wasted. His mate had started to bring Elain flowers and plants in all their forms, especially ones only growing in their lands and not behind the wall, explaining their nature, natural habitats, uses, and sometimes hidden beauty. She was so soft and gentle with the young female that Azriel had to ask himself—more often than not, if he was honest—if she would be like this to their children if they ever were allowed that sort of happiness.

He let her sit up and turn onto her knees, holding the crown in her delicate fingers. She shook her head, an unsure smile now surfacing on her lips, as she softly placed it on top of his dark hair. “I never made one for you, my love.” He was stunned, not daring to move nor touch the petals now resting on his head. “You don’t have to keep it, of course. If you don’t like it, I can just bring it to Elain, and we’ll forget about it. It’s silly anywa-” He stopped her right then and there by pulling her close and kissing her fiercely, only holding himself back from roaring down their bond and scaring the living daylights out of her. He took great pride in the fact how breathless his mate was when Az finally ended the kiss, how gleaming her eyes were when she looked at him, how the blush that had crept to her cheeks made them glow, how her fingers gripped the fabric over his chest to steady herself. “Don’t you dare take it,” he growled and kissed her once more, shorter this time, less desperate, and still tickled those delicious sounds out of her body he still kept reveling in, even after all this time.

The first drop falling from the heavens made them part, and while she started to collect their things to pack them safely into the basket and fold the picnic blanket, Azriel spread his wings to protect his mate from the mighty raindrops. When they were ready to winnow to the barriers of the House of Wind, the summer downpour had already picked up its intensity and soaked the two from head to toe. However, their laughter still lingered over their sacred space of Velaris even after they winnowed away.

Feyre’s brows creased in worry as she looked out the many windows in the palace atop the mountain, overlooking Velaris during the downpour that had been foreseen. The heavy drops splattered against the glass, making it difficult to discern any shape moving in the distance. She knew the rain wouldn’t harm them, but the thunderstorm rolling over the hills induced an anxiety within her that she could barely contain.

“Feyre, darling?”

Rhys’ voice let her spin away from the windows, facing her mate who had stood from his desk he had worked on for the past couple of hours, and walked closer toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “What is wrong?” He wrapped his strong arms around her body, and the High Lady sighed deeply as she sank into the embrace. “Nothing, I…” The first roaring thunder let her pause for a moment. “Az and YN haven’t returned yet.” Violet eyes gazed out of the window, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he tried to make out the shapes in the gloomy light of the early evening.

Then, a smile spread across his handsome face, and Feyre turned to see what had happened. “They are now. Come, my love,” the High Lord coaxed his mate toward the door to meet the pair down the hall to greet them. She followed him without hesitation, needing to see for herself that both her friends returned without harm, and had to know if they enjoyed their afternoon, needing all the raunchy details YN would spill over a glass of faery wine and a warm fire.

They only made it atop the stairwell leading down into the hall that housed the balcony primarily used to enter the House of Wind, and the pair watched a dripping YN pulling a not-less-dripping Azriel inside, a laugh dancing on her lips.

The Illyrian shook the rain off his shoulders and wings, eyes entirely focused on the brightly smiling High Fae before him. Without a thought, he let the basket drop to the floor, not sparing a single second for its whereabouts after because his entire being narrowed down to the bond beating in his chest, demanding intimacy, closeness, with the female he desired and loved more than life itself. A shriek escaped YN between laughter as Az playfully pounced on her, wrapping her in his strong arms and lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, moaning deep in his throat at the first taste of her lips drenched in rain droplets.

As he carried her down the hall toward their shared bedchambers in long, purposeful strides, flower crown still proudly atop his head, YN laughed: “Az, the basket!” The pair above the stairs could only hear him say, “It can wait until I’m drunk and delirious on you,” before a door closed, and Feyre finally allowed the giggle to escape her she had held onto for so long.

Rhys shook his head with a humored grin, pulling the female next to him closer to his chest. “My spymaster wearing a flower crown? I won’t ever let him forget it,” he chuckled deeply, amusement and happiness dancing across his face, especially as Feyre hit his chest in warning. “Don’t you dare tease him about it!” The male grinned at that, pulling her face toward him, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “I can’t make such promises, Feyre darling unless you are interested in a little deal with your beloved mate.”

Now, it was her turn to let a laugh freely echo through the halls.

Thank you everyone for reading! As usual: I'd love to read your thoughts and comments, perhaps you have an idea for a future Azriel - or any ACOTAR character - fanfiction you'd want me to write. Also, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

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