#Xreader

[1-up-chump]

YES BIGGEST FUCKING BETRAYAL bc like reader is supposed to be more neutral and easier to project onto unless stated otherwise (like fat!reader or blind!reader or black!reader) an oc is literally just some dude. Some gal. Some body. nOT the READER! Its so simple a concept too, anD YET-

me when I click on a fic tagged x reader but in the end it's an x oc (I was tricked)

[bakug0uzb1thc]

Sit there and look pretty.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem! Reader

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Katsuki always tells you ‘sit there and look pretty.’ He doesn’t mean it in a petty way he genuinely means it. He wants you to sit down and be your pretty self, when he says it it’s usually regarding something he’s doing. Pretty much telling you to watch him, That or he wants to do something for you.

One of his love languages is acts of service so just let him do what he does best.

From ordering food to making the bed he tells you

“just sit there and look pretty mama I’ll do it.”

And You’d be stupid if you didn’t listen to him.

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Soldier's Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Summary: Y/N, a former HYDRA captive, taken at 18, escapes with her young daughter-born not by choice but through HYDRA's experimentation using The Winter Soldier's genetic material. Traumatized and wary, Y/N is brought to the Avengers compound for safety and recovery. It's there she discovers that the father of her child, a man she had only seen in passing, was alive and nearby. Bucky, who has no memory of what HYDRA did to him and has never met Y/N, is blindsided when he learns he has a daughter. Will the two be able to work past this difficult situation to become the parents their little girl deserves? Will they find love along the way?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

The metal of the chair was cold against your skin, the sterile lab lights buzzing faintly overhead. You try not to shiver, though you are in nothing but a thin gown, one size too small, clinging to you uncomfortably in all the places they like to mock.

"Subject Nine," a voice crackles from above. "Remain still. This will be quick."

You don’t move. Not because you are obeying, but because your limbs are too heavy. Too tired. Too defeated. The restraints around your wrists dig into your flesh, but you barely notice anymore.

Dr. Johns, the lead scientist, enters the room with his usual haughty gait and bitter aftershave that made your stomach churn. He doesn’t look at you. He rarely does. You aren’t a person to them. Just a project.

"You should be honored," he says, flipping through a clipboard. "You’ve been chosen for something… special."

You don’t speak.

He looks up then, eyes sharp and smiling in a way that feels wrong. “We’re calling it Project Genesis. Has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

Still, you say nothing. You’d learned silence was the only control you had left. But you can’t stop your stomach from sinking, can’t stop the coil of dread tightening in your chest. What are they going to do to me?

“We’ve selected the optimal pairing. Your mind—remarkably resilient to manipulation and incredible intelligence—and his… well. You’ll see.”

You frown. “His?”

He finally smiles. “Yes. We’re combining your DNA with one of our finest specimens. You’ll be carrying a child.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” you croak. It was the first time you’ve spoken in weeks.

"A hybrid. The perfect balance of power and adaptability," he says matter-of-factly. “Your body will serve as the host. We’ll be implanting within the next week.”

“No,” you whisper, eyes wide. “You can’t—please. I don’t want—”

Dr. Johns leans in closer. “Want?” he echoes. “You don’t get to want. This isn’t about you.”

Here, nothing is ever about what I want. It's about what they can take and use.

The following week was hell.

You screamed. You cried. You begged. But the drugs were stronger than your resistance, and they didn’t even look at you while they did it. Just hands and needles and cold words behind masks.

Then it was over.

And you were left in a cell, aching, hollow, and furious.

For days, you lay curled on the thin cot, hands cradling your soft belly protectively, as if the new life inside you could already hear your sobbing. You didn't want this. Not like this. Not here.

But slowly—slowly—something inside you shifts.

The first time you feel the flutter, you are on your knees, scrubbing the concrete with shaking hands after they'd ordered you to "make yourself useful." Your palm pauses mid-swipe. A soft thump, deep in your stomach.

Your breath catches.

Was that…?

It comes again. A whisper from within. Not pain. Not control.

Just… life.

Tears fill your eyes as you drop the rag. You wrap your arms around yourself, hands shaking.

“Hi,” you whisper to the silence. “I’m your mom.”

This is not the life you want for your child. All you can do was love it and hope there was a way out.

Every time it kicks, your love for it grows stronger. The little baby underneath your heart. She is the only thing you have for yourself. The only thing that would love you back.

They try to stop you from talking to her. They say affection would ruin the experiment. But you don’t care anymore.

You name it in secret—just a name between you and it. A name you never speak out loud, but repeat every night in your thoughts. My baby. My child. My everything.

Sometimes you envision a different life with your baby. A life where it would be born into a safe, loving home-not a facility. A life where you can give it everything it could ever want or need.

They still taunt you.

“You’re barely holding together,” a guard snorteds. “Fat girl and a freak baby. What a combo. It's incredible they chose you as the surrogate. Clearly, there are better options.”

You stare straight ahead, your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. Say what you want about me, you think. But don’t you dare touch my baby.

Time passes slowly. Days bleed into weeks. Your belly grows, and with it, a fragile hope.

You don’t know who the father is—not truly. They never say anything, and you know not to ask. You wonder if the father knows he's going to be a dad. If he is a victim like you, someone they forced into the same predicament.

That was likely the case.

Would your baby ever get to meet its father? Would it be safe for the baby to know him? All these questions yet no answers.

What kind of life will it have?

You try to escape numerous times. You try to get yourself and your baby out of the place you know as hell. It never works. They know you are too smart for digital locks. You can crack them within minutes. They settle for old-fashioned chain lock and cuffs. The more restricted you are, the less likely you would be able to find a way to get out of the situation.

-------

They make you give birth on a table. No warmth. No hand to hold. Just cold hands and barking orders.

You remember screaming. You remember crying. You remember the sharp pains wracking your body due to the lack of drugs to soothe them.

You remember the silence after her first wail.

"Let me see her!" you cry, body shaking. “Please—let me hold her—just once—please—!”

But they are already gone. The door slams. The silence returns.

And you bleed alone on the table, heartbroken. You knew this would happen. There was no way they'd let you keep her. You just wish that small sliver of hope buried deep in your chest had been correct.

You don’t move for days.

They threaten you. Drug you. Torture you mentally. But you stay silent, numb.

Then, one day, they come with a new offer.

“You’ll get to see her,” Dr. Johns says smoothly, “once a week. But only if you behave.”

You want to spit in his face. But the thought of your baby—of her eyes, her breath, her smile—shatters your resolve.

“…Okay,” you say. At least you can check if she was okay.

-----

She is beautiful. Everything you imagine and more. With beautiful brown eyes and tuffs of brown hair. There are a few features you recognize in yourself. Your pout, your lashes. And there are features you don't recognize, like birthmarks or the shape of her nose. Those must be from her father-whoever he is.

Even through the glass, even under guard supervision, she is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

And one day, you find the file.

It's stupid. Someone left it open. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap.

But you can’t help it. You have to know.

Subject: Project Genesis Maternal Donor: Subject Nine Paternal Donor: WS-13 (Winter Soldier)

You nearly drop it.

Him.

That man. The one with the metal arm. The one who never speaks.

Your heart breaks—not for yourself, but for him. He doesn’t know. There is no way he does. I've seen them wipe his mind hundreds of times. If he knew, they would immediately wipe him. That's the kind of people they were. He doesn’t know she exists.

You close the file, tuck it back carefully, and say nothing.

You don’t tell anyone. You don't tell him, even though you sometimes see him in the halls on his way to the next mission. His stoic eyes and rough demeanor scare you. He isn't here to mess around. He has a mission, and that is his only focus.

Who knows what he would do if he found out he had a child? A man like him, so badly tortured. He's a killing machine. There's no telling if he was even capable of caring for anyone. He could become a risk to her. He could cause her harm. He could hurt me, too.

Sometimes your mind would wander. What if he does know? What if he knows he has a child and but doesn't care? On the other hand, what if he found out and he did care? Would he try to protect the baby?

The what-ifs plague your mind. In the end, you decide it is too much of a risk. You have no idea how he will react, and that scares you. It's better safe than sorry.

Because if you die—there will be no one left to protect her. You are her only shot.

----

The guards give you one hour. That was the rule.

One hour, once a week. Under supervision. In a sterile white room with a single metal chair and your baby sitting behind reinforced glass, until they allow you to hold her.

They never say her name—never call her anything but the subject or the specimen. But you say her name in your head a thousand times a day. It is the only thing that feels like yours.

When they first let you hold her, she is so small. Lighter than you imagined. Warm, wiggling in your arms like she knows you.

You sit down and don’t move the entire hour, too scared they'll take her early if you do anything wrong.

“I missed you,” you whisper, brushing your nose against her tiny head. “Did they treat you okay? Did they… Did you eat enough?”

She cooes softly, hand brushing against the thin hospital gown you are wearing. Your heart breaks into a thousand glass pieces.

“You’re safe with me,” you promise, even though it is a lie. You really can't do much to protect her. You have no leverage to use against them. You also aren't a trained supersoldier, like her father. They are more focused on your mental abilities than your physical strength, so they never bother to train you. “Just for now. You’re safe.”

The guard coughs behind you, clearly bored.

You glare down at your arms. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”

------

Weeks pass.

Your arms grow stronger from carrying her. Your body, tired and aching, moves faster in the cell training they force on you. You do everything they ask. Not because you want to—but because it keeps her safe.

She starts recognizing you.

She babbles when she sees you. Wriggle excitedly when you come into the room. One visit, she reaches her chubby arms out and gives the smallest, gummiest smile.

You cry so hard you can barely breathe.

When she falls asleep against your chest—her tiny hand wrapped around your finger—you pray time will freeze.

“Sleep, baby,” you whisper. “Please… dream of trees, and blue skies, and things I can’t give you.”

Most days are like that. Peaceful between the two of you. However, there are times when things get difficult.

There is one day, she is quiet.

Too quiet.

You feel the panic rising in your throat the moment you step into the room. She isn’t smiling. She isn’t moving.

“Is she sick?” you ask the guards, voice rising. “What did you do?!”

“No questions,” says the same monotone response. “One hour. No more.”

You clutch her tightly, holding her against your chest, rocking her gently.

Her little head lifts. She lets out a tired breath. Her eyes—a beautiful shimmering brown—blink up at you.

Relief hits like a tidal wave. You cradle her even tighter.

“You scared Mommy,” you whisper into her soft curls. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?”

Your voice cracks.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You have no idea what they are doing to your child. It kills you to think they are hurting her. You have no control. All you can do is try to bring some comfort in the short time you have with her.

-----

Life stays like that for two years. You spend the time you can with her. You teach her how to talk and walk. Even though the situation is difficult, she is a resilient baby. She is smart. She learns quickly. She definitely develops skills faster than other babies do. That makes you proud.

Then the visits stop.

No explanation. No announcement. Just… silence.

Days pass. Then weeks.

You scream. You fight. You are drugged.

And when you come to—bleary, arms strapped down in your cot—you know something is wrong.

The halls are quieter. Fewer footsteps. Fewer voices. Then none.

The next time someone opens your door, it isn’t a guard.

It was no one.

A soft creak. A hiss of released air.

You wait.

No commands. No threats.

You pull the restraints free with little effort, too easily. The power has been cut. The systems are breaking down.

You stumble into the hallway, barefoot and filled with panic.

Lights flicker.

No soldiers.

No scientists.

Just the dead hum of a forgotten place.

And then—

A sound.

A baby crying.

Your baby crying.

Her.

You run harder than you ever have in your life.

Your legs burn, your body still weak from weeks of starvation and isolation, punishments for your lack of cooperation, but you run.

The lab is a maze. But your instincts—your love—cut through the fog.

You find her in a room filled with overturned equipment. She is crying, face red, fists curled. She is still in her tiny containment crib. But no one is watching her anymore.

You throw open the gate and collapse to your knees, cradling her against your chest.

“I’m here,” you sob, rocking her. “I’m here. I got you. I got you.”

She stops crying instantly, face pressed into your neck.

You clutch her so tight, your arms ache.

And then you find a room with a door that locks from the inside. It used to be a cell. Now, it's your only sanctuary.

You ration food. You keep her warm. You sing songs in a hoarse voice, trying to drown out your own fear.

You don’t know how long you can last. But as long as she is breathing, you’d try.

You know, at some point, you will have to leave the building. You will need more food and water.

The thought terrifies you. You haven't been outside in years. You haven't seen the sun or the outside in so long. The world is different. It has to be. While you were stuck in a building that never seemed to change, you know the outside is different. There is no one for you to trust outside. You will be so exposed and vulnerable out there.

At least you know what you are working with in the confines of the building. You can keep her safe here for now. You will figure out the rest later.

You scavenge the building for as many resources as you can find. It is enough to keep you both okay for a few months. Definitely not enough to last longer than 8 months.

---

Three months passed. Winter was coming. You know you need to leave soon. You will both freeze to death if you stay here much longer.

You are thinner. Paler. You know your body is getting weaker, but you do your best to be there for your baby and plan your next steps.

Then one day—it all shattered.

You hear footsteps.

Not like before. Heavier. Measured. Careful.

Voices. English. Not Russian.

You scoop her up. Her body is heavier now, growing. You run down the halls, bare feet slapping against concrete. The lights died long ago, and all you have is your memory of the maze.

She starts crying.

Too loud.

You hush her frantically. “Please, baby, shh—don’t cry, don’t cry, they’ll hear you—”

Too late.

Footsteps speed up.

Voices bark orders.

Then you turn a corner—and freeze.

A woman stands at the end of the hall.

Red hair.

Black suit.

Eyes wide.

She doesn’t raise a weapon.

“Hey,” she says, holding up both hands. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You back away, toddler clutched tight. “No! Don’t touch her! Don’t take her!”

Others come. Bigger. Bulkier. You see a glowing chest light in the dark—hear a metal suit hiss.

You turn. You run.

But another figure appears behind you, this one carrying arrows.

You are surrounded.

The baby is sobbing now, screaming into your neck. She can sense your fear and desperation.

“Don’t kill her!” you cry, collapsing to your knees. “Please—I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her—please—!”

The redhead approaches slowly. “We’re not here to hurt her,” she says gently. “Or you.”

You shake your head, body trembling. “Liar. You’re all liars—she’s just a project to you. She’s all I have. Don’t take her.”

“We’re the Avengers, we just want to help you. We are not a part of HYDRA,” she says. “You’re safe now.”

You cling tighter to your baby.

“Please,” you whisper, chest heaving. You don't believe their words. “Just let me keep her.”

The redhead crouches beside you.

“You will.”

------

The Quinjet is too loud.

You sit stiffly in a corner seat, clutching your daughter like she might vanish if you blink. She's curled up against your chest, worn out from crying and the chaos, her tiny hands fists in your torn clothes.

Your arms are shaking.

Everything feels like too much.

Too bright. Too fast. Too real.

You stare at the dark floor panels, heart pounding like a war drum. The whirring of the engines, the humming of voices you don’t trust—none of it felt safe. You don’t feel safe.

No one tries to take her from you. Not yet. That was the only reason you haven't fought.

She shifts in your arms, pressing her flushed cheek to your collarbone. Your hand automatically rubs gentle circles into her back, your mother’s instincts stronger than the trauma clawing at your brain.

“She won’t let go,” Natasha murmurs to Bruce, standing just far enough not to crowd you. “Even when she’s asleep.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Bruce says softly. “Not after what she’s been through.”

They don’t think you can hear them.

But you did.

You heard everything.

They bring you to a room with soft lighting and gentle walls. It smells clean—but not like chemicals. Not like HYDRA.

Bruce Banner stands in the corner, hands folded, speaking in a voice like wind brushing over still water.

“I’m just going to take a look at you,” he says gently. “Both of you. I promise I won’t touch her unless you say it’s okay.”

You don’t move.

Your baby is wide awake again, sitting in your lap, staring with wide eyes at the stranger in the white coat.

You pull her tighter against you.

“She’s mine,” you say. Your voice cracks. “No one touches her.”

Bruce gives a small nod. “Of course. I just want to help.”

You don’t believe that.

But he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls out a scanner and crouches—to your eye level.

“May I scan you from here?”

You hesitate… then give a tiny nod.

The scan was quiet. No pain. No poking. No restraint.

“She’s malnourished but stable,” Bruce says, looking at your daughter. “You’ve been feeding her from rations?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He nods again, with genuine warmth. “You did an incredible job.”

Your throat closes up. You tried.

You look down at your baby, who's pressing her forehead into your chest. She's calmer here. Calmer with you.

You’ve done something right.

“You’ve been through serious mental trauma,” Bruce continues. “I think your system’s still fighting the effects of long-term neurological exposure. We’ll give you space, but if you ever want help—therapy, or medication, or even just rest—we’ll be here.”

You don’t answer.

You are still waiting for the moment they take her away.

But no one moves.

They are waiting for you.

Later, they bring you to a different hospital room that was too nice to be real. Real bed. Blankets. A large mirror on the other side of the room. A window with sunlight. You can see the world. It was very different than what you remembered.

When you were taken, you were freshly 18. A time that was supposed to be exciting and full of new adventures was quickly robbed from you. All your dreams of finally getting to go to Harvard were crushed. You were from a smaller town, one that didn't have these massive buildings that surrounded you. You were used to fields and animals. Nothing like that was outside. It was a shock.

You don’t know how to sleep in a bed anymore. But your baby is finally dozing in the crook of your arm.

You sit, awake, staring at the door.

And then it knocks.

“Hey. It’s me. Natasha,” comes the voice from the other side. “Can I come in?”

You don’t say anything.

The door opens gently.

She enters slowly, hands empty. She sits across from you, not too close.

“I just want to ask you a few questions,” she says quietly. “Is that okay?”

You look at her for a long moment… then give the smallest nod.

“What’s your name?”

You lick your dry lips. “Y/N.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

Her expression softens. “And how long were you in that facility?”

You look down at your baby. “Since I turned 18.”

A beat of silence.

Natasha’s jaw tightens—just a bit. “That’s a long time.”

You don’t respond.

She nods to your baby, who is sound asleep now.

“What’s her name?”

You hesitate—but just for a moment. You are too proud to stay silent.

“Daisy.”

You always loved Daisies. Naming her that reminded you of the beautiful world outside of the building. A world you hoped you would get to show her.

Natasha smiles gently. “That’s beautiful.”

You nod slowly, brushing your fingers through your daughter’s hair. "I thought so too."

Natasha leans forward just a little. “Can I ask about her father?”

Your whole body tenses.

Your eyes drop to Daisy’s face again. So small. So innocent.

You swallow thickly. “I don’t… I don’t know him,” you admit. “I never met him. Not really.” You had only ever seen him in passing.

Natasha’s gaze flickers, and you see it—just the briefest flash of concern. Worry.

“It wasn’t like that,” you say quickly. “No one… touched me. I mean, not—not that way.”

She relaxes. Just slightly.

You toke a shaky breath.

“They called it Project Genesis. They told me they wanted to create a weapon with the perfect balance. My mind. His body. His strength.” You brush your fingers across Daisy’s head. “I didn’t even know whose DNA they used. Not at first.”

“You found out?”

You nod slowly. “They left a file out once. I don’t think they meant to. I saw his name.”

Natasha doesn’t speak.

“They called him… the Winter Soldier.”

You wonder what happened to him. You stopped seeing him about a month before they stopped showing you Daisy. Had he gotten away? Was he a free man, living his life as normally as he could? Sometimes you wonder if you should have told him. He did have a right to know. If he had gotten away, would he have taken Daisy with him if he knew? Would he have kept her safe?

The room goes so quiet, you could hear your heartbeat.

“I didn’t tell him,” you whisper. “I was scared. I thought maybe he’d take her. Maybe he’d hurt her. Or… maybe he didn’t know. I couldn’t risk it. I had to protect her.”

You looked up at Natasha, terrified.

“I swear I’m telling the truth.”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Her face said everything.

----3rd POV----

Outside, behind a one-way mirror, the rest of the team watched in stunned silence.

Steve stood stiff, fists clenched. His heart hurt for the woman. She had been forced into a situation no one should ever have to be. And he felt bad for his friend. Bucky had no idea. If Bucky knew he had a child, he would've told Steve. He also would've done everything in his power to save it from the horrors the baby undoubtedly experienced.

Sam glanced at Clint. “Is this even possible? Bucky's never mentioned having a kid before. Could she be lying? Trying to get something from him or us?”

Tony frowned. “HYDRA did a lot of things that shouldn’t have been possible. It's not out of the realm to think they would go this far. They were selectively breeding.”

“She doesn’t know he’s here. What's there to gain from lying about him?” Bruce said quietly. “I don't think she’s lying.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I think she's telling the truth. I mean look at that kid. I knew she looked familiar. It makes sense now. She's got Buck's eyes and hair. We can also do a DNA test, right, Bruce?” he said, voice rough.

Bruce nods. “If he wants one done, I can try to convince Y/N to let us take some blood from the baby.” He observes the baby through the glass. "She does look a lot like Bucky."

“We have to tell him.” Clint looks around at the group of men.

“Who’s going to do it?” Sam asked.

“I will.” Steve volunteers. "It'll be better coming from me.

----- 3rd POV -----

The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through the training room.

Sweat dripped from Bucky’s brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His knuckles—flesh and metal—were raw from the relentless assault. The gym was quiet, empty except for the sound of effort. That’s how he liked it.

Alone. Focused. Empty.

This was the only place where the memories didn’t claw so loudly at the back of his skull.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw faces—bloodied, terrified, dying. Faces he couldn’t name. Faces he’d hurt. Even now, even free, the weight of what he’d done pressed against his chest like a boulder he could never move.

So he hit the bag.

Over and over.

Like he could punch his past into silence.

His metal arm whirred with each movement—controlled and brutal. He wasn’t training to stay in shape. He was trying to feel something. Anything that wasn’t guilt.

But then he heard it.

“Buck.”

Steve’s voice.

He didn’t stop punching. Didn’t look.

“I need to talk to you.”

Still, he didn’t stop. Not until Steve stepped into his line of sight.

Bucky dropped his fists, breathing heavy, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. “What is it?”

Steve hesitated.

And that… that was never a good sign.

Steve's voice was low, careful. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal.

“There’s a woman here. She was rescued from a HYDRA facility.”

Bucky blinked, wiping his face with a towel. “Okay…”

“She was part of an experiment. One of the worst ones. Mental manipulation. Long-term isolation. She’s been in there since she was eighteen.”

Bucky stiffened.

“I… I wouldn’t be telling you this if it wasn’t important.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, voice a warning. “What are you not saying?” Steve needs to stop beating around the bush.

Steve’s throat bobbed.

“She has a daughter.”

Bucky frowned. “Okay? So?”

Steve took a step closer. “We're... We're pretty sure she's yours. She looks a lot like you did as a kid. The mother says they used your DNA, Buck.”

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest.

“What?”

“She didn’t know at first. She found out later. The girl—her name’s Daisy—is about two years old. HYDRA created her. They used you.”

Bucky staggered back, as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“No.” His voice cracked. “No, that’s not—That can’t be—”

“I know it’s a lot,” Steve said quickly. “I know. She didn’t lie. She didn’t even know you were here. She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone. All she’s done is try to protect that little girl. If you want more confirmation, we can try to get a DNA test from Daisy. It might take some time to convince her mom to allow us to get close to her, but we can try if you want.”

Bucky stared down at his hands.

His right hand—flesh and bone—trembled. His left hand—metal, inhuman—hung limp at his side.

“A kid?” he whispered. “My kid?”

His vision blurred. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t even know,” Bucky rasped. “I didn’t even know what they were doing. They took it from me. They used me again.”

“I know, Buck.”

He turned away, eyes wild. “I don’t—What if I’m just like them? What if Daisy's like me? What if—”

“She’s not,” Steve said, voice firm. “She’s sweet. Gentle. She looks at her mother like she’s the whole damn world. She's a great kid, Buck.”

Bucky’s throat closed.

And then the question clawed its way out:

“Does she know I'm here now? The mother… does she hate me?”

“No,” Steve said quietly. “She doesn’t even blame you. She said she thinks you didn’t know. That maybe you were just a name to them. She didn’t tell anyone because she was scared. She’s just trying to keep her daughter safe.”

Bucky sank to the floor.

He didn’t speak. Just pressed his face into his hands, breaths coming short and fast. Should I get a DNA test? That might put both the mother and the kid through a lot of trauma. Steve said Daisy looked like me. How could she look like me if she's not somehow related to me? I don't have any family left alive. It couldn't be a niece or something.

A kid.

A real one.

A little girl who existed in this world, who shouldn’t, because of him.

And he didn’t know if he had the right to see her.

-----

The compound garden was quiet except for the rustle of wind against tree branches and the distant hum of city life beyond the security walls. It didn’t feel real, not after the concrete and cold metal of the facility. You still flinch every time someone closes a door too hard.

You sit on a bench near the far edge of the garden, your daughter cradled against your side, her tiny hands sticky with banana. The blanket around her small frame is a borrowed one—soft and blue with tiny stars stitched into the corners. It was Natasha’s idea, something comforting and warm to help your daughter adjust.

Your own comfort? That was a different story.

You're still in borrowed clothes. Still tense. Still not sure when someone is going to pull the rug out from under you again.

Daisy's humming a little tune, off-key but sweet. Your hand moves in her hair, soothing her even though she doesn’t need it. Maybe you do.

Then came the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps on the gravel path.

You don't move right away. You are used to the sounds of people coming. You’d learned that reacting too quickly made them think you were unstable.

But something about these steps made your body tense. Heavy. Measured.

You turned—and your breath caught.

It was him.

The man from the file. The man from the hallway glimpses when you’d been escorted for testing. The man who made your head race with a million questions.

The Winter Soldier.

No—Bucky Barnes. That's what Natasha calls him.

He looks like a shadow from the past given breath. His long hair is tied back in a loose band, strands escaping around his jaw. He's wearing a hoodie too big for him and boots that look scuffed from use. His vibranium arm shines in the filtered sunlight, catching faint reflections of the world around him.

His face—oh, his face.

He isn’t the weapon you remember. He's a man. And he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

He stops several feet away, eyes locked on you, then flickers to the child on your lap. His eyes stay on Daisy as he takes her in, like he's trying to memorize her.

He looks like he wants to speak but doesn’t know how.

You sit up straighter, your arms instinctively wrapping more protectively around Daisy. She shifts, sensing your tension.

Bucky notices.

“I—” he starts, voice rough like gravel. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You don’t answer.

“I shouldn’t’ve come,” he murmurs. His hands hover at his sides, uncertain. “I didn’t want to scare you. I just…”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to Daisy again.

“She’s mine?” he asks quietly.

You nod, slow and cautious. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches. He looks like he might collapse under the weight of that one word.

“I didn’t know. They didn't tell me,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

“I believe you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He looks so different then how you'd seen him in the past. His face, which was usually stoic and emotionless, is filled with conflicting feelings. This has to be a lot for him to take in.

His eyes—startlingly blue, filled with pain—finally meet yours.

He takes one step forward and then pauses again. And then, hesitantly, in a voice that barely held together: “Did I—did I hurt you when she… when she was…” He trails off, the words choking in his throat. His eyes drop to the ground. “I hoped I wasn’t capable of shit like that but… I don’t know. I never know what they made me do. Not really.”

You stare at him, breath caught in your chest.

You know what he meant. He wants to know if they made him rape you. It was too hard for him to say.

That has to be a horrible feeling to experience. Knowing your mind and body could have been potentially used to so horribly violate another person. HYDRA controlled his actions, but in the end, he was the one having to live with the consequences.

“No,” you say softly. “You weren’t even in the room.”

His head jerks up to look at you. He's confused.

“It was in vitro,” you clarify. You tear your gaze away from his face, embarrassed by your vulnerable experience. I wish I could've protected myself. Stopped what they did to me. I couldn't, which makes me feel so weak. You continue. "When I was first brought into the facility, they took some of my eggs. They fertilized the egg with your sperm in a lab and then put it back in me. You were never physically involved in it." You try to reassure the man. "They never let me see who the donor was. I didn’t know until about a year after Daisy was born.”

You push yourself to look at his face.

Relief crashes across his features—brief, raw, and almost too painful to look at. He nods, a quiet breath escaping him, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Then sympathy and regret take over his face as your words settle in his head.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that...I can't imagine what that must've been like. Living in a place like that, in those conditions while pregnant...it's hard enough to survive without a baby." Bucky apologizes like it's his fault. Like he had put you through that situation. "If I had known...I would've tried to get you both out or helped you. It's not fair that you had to do that alone." He speaks genuinely.

"It's not your fault. They used you like they used me. There's nothing you could've done. They would have killed you or sent you away." I don't hold a grudge against him.

"Still, I'm very sorry."

You look at him again—really looked at him—and realize something that unsettles you.

He's just as scared as you are.

And just as broken.

There was silence between you. Heavy, aching silence. You both had experienced so much at the hands of the same people. While your journeys were different, you were both left with trauma and nightmares. You both missed time with your daughter.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It's your turn to apologize. "About her. I-I didn't know what you were going to do or react. If you would even care. I didn't know if it was safe to tell you. I couldn't risk being hurt and getting killed or losing the time they allowed me to see her." You nervously continue. "I had seen you a few times in the halls. You always looked angry and emotionless. Like a cold weapon. I was nervous to talk to you."

Bucky face is stiff. His eyes, however, hold sadness. " I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. They killed my personality and feelings. You did what you had to. She comes first. I'll never be angry for you putting her well-being first."

He isn't how you expected. Well, you didn't really know what to expect. It makes you sad he didn't get to spend time with her at all. At least you saw her once a week. This is the first time he's met her. While you missed a few milestones, he had missed them all. That's time he could never get back.

Then Daisy stirs.

She blinks up at the stranger, her small brows furrowing. “Mama?” she whispers.

You smooth a hand over her hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Bucky slowly crouches down, still not closing the distance.

He looks at Daisy with a softness that shocks you. His metal hand flexes on his knee, uncertain.

“She’s… beautiful,” he says, voice cracking.

Your throat tightens. “She is.”

“How old?”

“Almost two and a half.”

He nods slowly, trying to work the math in his head. “God…”

You see him glance toward her again.

He wants to reach out. You can tell.

But he doesn’t.

And that matters more than anything else—he doesn't assume he has a right to her. He respects you. He's willing to go at your pace.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” you ask hesitantly.

He looks up, shocked. Then nods, barely breathing.

“I’ll stay back here,” he promises, lowering himself to the far end of the bench. “Just wanted to see her. That’s all.”

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as Daisy nibbles on the banana again, still watching him with curiosity. She giggles and waves at him with a wide grin.

Bucky's lips curl into a pained smile. He waves back.

“He good guy?” she asks, glancing at you.

You pause.

You look at Bucky again.

The sorrow on his face. The weight on his shoulders.

“I think he’s trying to be,” you said quietly.

----- 3rd POV -----

Bucky didn’t remember walking back into the compound.

He remembered standing up from the bench with a nod and a faint, careful thank you to Y/N. He remembered Daisy waving her banana at him in a tiny, sticky goodbye. He remembered the ache in his chest when he looked at them one last time.

But after that, it was a blur.

Now he was back in the gym, his hoodie on the floor, fists slamming into the punching bag like it had personally ruined his life. Sweat clung to his skin, hair stuck to his forehead, and the fabric of his shirt felt suffocating. The leather wrap on his right hand had already started to fray.

Wham.

Wham.

WHAM.

"You're gonna break the damn wall if you keep that up."

Bucky didn’t stop punching, but his jaw tensed. "Maybe it deserves it."

Steve stepped into view, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His voice was steady, but soft. “You went to see her?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose and gave the bag one last blow before stepping back. His chest heaved. “Yeah.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just waited.

Bucky ripped off the wraps on his hands, tossing them onto the floor. “Y/N, she’s scared of me.”

“She’s been through hell,” Steve said quietly.

“I know that,” Bucky snapped, more at himself than Steve. “I saw it. I saw it all over her face. Every time I moved too fast, every time I even looked at her wrong, she flinched like I was going to—”

He broke off, dragging a hand over his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare her.”

Steve walked closer. “You didn’t mean to have a kid, either.”

Bucky barked a humorless laugh. “No, I didn’t. Hydra made that choice for both of us. Took what they wanted, like they always did. Used me to make a baby and used her to carry it. That shit is cruel. All those procedures Y/N had to endure...going through pregnancy in a place like that. A time that was supposed to be happy for most must've been a nightmare for her. Yeah, they took sperm from me, but that was the end of my job. They made her carry Daisy and suffer alone. The fear she must've felt, Steve. The pain. And she had no one there to support her.” Bucky was pissed and guilty.

He had wanted kids when he was younger. Before the war, he wanted a family. He wanted to be there for his wife, whoever she was, when the time came for them to have kids. He wanted to help her and be there to get everything she needed or wanted. He felt like it was the responsiblity of the father to be there to support the mother of their child. He hadn't known, so he wasn't able to be there. That hurt. Besides that, he missed so many milestones. Daisy's first laugh, first word. And so many more.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing a few steps away. “You know what’s messed up? For a second—I was terrified I’d hurt her. That they made me violate her...” He swallowed the bile crawling up his throat at the thought. “But she said it was in vitro. That I wasn’t even there. And I was relieved. Relieved I didn’t hurt her.”

“That’s not messed up,” Steve said. “That’s human. It'd be messed up if you didn't care what had happened to her.”

Bucky slumped onto a bench, metal hand resting on his thigh. “She said she’d seen me before. That I looked cold. Like a weapon.”

Steve sat beside him, not too close. “You were being used as one.”

“It doesn’t matter. That face still haunts her. Still haunts me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She was trying so hard to be brave. Holding that little girl like her life depended on it. Maybe it does.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “Did you look at her?”

Bucky glanced sideways. “The baby?”

Steve nodded.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s perfect, Steve. Big eyes. Wild hair. She’s got this laugh—she laughed at me. Me. Can you believe that?” His lips pulled into a soft, disbelieving smile. Then it faded.

“I don’t know what to do. She’s scared of me. Rightfully so. I don’t even know what I am to that little girl. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a dad. I've never had a responsibility like that. I didn’t choose any of this.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “But you’re here now. You're going to be a great dad, Bucky. You're just going to need to learn a little bit. There's nothing wrong with that. Y/N is still learning too.”

Bucky closed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing into his spine. “What if I mess this up?”

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and sure. “Then you keep trying. You show up and try again. You don't give up on your kid. And you let them set the pace.”

------

You watch Daisy sleep from across the room, arms wrapped around your knees, curled into yourself like you used to in your cell.

The compound was too quiet sometimes. Not the same kind of terrifying quiet like HYDRA, but… too peaceful. Like silence, you hadn’t earned.

You could still feel the warmth of the bench under your body. Still see the careful way Bucky had kept his distance. The way he’d crouched like he wasn’t sure if he should even breathe too close to your daughter.

Our daughter.

This isn't how you had planned to have a family. As a young girl, you had always wanted to have a family someday. You wanted a lot of things. You want to graduate from Harvard with honors and get into a great graduate program. You wanted an amazing career in an industry where you could make a difference with the help of your intelligence. You wanted to find a man who loved you completely, no matter how much you weighed or what you looked like. You wanted to get married and have children in a beautiful home you worked hard for. You wanted your husband to be there when you gave birth to your babies, to be able to share the moment with you. You wanted your husband to be able to share your baby's beautiful moments and milestones with you. You wanted to throw birthday parties and show your baby off. You wanted so much.

And you got none of it.

You didn't get to graduate or get married. You didn't get to fall and love and have support through your pregnancy. You were forced through hundreds of tests, surgeries, and experiments until your bubbly, confident self was turned into a shell of who you were. You were forced to experience the heartbreak of being forcibly impregnated by a stranger, growing a bond with your baby, delivering her in a traumatic setting, and then getting her taken away.

You shiver at the thought.

You had seen his face in so many nightmares. Those glimpses in the hallway, the times he’d walked by in black gear with no emotion behind his eyes. The Winter Soldier. A ghost of war, of death, of silence.

Now that face had looked at you with fear. Guilt.

And tenderness.

He had looked at Daisy like she was made of stardust. Like she was the one good thing in a world full of pain.

Your heart twisted.

You wanted to hate him. To blame him. That would be easier than trying to navigate this next stage in life.

But he hadn’t been in the room. He hadn’t made the choice. He hadn't known.

Neither had you.

You reach up and touch your side, remembering the cold, sterile ache of the implantation procedure. The way they drugged you and stole pieces of you before violating your body and forcing you to take those changed pieces back. Remembering the nurse who whispered, “You should be honored. He’s the pinnacle of perfection. Your child will be a masterpiece.”

You blink hard, pressing your forehead to your knees. Rage and shame twist in your stomach.

You hadn’t even known his name when Daisy started to grow inside her. Just a number. A file. A myth.

And now he was real.

So painfully real.

You weren't ready. You wanted to be—but you weren't. Not yet.

But the way he’d looked at Daisy…

It made something shift in you.

A glimmer of hope.

A flicker of trust.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next. Didn’t know if you could ever let him in completely. But maybe—just maybe—Daisy could have the chance at something better.

Maybe they all could.

------

It was late afternoon when the hallway outside the common room falls quiet again, the golden sunlight slants across the polished floors. The Avengers Compound always seems to hum with a soft, underlying rhythm—doors closing gently, distant voices, the faint clinking of cups or laughter echoing down corridors.

You sit on the floor with Daisy again, this time carefully braiding your daughter’s hair—short, wavy strands that refuse to stay in the little plaits. Daisy keeps giggling and squirming, half-playing, half-patient. A picture book lies forgotten on the rug, open to a page about rainbows.

It feels… almost normal. A warmth in your chest you don’t dare name yet.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Um… hi.” The voice was gravel-soft. Low. Hesitant.

You look up slowly, hands still tangled in your daughter’s hair.

Bucky stands a few feet away, not moving any closer, shoulders drawn in like he's trying to make himself smaller. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the glint of his metal arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, are careful now—open in a quiet way, like he's trying not to spook you.

You stiffen slightly, but don’t pull Daisy into your lap the way you might’ve just a few days ago.

He notices.

“I—I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says quickly, raising one hand in a peaceable gesture. “I just… I was wondering if I could… if I could talk to her. To Daisy. Just for a little bit.”

His voice cracks slightly on the name.

You blink. Daisy keeps playing with her plush porcupine, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults hovering above her.

“I wouldn’t—” Bucky looks down at his boots, then up at you again, almost painfully slow. “I wouldn’t touch her. Or scare her. I’d just… like to sit nearby. Maybe say hi. If that’s okay.”

There's a long silence. The kind where you can hear every breath.

You look at him—really look at him. He isn’t trying to loom or press. If anything, he looks like he's bracing for you to flinch. For you to say no. For you to shut him down completely.

And yet… he's still here.

Still trying.

“Yeah sure. She’s just playing,” You say, finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can sit. If you want.”

The relief that passes through Bucky’s body isn't loud—but you feel it, somehow. Like something in the air softened.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

He steps over slowly and settles on the floor, leaving a comfortable space between them. He sits cross-legged, not facing Daisy directly—just angled enough to be part of the circle, but not too close. He doesn't speak right away. Just watches.

Daisy looks up from her toy and blinks at the new face.

She tilts her head.

Then offers him her porcupine.

Bucky lets out a breath of laughter, barely audible, as he reaches forward with a hand that trembles just slightly.

“That for me?” he asks softly.

Daisy nodded solemnly. “His name’s Pokey.”

He takes the plush in his large, careful hands and holds it like it is something delicate. “Pokey, huh? That’s a good name.”

You watch them both. Your hands drop from your daughter’s hair as you sit back against the couch, unsure of what to feel. Your heart is beating a little too fast.

Daisy begins stacking plastic cups again. Her porcupine now rests between her and Bucky, like a silent peace offering.

“She likes you,” You say after a beat. “I can tell.”

“She’s brave,” Bucky says, watching her. “She’s got your smile.”

The compliment stirs something warm in your chest, though you don't show it.

You two sat like that for a while. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. A fragile beginning.

And Bucky doesn't push. He just stays.

Careful. Quiet.

Present.

----3rd POV----

Bucky sat alone on the balcony connected to his room, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his mouth. The sky was slipping into dusk, streaked in lilac and orange, and the air carried that subtle shift toward nighttime—the kind of cool that made you breathe a little deeper.

He hadn’t moved for nearly an hour.

The image of Daisy—stacking plastic cups with gentle concentration, her nose scrunched, her little fingers brushing his when she passed him the porcupine—played on repeat in his mind.

She didn’t know who he was.

And still, she smiled.

Still, she trusted him—instinctively, openly, like no one ever had without reason.

It was unbearable in the best and worst way.

The door behind him opened softly.

He didn’t look back.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Steve said, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs in hand.

Bucky took one without a word. It was warm—chamomile or something equally Steve-like.

They sat in silence for a few long beats. The kind of silence only decades of friendship could make comfortable.

Steve finally spoke.

“How’d it go?”

Bucky let out a breath through his nose.

“She let me sit,” he said. “That’s more than I expected.”

“She trust you?” Steve asked gently.

“No. Not yet,” Bucky murmured. “But she didn’t flinch when I talked. She didn’t grab Daisy and run.”

Steve nodded. “That’s progress.”

“She looked scared of me,” Bucky said finally, softly. “Even though she was trying not to be. I know that look.”

Steve tilted his head, studying his best friend.

“And Daisy?” he asked.

“She gave me a damn stuffed animal,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Called it Pokey. Just… handed it to me like she already knew I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” Bucky said, almost too quietly. “A kid. Even just… knowing there’s someone out there who’s part of me.”

Steve set his mug down carefully on the railing.

“You didn’t get this, Buck. It was taken from you. From both of you.”

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at the darkening horizon. His hands clenched around the mug.

“I want to know her,” he said. “But I don’t wanna push Y/N. I don’t wanna be that guy who comes in and messes it all up just because I showed up too late.”

Steve looked at him, steady and kind.

“You being cautious already tells me you’re not gonna mess it up. You care. You’re trying. That counts.”

Bucky exhaled deeply.

“I just hate that HYDRA used us both like that,” he said. “Violated her. Used my DNA like it meant nothing. I feel like I’m walking into a house made of glass. One wrong word and it all shatters.”

Steve nodded again, silent in understanding.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “She’ll see it.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared at the horizon, holding the warmth of the tea in his hands like an anchor.

----

The compound was quiet again.

You stand at the crib beside your bed, your fingers brushing softly over Daisy’s soft hair. The toddler was fast asleep—tucked up tight, one arm around Pokey, the other sprawled across her blanket.

She looked so small like that. Fragile. But she wasn’t, not really. Daisy had known nothing but chaos and confinement, and yet she still smiled. Still trusted.

Still shared her toys.

You turn away and sit down on the bed, your knees pulled up toward your chest. The sheets were soft. Clean. The scent of lavender drifted from the pillow.

It was all so different from the concrete cell.

From the cold, sterile walls of the lab.

And yet you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded anytime you saw someone unexpected in the hallway. Couldn’t stop the way your body tensed when someone spoke too loudly. Couldn’t stop glancing at the exits.

One of the moments with Bucky played in your head over and over.

His voice, low and cautious. The way he sat across from you, like he didn’t want to breathe too loudly.

“Did I… did I hurt you…”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening again.

He’d been so careful. So afraid that he had done something monstrous without knowing. And when you told him he hadn’t, you saw him breathe again. Like someone had finally taken the weight off his chest.

He wasn’t the man who hurt you.

He’d never even been there.

And yet… he was the man whose face haunted you back then. Cold. Silent. Deadly. The Winter Soldier had passed by your cell more than once. You remembered the way guards stood straighter. How even the doctors looked nervous.

But this Bucky?

This was someone else entirely.

Gentle. Broken. Kind.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

How could someone be the ghost in your nightmares and also the man your child smiled at?

You curled tighter into yourself and closed your eyes. Your body ached with memory and fatigue. Your heart felt stretched thin with confusion and fear and… something else. Something warmer that you didn’t dare name.

Not yet.

But maybe, if he stayed gentle… if he kept giving them space and showing up without demanding anything…

Maybe you could learn how to name it.

----

Bucky now spent a little more time with you and Daisy every few days—never too long, always careful not to push. Sometimes he brought little things for Daisy: a new picture book, a wooden toy. He always checked with you first.

And you two started to talk.

It started out slow with things like 'How are you?', 'Do you like the tower?', or just general conversation about their baby.

“She reminds me of Becca sometimes,” Bucky says one afternoon as Daisy scribbled chalk shapes on the pavement. His soft eyes gaze down at her, a small smile curling on his lips. “My sister.”

You tilt your head. “Was she older or younger?”

“Younger,” he says, his smile widening at a memory. “Bossy. Tougher than I ever was.”

You smile back. “I had a brother. He was older. He… tried to stop them when they came for me.”

Bucky looks over, eyes shaded with something dark and aching. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “I don’t even know if he made it.”

Bucky gives you a sad smile. “My sister got sick and died a long time ago. This was after HYDRA got to me.”

There was silence for a moment, not heavy—but shared. Bucky sits back on the bench, arms resting on his knees.

“You were only eighteen,” he murmurs. “I read your file.”

Your stomach clenches. “Oh.”

“No— I just…” He sits up straighter. “I’m not trying to dig into your past. I just—wanted to understand. What they did to you, what they made you go through…”

His voice cracks a little, then hardens again. “It’s not fair. None of it.”

You look at him carefully. He was trying to understand you. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it’s still part of me,” he says. “HYDRA’s part of me. And I hate that.”

You are quiet for a while. Then softly you speak: “They tried to break both of us. But we’re still here.”

He looks at you. Really looked. There was something in his eyes—a kind of admiration you didn’t know how to respond to. He gives you space, respects every boundary. And still, there's warmth. There's safety.

And you were beginning to feel it.

Your chest aches with something too complex to name. You knew you were starting to like him. To care. But you couldn’t let it show. Not yet.

You turn your eyes to Daisy, who is now chalking a stick figure with dark hair.

Bucky smiles faintly beside her. “That one’s me, isn’t it?”

You laugh under your breath. “Looks like it. Strong jaw and everything.”

He grins, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—you feel like a girl again. Not a prisoner. Not a lab rat. Just someone…normal.

And that was new.

---

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

[rafesapple]

could you write smth ablut rafe cameron and a bimbo reader? Idk why but bimbo reader always intrigues me 😭😭

not proof read!

bimbo reader x rafe

warnings!

smut, semi public s3x?, men being weird?

one of rafe’s friends had invited you both out to the beach for the weekend. at first rafe had no plan or desire to, but you straight begged him to go. you had been wanting a tan all winter! plus you got to wear the swimsuit that’s been stuck in your drawer… but when you came out of the changing rooms in that? oh rafe wasn’t having it…but god when you smiled dumbly at him while your tits practically spilled out your bikini? he couldn’t say nothing, not yet at least.

“isn’t it pretty rafey?” you giggled showing off the bikini, and you hadn’t even taken over the skirt cover up. you hands ride over your waist and hip, rafe’s eyes lingering for a moment. “yeah.cute.” he spoke with his teeth clenched, he liked it really. but not out in public. it made him bite his lip harder seeing a few teenagers stare at you. “you sound sarcastic..” you pouted out. “im not bein-“ you cut him off getting distracted by the seagulls “rafey look at the seagulls…!” “ your distracted.” he grunted out, staring at you and you being a bit…naive. but you just laugh “ohhh yeah.what were you saying..?”

“nothing.just..nevermind,yeah?” you smile wrapping your arms around his neck. your tits pushing up against him “can we pleaseeee go get some drinks?”

awhile after standing in line and waiting for drinks, you both sit down next to kelce and whatever girlfriend he has this week. while rafe stays in the shade, you lay in the sun getting your tan. rafe starting to notice the red spots on your skin(though ever so slightly) “babe.” you look up at him through your glasses “did you put on enough sunscreen.” “oh! crap…i forgot.”

you getting up going into your beach bag next to him. he glances at your hanging tits for a second but…as your bent over like that he notices a few other men staring at your ass. he gently pushes you to sit back on your towel “don’t do that again. i’ll get your god damn sun screen.” rafe grunted out going through the bag himself. he pulls the sunscreen out and you reach back for it “i’ll do it.” he spoke as he squeezed it out into his hand, his veined hands rub themselves on each other, then applying it to your back gently. “thank you…!” you giggled out “mm…” soon after you get up going off into the water begging rafe to come join you.

“rafey pleaseeee!” you whined out, though he never ended up coming. it was boring by yourself so you went back to shore, your tits bouncing and dripping with water. the practically now thong clinging around your ass cheeks as you run up to him. he couldn’t take it anymore. he grabs your cover up, getting up and quickly wrapping it around your body “babe what are you—“ he tightly wraps his hand around your wrist leading you to the small bar at the beach. once getting you in the bathroom he tightly holds your chin

“did you even realize that at least twenty fucking men are staring at your tits and ass,hm?” his hands run down to your ass, fixing your bikini bottom. though it’ll be ruined in a few seconds. you look at him with big doe eyes “rafe i didn’t…” “you didn’t know,huh? now you do.” he starts massaging your tits “been wanting to take these out this top all day. you have no idea..” you whimper feeling his thick fingers play with the tips of your bosom’s. he looks up at you with slight permission in his eyes, he knows you’ll say yes but he just needs to ask…for you.

you quietly nod and he doesn’t waist a second undoing the strings on it. he plays with them for a few more, then taking one of them into his mouth, filling it as he played with the other. soon one of his hands go down to your most sensitive area. though covered by the what he liked to call a g-string. “r…rafey…” you groaned out, you barely talked during sex, but that was mainly because it felt so overstimulating. then you felt him about to rip it “stop!” you whined out, though he immediately did “you can’t rip my bikini babe!” you whined out “it was over 200$!!” he laughs in your chest “mm i’ll buy another one if need be.” he muttered gravely, but he just ended up moving it to the side as he sighed his fingers into your gummy walls. you whine loudly, twitching all over his body.

the smell of your juices were already starting to fill the small bathroom, well…you were already about to cum. so you did all over his fingers while his hand covered your mouth due that this was…semi public. but that’s when it was best…you look up at him “you made a mess, baby..” you giggle trying to catch your breath “oh…well!”

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[er1nne]

interviewing drew for queer (do not copy or plagarize, original work)

The buzz of the red carpet was a living thing, pulsing with life as cameras flashed and excited voices carried over the barricades. You adjusted the hem of your pants again, smoothing it over your hips even though it didn’t need it. It was instinct, a way to channel the energy that simmered just beneath your skin. The red carpet was alive with energy, a sea of lights, cameras, and glamour that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. You stood at your designated spot, microphone in hand, scanning the line of arriving guests with practiced ease. This wasn’t your first premiere, but tonight felt charged with a different kind of anticipation. 

You glanced at the crowd gathered just beyond the velvet ropes. Fans pressed against the barricades, their phones out, waving signs and shouting names. Somewhere behind you, another journalist was calling for their next interviewee, their voice competing with the noise of the evening.

You swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited for your next interview. Your grip tightened on the microphone, the smooth surface cool against your palm. You’d done this countless times before, but tonight was different. This wasn’t just any film premiere—it was Queer.

The buzz around the project had been relentless. Raw, intimate, and deeply personal, it had stirred emotions before a single frame had even been released. And now, you were moments away from speaking with one of its stars. Drew Starkey.

You glanced down at your shoes, adjusting your stance and mentally rehearsing your questions one last time. You were prepared. You always were. But there was something about him—something about the way he carried himself, about the way he seemed to pull everyone’s attention with such ease—that made your nerves feel sharper tonight.

When you looked up again, there he was.

He moved through the crowd with an effortless grace, his tall frame cutting a striking figure under the bright lights. The black suit he wore was simple but impeccably tailored, fitting him like it had been made for this moment. His hair was perfectly tousled, the kind of artful mess that looked casual but probably wasn’t.

And then his eyes found yours, they locked on you like a spotlight, and for a moment, the noise of the red carpet seemed to fade. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, easy smile, and before you could fully process it, he was in front of you.

“Hi, Drew,” you greeted, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Welcome. How does it feel to be here tonight?”

His smile widened as he slid his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed but not careless. “It feels… surreal,” he said, his voice warm and measured. “Exciting, overwhelming, maybe a little nerve-wracking.”

His voice was low and even, carrying a weight that made you lean in slightly.

“Nerve-wracking?” You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That’s the trick,” he replied, leaning in just slightly. His voice dropped, soft enough that only you could hear over the noise around you. “Pretend you’re calm long enough, and eventually, people start to believe it.”

“That’s a powerful way to put it,” you said. “Queer has been described as raw, vulnerable, and deeply human. What drew you to this project?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as though searching for the right words. “It’s a story that matters,” he said finally. “It’s not just about one experience—it’s about the universal truths that connect all of us. Identity, love, loss, finding your place in the world. It’s messy, and it’s beautiful, and it’s real.”

The way he spoke, so deliberate and thoughtful, made your chest tighten. This wasn’t just another press soundbite—it was personal.

“And your character,” you pressed gently, “what was it like stepping into his shoes?”

Drew’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but there was something introspective in his expression. “Challenging,” he admitted. “And not just because of the emotional depth. It forced me to confront parts of myself I hadn’t looked at in a while. That’s what great stories do—they reflect you back at yourself.”

You nodded, his words resonating in a way you hadn’t expected. The noise of the red carpet faded further as the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

“What do you hope audiences take away from it?”

He exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing as he considered your question. “I hope they see themselves in it,” he said. “Even in the parts that feel uncomfortable. Especially in those parts. Because that’s where growth happens.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a ripple through you, and for a moment, you forgot the cameras, the crowd, the lights. It was just Drew, standing in front of you, baring a part of himself that felt achingly human. As he spoke, his hand gestured lightly, and for a moment, his fingers hovered near yours—close enough that you felt the faintest hint of warmth. 

“That’s beautifully said,” you replied, your voice softer now.

His eyes held yours for a beat longer, and then his smile returned, lighter this time. “Thanks. You’re making this way too easy, by the way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Easy?”

“For me,” he clarified, his grin widening. “I usually have to work harder for good questions.”

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension in your chest. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

As the interview wrapped up, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “By the way, you’re good at this.”

The words sent a flicker of warmth through you, and you barely managed a reply before he was gone, disappearing into the next wave of flashing cameras. The warmth of his compliment lingered long after he pulled away, his grin softening as he straightened and offered you a small wave before heading to the next reporter.

Later, as you replayed the conversation in your head, the memory of his gaze lingered most. It wasn’t the kind of look meant to charm or deflect, but one that seemed genuinely curious, as though he were studying you in a way that felt both disarming and personal. The faint warmth of his compliment echoed in your mind, and though you tried to shake it off as professional politeness, a part of you couldn’t ignore the quiet connection you’d felt in that moment. It wasn’t just another interview—it felt like something more.

AN: i can't wait to see queer! love drew to pieces

[ao3s-personal-smut-connoisseur]

Getting that AO3 email saying a couple people dropped a Kudos>>>>>>

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Late Nights

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky talks to you after you have a nightmare.

Disclaimer: descriptions of nightmares and blood. Little angst but mostly fluff. Bucky and Reader go to the farmers market and dance together in the kitchen. Not fully proof read.

It was late. That much you knew. 

The sky had long since darkened over the city, the street lights flickering on as the clouds moved over the stars and had started to cradle the moon. You kept the light off in the living area as you entered. The bathroom light was already harsh enough, you didn’t need more to hurt your eyes. 

Like every other night, you moved inside quietly. Nobody else was awake. They never were. So, you had taken up your usual seat at the floor to ceiling window that looked out to the rest of the city. 

Cars still drove by on the roads every now and again, most of them ubers dropping people home from the clubs and bars around town. 

You’d stacked up your case hours within the first couple of months so you had been put on desk duty by Hill and Barton until you’d be needed out in the field again. Which was good in one aspect. You worked a standard nine to five. However, just because you weren’t physically out in the field didn’t mean that your mind wasn’t. 

It happened every time you came back from a mission. For the first couple of weeks, you’d be okay. But once you were comfortable, and safe, your mind decided to start playing tricks on you. You’d wake with the smell of the jet engine still in your nose. The bruises and cuts could have healed months ago, but you’d wake and still fill that pain as if they’d just happened. Once you’d remember where you were, the pain would slowly float away. But in those first few seconds? It was as if no time had passed at all and you were still on the field. Still in your nightmare. 

Your hands smoothed down your wide legged sweatpants as you pulled your legs towards your chest. And for a while, you just breathed. Keeping your cheek on your knee, looking outside to the city that never seemed to sleep, you just kept breathing. 

“Can’t sleep?”

You turned your head to look at the door. You were just thankful you remembered to put your glasses back on when you got out of bed. Otherwise you’d be trying to guess which team member was standing by the kitchen island. 

“How long have you been there?” You asked Bucky. You hadn’t even heard him come in. 

“Not too long.”

“How specific.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.” He started walking towards you, his feet padding across the cold floor before stopping in front of you and holding out a loosened water bottle. 

“Thanks,” you replied quietly as you took it from him. Then he sat opposite to you, one leg propped up, the other dangling over the side to rest against the floor. 

“Still getting nightmares?” He asked you. 

You swallowed the gulp of water as you looked away from him. “Who told you I was getting them in the first place?”

“You did.”

You looked at him, your eyes landing on his. Bucky had this way of looking at people. You blamed it on him spending too much time with Sam. It was like he could see through you. Sam had been through a lot, but some of the darker stuff you could hide from him. Sam would know you were hiding something, but he wouldn’t be able to tell what exactly. 

But Bucky? 

It was as if he could see the tattoos on your heart. Like he could read them, even if they were in another language. He knew. But he’d always wait. He had patience. 

Bucky answered the question you’d asked silently. “You forget your room is next to mine. When your door closes, I hear it. It shakes the wall. I’m a light sleeper, so I notice.”

Bucky had heard how quietly you’d closed the door when you were trying to make sure nobody would wake up. 

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and joined you in looking out to the rest of the city. “Nothing to be sorry for. You wanna tell me about them?”

You shrugged, keeping your gaze focused on the city and definitely not his reflection in the glass. “Just the usual, you know. Re-living the missions, rewriting the endings, seeing all the mistakes and wondering what would have happened if they didn’t happen. Or if they did. They go away eventually.”

“They go away, or they get replaced?”

You shook your head. “You spend too much time with Sam.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle. 

“What happened tonight?”

You looked back at him. “Why are you awake?”

“Got thirsty,” he told you, holding up his own water bottle. “And you didn’t come back to bed.”

Bucky, again, went on to answer your silent question. 

“I also know when you go back to bed. Woke up naturally to complete silence. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Bucky sayed quiet for a few moments, his gaze studying every inch of you. And then-

“You’re cold.”

Without another word, Bucky stood up and walked over to the basket of blankets that was hanging on the opposite wall. He pulled one through the bars before walking back over to you. With quiet gestures, Bucky had you lean forward and he placed the blanket over your shoulders.

Then he sat back down opposite you. 

“You know,” Bucky broke the long silence of just watching people turn lights on and off inside their apartments across the city. “If you ever want to talk about it, you can come and find me.”

“Thanks, Buck. But I think I’ll be okay.”

Bucky shook his head. “This isn’t a polite offer. I mean it. Three o’clock in the morning, or three in the afternoon. If you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you looked at him, taking his words in. He did really mean it. But you still tried your best to stay calm. Eventually, you nodded. 

“Thanks, Buck.”

There was another twenty minutes of silence and somewhere in them, you must have drifted off because you felt yourself being lifted up. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not sleeping against glass all night.” Bucky’s voice was soft in the silence of the room. “Just close your eyes. You’re safe with me.”

“Buck, I can walk.”

You heard Bucky’s breathy chuckle as he held you closer. “I don’t trust you to walk when you’re asleep. That’s like asking Scott to dance after he’s had one too many. Just close your eyes.”

You didn’t know if you compiled because you wanted to, or because your body forced you to but the next thing you remembered was waking up to the sunlight glowing softly in your room. The blanket Bucky had wrapped around you hours earlier was still in its place. 

It was the first time in weeks you felt rested. Not that you’d just slept well, but you were actually rested. 

Eventually you turned your body to look at your alarm clock. 10:02am. 

You were just thankful you had weekends off. 

That was when you noticed your phone. Plugged in, fully charged. You hadn’t done that. Had Bucky?

Then you saw the texts. 

When you wake up, meet me at the coffee machine. 

You took twenty minutes before dragging yourself from bed and heading into the kitchen. That was where you found him, completing his book of crosswords. 

“Hey,” he smiled, briefly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have done in a while.” You poured yourself a coffee before topping up his mug. He thanked you quietly before taking a sip. 

“Thank you for carrying me last night. I don’t remember anything after Scott having one too many.”

Bucky just smiled. “You're welcome.”

“So?” You asked as you sat beside him. “What did you need?”

Part of you had expected him to say you were getting called into work for something. But no. Instead, he just pushed his crossword over to you. 

“Its theme is Greece. I can’t find the last few words.” 

“You texted me to help you with a crossword?”

“If I text Natasha, she’d just add it to her ‘old-man’ gags.”

You chuckled, taking the pen from him. “Hand it over.”

For the next twenty minutes, you and Bucky sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing the crossword. Artemis had been written diagonally and backwards. Hermes had been written directly across two other words and Aphrodite had been written directly down the middle. 

You and Bucky ended up spending the entire morning doing the next three pages together. And somewhere between the quiet deliberation, concentrated stares and shared laughter, you’d both ended up planning a day together. 

First the farmers market just outside of town. You’d picked up some fresh flowers and fresh food. Bucky had picked a different selection of things from some aged books he could wait to read, to fresh fruit and pies from one old lady’s stall. 

She’d mistaken you and Bucky for being a couple and had started talking about the cute dates her and her husband would go on when they were your age. Then she gave you and Bucky some locations that were practically destined to be date spots. 

Neither of you had the heart to tell her you were both co-workers and friends. And that Bucky, technically, was a lot older than her and her husband. 

So, you both went along with it. 

The hours that followed, you and Bucky ended up walking around the entire town just talking. A little about work, but mostly about your histories. Bucky’s memories of going to the fair with his sister and your memories of being dragged around farmer markets as a kid. 

“I hated it for a long time and then one afternoon in college, I ended up walking to the local one. And I’ve loved them ever since.”

Bucky smiled as he listened to you. You’d known each other for almost four years and despite sharing a bedroom wall and working together most of the time, it was rare he got to share these moments with you. 

Ones where you were completely relaxed. Ones where your mind wasn’t at least a little bit on work. Ones where you could smile and laugh and joke along with him. 

By the time you both got back home, the others walked in to find you and Bucky cooking dinner together. The radio was on, a familiar forties tune coming to an end just as Michael Bublé started to wash over the speaker. 

Bucky was peeling carrots when he looked over at you, your hips softly swaying to the tune as you smiled to yourself. So, putting down the peeler, he wiped his hands on the dish towel slung over his shoulder and reached for your hand. 

You were a little confused initially but once you realised what he was doing, you dropped the knife back onto the chopping board and started dancing around the kitchen with him. Laughter escaped both of you as he twirled you out and around before pulling you back in close. He surprised you at one point, dipping you down before lifting you back onto your feet. 

“We need to get dinner started before they offer us as a sacrifice,” you laughed out as the song eventually came to an end. You patted Bucky twice on the chest and looked away as you felt your cheeks heat. 

“Okay, okay. You might have a point.”

Pulling his sleeves a little further up his arms from where they’d slipped a little whilst you were dancing together, he got back to washing and peeling the veg before you chopped them and placed them into the pot on the stove. 

Throughout the entire time in the kitchen, you and Bucky seemed to be able to silently communicate. As he stepped around you as you reached for one of the spices on the spice racks, he turned the heat down on the hob. He handed you the stirring spoon before you could ask for it. You lifted the chopping board so he could wipe underneath them, he took them from you when he was finished before lifting the pan lid up to stop it from boiling over as you tended to the second saucepan. 

It was an entire dance within itself. 

It was also the first time you didn’t want to throttle someone for being in the kitchen with you as you cooked. 

It was nice. 

It was…

Homely. 

By the time you and Bucky had finished setting the table, everyone had returned from their days out or at work and you’d all sat down and talked over dinner. 

And for the following two weeks, everything ran in a similar way. You also found yourself sleeping longer, and deeper, than you had done in a while. 

All until two weeks later when a nightmare seemed to storm your mind. You had been happy in a dream, in a house you’d just bought, decorating the rooms with your friends until a paint pot got spilt. It had been blue in the can, but as it seemed out, it began to turn red. Then the red took over the room in a light and the paint became a river before it became blood. 

You looked up and found yourself back in your uniform, cuts across your knuckles, pain seeping into the bones of your body. A leaky roof was dripping and mixing in with the blood that was caked into your hair. Your vision turned blurry before you felt yourself beginning to fall. Only, you didn’t wake up. You’d fallen into another room. Another floor. Another punch. Another glare of the sun before a red light took over and a buzzer began to blare over your head. 

You tried covering your ears but it only got louder. Someone’s hands were on you, pushing you down. Pulling you up. Punching your gut. Gunshots started firing. Another room. Another mission. Somebody was yelling. A kid was screaming. There hadn’t been a mission with a kid. Or had there? Did you have to get them out? What was your mission? Another punch. Another room. Another alarm. Another fight. Over and over again. More and more pain. More and more voices. 

“It’s okay. It’s just me.”

Bucky had heard you shouting. You never called out in your sleep. He’d sprung from his bed when he realised it was your voice and not just his imagination. You were in bed, sleeping. You were in bed, getting caught in a nightmare. 

There was a cold sheen across your skin, your covers were getting tangled around you as you fought against whoever was in your head, your face was scrunched in pain and your hands were holding onto your head. 

He tried waking you but it wasn’t working. You needed to be brought back to reality. So, climbing in beside you, his arms wrapped around your body to hold you still. 

Your entire body was shaking underneath him. 

“It’s just me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

One final throw from your body and you jolted awake, your hands not recognising the arms around you. 

“It’s just me. You’re safe. You’re in the tower.”

“Bucky?” Your voice was almost pleading as it shook. You could only pray it was him. 

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What…what happened?”

“You had a nightmare.”

You swallowed thickly, the previous images flashing through your mind before you pressed your hand against your head. “Yeah…yeah.”

Your breathing was still elevated, as was your heartbeat. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

You closed your eyes and nodded, feeling the tears hit you. “Please.”

Bucky didn’t need to ask twice. His arms already around you, he held you a little tighter as you turned over and curled your arm over his ribs and up his back. 

Carefully, he patted the back of your hair before pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

You didn’t know how, or when, but eventually you drifted off in his embrace with his thumb wiping your fallen tears away from your cheeks. 

The next morning, you continued to lay in his embrace. You were trying to make sense of your nightmares. Which mission they belonged to, why they’d hit you all of a sudden. 

“How are you feeling?”

You could think of any other word than, “Odd.”

“Talk to me.”

You swallowed once again and shook your head. “I…I don’t know how else to put it. They’ve never been that bad. It’s usually just one or two. But that was…” You blew some air from your lungs. “That was a lot.”

“Then start at the beginning. You need to talk about it.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. So, you started from the beginning. And he listened. He waited through every silence, no matter how long. And he didn’t try to leave or run away. Bucky stayed, holding you close to him.

“How long have you been having nightmares?”

You shrugged. “Couple of years, I guess. But they’re not frequent. Or like…that.”

“Are they always the same?”

“Similar. They’re all about missions if that’s what you mean.”

Bucky nodded. “Do you know what might have triggered it?”

You shook your head. “No clue.”

It was twenty minutes before you both decided to get up and when you did, you started stripping your bed from its covers. 

“I think I sweated through this.”

Without another word, Bucky walked over and opened up your window a little before helping you pull the pillowcases and fitted sheet from your bed. He helped you reach the covers on the very top shelf and helped you fit them back onto your bed. 

He made breakfast that morning as you made the coffee. It got easier through the day but by the time you decided to go to bed, Bucky slipped under the covers beside you without a word. Just quiet stares before you reached out for his hand under the covers and closed your eyes. 

That was the first night both you and Bucky had fallen into a deep sleep, being completely undisturbed by dreams or nightmares. 

[sincerinty]

“You're lucky I like you!”

Text exchange with Blue Lock boys reacting to you saying “you’re lucky I like you.” Except they like you back.

FEAT. Rin, Isagi, Chigiri, Nagi

❈•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•❈ ❈•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•❈

⋆⭒˚.⋆° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

— Rin Itoshi

⋆⭒˚.⋆° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

— Isagi Yoichi

⋆⭒˚.⋆° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

— Chigiri Hyoma

⋆⭒˚.⋆° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

— Nagi Seishiro

❈•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•❈ ❈•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•❈

[novashelby]

Car Rides for Good Girls-Shivering Soldier x Reader

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x Reader Warning: Fingering, innocence, dirty talk Word Count: 596 Summary: He gives you a ride...and a fingering.

Thank you at @moonbeamott for playing!

She was a girl he met off base where he was stationed. He hardly knew her name, but she was sweet and kind. Often gave the soldiers extras at her shop her father owned, especially him. She always paid a little extra attention to the soldier who talked quietly and had a more stoic appearance. There was something she liked about him, but couldn’t pin point it. One day when he handed over a few pence, she blushed at his hands and how nice they were. He took note of that; the sweet blush on the balls of her cheeks. And every time after that, he looked for it. 

Occasionally he was lent a car and he could drive deeper into the country. He was going down a muddy country road when he saw something in the distance. It was a lady, shielding herself from the rain as she trotted through mud. He pulled up gently and reached over to roll down the window. When he recognized her, he immediately opened the door, no questions asked. “Get in,” he told her in his typical tone. “You’re wet and you’ll get sick if you stay out here.”

She slid in, wet and muddy. “I’m going to get the car dirty.”

“It’s no problem,” he said, peering off. He asked where she was headed and when she said home, he was shocked she walked this nightly. They conversed simply. When reached down to play with the radio only to turn it off, he noticed her eyes shift to his hands. His eyes glanced over, the familiar blush there. Grinning, he tested the boundaries. “You’ll be okay. Are you okay? You seem tense.” His hand placed upon her leg and she gasped, but didn’t move him off.

“Y-yes, I’m fine-”

He brought it down to the hem of her pencil skirt. “Are you sure?” he questioned, sneaking under and inward. To his surprise, she let her legs fall open. He continued to drive, feeling up and down. Each time, raising his hand just a little higher. His pinky reached out, just ghosting over her panty covered pussy. A little whimper echoed in the car. That was enough for him to drag his index over her folds to the band and slither his hand in. “I bet this is all new to you,” he whispered, almost patronizing and condescending. “I bet you’re a good girl.”

“W-will you continue?” she asked, not sure what to expect. He nodded, answering with a little mm. His fingers rubbed between her wet folds, teasing by her clit.

“Have you ever rubbed here?” he asked, bringing his finger to her clit, rubbing in little circles. He laughed as she jolted, her hand reaching out to grab his arm. “Or is it all so new? Hm?” When her mouth opened to answer, he rubbed a little faster, pressing down harder. He laughed as moans came out instead of words. 

“I h-have-”

His brows arched, commenting how naughty she was, pretending to be so sweet and innocent. “And has anyone else touched you?” When she shook her head. “Good girl. I knew you were aching for it by the way you looked at my hands. Come closer-good girl.” He stopped the car and brought her on his lap. One hand held her, keeping a naughty hold on her tit; squeezing and rubbing, every so often pinching her nipple through her dress. The other hand played between her legs, allowing her to fully come undone for him. “And you were so worried about being muddy? Now look at you.”

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Lakeside Cabin

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning: Y/N Use, swearing

Summary: The hate you and Bucky have for each other has gradually increased throughout your time knowing each other. This time, things went too far. Thanks to your arguments, you get sent on a unique consequential mission: You will both live together in a secluded cabin until you're able to come together and settle your differences. You're screwed.

This doesn't really follow the movies or shows.

*Not Proof Read*

No mentions of body type, skin color, or details of reader's appearance. Reader is able-bodied.

Pt. 2

□□□□□□□

My mom always told me hate is a strong word.

It's not strong enough to describe the way I feel about Bucky Barnes.

Bucky Barnes.

10 percent muscle. 90 percent jackass.

I never wanted to hate Bucky. He just makes it very difficult to like him.

We have different personalities-I like being loud and outgoing. I love the spontaneity life has to offer and being around people. I can be rebellious and don't like it when people tell me what to do.

Bucky's the opposite. He lives in silence and routine. Everything has to go his way. He's grumpy and constantly has a gloomy grey cloud of isolation that surrounds him.

He does fine with everyone else. He's not exactly their best friend, but he's civil. He's willing to work together with them.

Just like he pisses me off, I piss him off. We trigger each other. We're always looking for an in -a way to catch the other when they slip up and help drag them down.

It doesn't help that some people on the team think the only reason we fight is due to some extreme sexual tension. The way they make stupid remarks or exchange looks when they see Bucky and me fighting makes my blood boil.

Don't get me wrong, Bucky Barnes is an attractive man. He's got beautiful eyes and an amazing physique. He's strong and mysterious -the kind of bad boy type guy that makes girls swoon.

But the attraction ends there. His personality totally kills the mood.

Things have definitely escalated since Bucky joined us at the compound last year. It started out with small, snarky comments and evolved to full-on verbal warfare: no filter, no tact, just venom and fire.

"Are you always this loud, or is it just when I’m around?"

"Only when I’m trying to scare off emotionally stunted super soldiers."

"You know, I’d rather face Hydra again than spend another second dealing with your miserable ass."

"I’d gladly leave you to rot with them if I didn’t know you’d screw up the escape plan."

"You know, for someone with a metal arm, your grip on reality is weak."

"And for someone with a mouth like yours, it’s a miracle you’re still breathing."

Sometimes I don't even mean to fight back. I try to take the upper hand, face his words like a champ, and not let them bother me. It's just so difficult. When he starts the fire, I need to make sure it burns.

I know it bugs the team. We've been warned multiple times by Steve and Fury.

It's just so hard to stop.

I don't know why I do it. Maybe it's to get his reaction. Maybe it's because I like to get the last word. I don't know.

It's rare that the team pairs the two of us up on missions. They know the way things will play out.

We're only paired together in extreme situations in missions -situations where they need the best shooters in the group.

Situations like the one today.

Bucky and I haven't said a word to each other in half an hour.

The air is beginning to chill with the change in time. The sun is setting, casting a beautiful orange and pink glow over the chaos we're supposed to cover. If this were any other situation, I would be sitting down and admiring the beauty of nature. I love sunsets.

But this isn't any other situation.

Bucky and I are lying on the roof of an abandoned building a few feet away from each other. Our eyes are trained on the deteriorating warehouse across from us, fingers hovering above the triggers of our guns. The building, which looks like it's holding a bunch of secrets, is definitely holding a bunch of secrets -kidnapped human experiments and top secret information regarding planned attacks. The shady, untrustworthy exterior definitely matches the vibe of the horrors happening inside.

Outside of the warehouse are parked cars without license plates and scattered pieces of junk and broken machinery lying on rough gravel and yellowing grass.

Steve walks into my view from the left. He quietly guides, who are closely behind him. They stop behind one of the cars, using it as cover while Steve scans the area for any dangers. After the area is secured, the three begin making their way into the building through a side entrance.

Through my scope I briefly spot Tony as he enters through the other end of the building.

The comm in my ear gently crackles as Natasha's voice comes through. "I've got visuals on the northwest entry."

Steve's voice follows. "I'm placing charges."

"All right, folks," Sam chimes in. "Let’s make this fast and quiet. I’ve got eyes in the sky, but our rooftop lovebirds better stay sharp."

There he goes again, our number one shipper. He's so adamant about there being something between Bucky and me. It's annoying.

I choose not to let his words ruffle me, biting the inside of my cheek harshly instead.

Bucky ignores the jab as well.

The only sound between us is the soft click of his rifle adjusting. He ignores me, just as he always does.

The tension between us is strong. We're both annoyed. Neither of us wants to be here with the other one.

I try to focus on the task at hand. Observe. I need to observe.

It's difficult.

Every few minutes, I feel my attention shifting to the man in my peripheral vision. I watch him lie perfectly still, the only movement coming from his jaw, which he clenches and unclenches every so often like he's trying to hold back.

He probably is holding back. Something I did pissed him off. Something I do always pisses him off.

I shouldn't be distracted. I can't afford to be, not when the lives of innocent people are at stake. I need to stay focused.

This isn't about me or Bucky. This is about freeing civilians.

Because HYDRA is HYDRA, all hope for a smooth, easy mission is thrown out the window about 5 minutes later when Tony's voice breaks the tense silence.

"Cameras are down," Tony’s voice is quiet. "Something triggered the internal defense system—doors locking. They’re trying to cage us in."

"Bucky, Y/N, keep the perimeter secure." Steve orders, his voice more urgent than before. "Watch for backup."

I force myself to focus on the building below, knowing this could turn into a life-or-death situation. "Copy." I reply calmly.

Bucky stays silent beside me. He shifts his scope lower.

"You could at least pretend we’re working together," I mutter, frustration laced in my tone.

"Didn’t realize babysitting you required small talk." He snaps back without looking at me.

I roll my eyes so hard I practically see stars. "Right. Because you’re just so pleasant when you’re brooding in silence."

"Silence is better than listening to your constant whining."

"Whining?" I let out an annoyed laugh. "God, you’re insufferable."

"And you’re loud. Even when you’re trying to whisper, you’re loud."

We both freeze at the same time.

Footsteps.

Close and fast.

Fuck, just what we need.

I turn my scope, just in time to see a group of Hydra agents breaching the stairwell two floors below us.

"Oh, shit," I breath.

Bucky moves first. He's up in seconds, his rifle in hand. "We’ve got company."

"Team, rooftop’s compromised," I say sharply into the comms. "We’ve got Hydra climbing the building."

"How many?" Asks Steve.

"At least six, maybe more. All armed and in tactical gear." I get up, clutching my rifle securely in my hands.

"Get out of there. Now."

Bucky moves towards the door we entered onto the roof from. His steps are light but purposeful. He stands to the side of the door, barely waiting for me to get to the other side before opening it quietly.

Of course, he didn't wait.

He doesn't give a shit if I'm shot down. One less problem for him to deal with.

"Sacrifice me, I guess," I mutter snarkily. "It's not like I mind getting shot. Thanks for asking."

"Have you ever considered shutting up? You're going to give our location away." He hisses, still not sparing me a glance.

I can't resist. "Have you ever considered thinking about anyone but yourself before? I know it's a new concept for you -possibly a little difficult for you to wrap your brain around, but I promise you'll be slightly more tolerable."

"Ha ha." Bucky's tone is unamused. "Thanks for the life advice. I'd try it but I really just don't give a shit about what you have to say or your opinion."

We continue making our way down the stairs, eyes constantly scanning in front of us.

"Fuck you." I huff, annoyed by his presence. I just want to go home and get as far away from this man as humanly possible. I've spent enough time with him for today -for a lifetime.

"Very mature. What, can't think of anything better to say-" Bucky is cut off by the sound of gunshots echoing through the room.

Immediately, he's quiet, his lips tightly pressed together. He's pissed we drew attention to ourselves. He's so going to give me shit for this.

The next ten minutes are a blur. Everything happens so quickly.

Gunfire cracks through stairwells. We move, dodging, weaving through offices. We take down the agents who come at us, neither of us needing to speak a word. It's about survival right now.

Then Bucky has the nerve the piss me off again.

"I said left, Barnes!"

"You want to lead? Be my guest," he snaps, ducking behind a filing cabinet as bullets tear through drywall. His lips are pursed into a tight frown, his eyes crinkling with anger.

"I am leading! You’re just too busy trying to look cool to listen! Newsflash, Bucky. We're not in a fucking action movie. No one gives a shit if you look cool and mysterious." I hiss back, pressing myself tightly under a desk as the bullets continue to come.

"Right, because this is such a great time for your little ego trip!" He quickly shoots down two agents with ease before retreating behind the filing cabinet again.

"My ego? Oh, please -like you don’t walk around with a six-ton chip on your shoulder and a martyr complex the size of Manhattan!" I manage to take out the last agent left shooting at us.

"You don’t know the first thing about me." Bucky brushes past me, his shoulder roughly knocking into mine.

I don't let it faze me. I quickly follow him, still keeping my eyes searching the room. "And you don’t know the first thing about working with someone who doesn’t worship the ground you stomp on!"

"You think I wanted to be paired with you? You think I asked for this?" For the first time all day, Bucky's head snaps towards me. His striking blue eyes are dark and narrowed at me. His face is tense and clearly angry. "You're the last fucking person I want to be paired with."

By now, we're screaming. Our boots thud down staircases as we duck another volley of shots. He's pissed. I'm pissed. We're on the verge of quite literally killing each other.

And through all of it—

The comms were still on.

-------

When we finally burst out onto the street, smoke in the air, Hydra agents down for the count, I am heaving. My hands are shaking from adrenaline and rage. I can't stand one more minute with this asshole.

Bucky is beside me, jaw clenched like it might crack. We storm across the lot to where the Quinjet is freshly landed and waiting for us, steam hissing from its wings. The team is standing and waiting.

Sam crosses his arms slowly. "Well, that was subtle."

"Shut up, Wilson." I roll my eyes, wiping a little bit of blood from my hand onto my shirt.

Steve looks like he aged five years in ten minutes.

Natasha just raises an eyebrow. "You two done with your little lovers’ quarrel?"

I blink. "What—?"

And then it hits me.

The comms. The fucking comms.

"Oh, god."

Sam smirks. "Not gonna lie, I was really rooting for one of you to throw a punch. Or kiss. Hard to tell with you two."

I scoff. "Keep your fantasies to yourself."

"You’re both exhausting," Steve mutters.

Bucky looks like he wants to dig a hole with his metal arm and crawl into it. His face is slightly flushed -most likely from a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

I lift a hand. "I didn’t mean ...he’s just -this whole thing-"

"Sexual tension like that could level a building," Natasha deadpans, eyeing the two of us. "And apparently did."

"I hate him," I state.

"Right back at you," Bucky growls.

We glare at each other for a moment.

And then we both walk in opposite directions while the rest of the team stares after us like exasperated parents watching their toddlers throw tantrums.

The mission was a success.

Our dignity? Dead on arrival.

------

The silence on the Quinjet is suffocating.

We are barely five minutes in, and already I feel the tension crawling across my skin like static. No one is speaking. No one is even pretending to make small talk. Even Tony is quiet (Something I thought was impossible), which meant we had officially fucked up.

I sit with my arms crossed and my jaw clenched, staring furiously at a very interesting spot on the floor. Across from me, Bucky sits in his own simmering silence, eyes fixed straight ahead, metal fingers twitching like he wants to strangle a ghost.

Every bump of turbulence feels like a passive-aggressive nudge from the universe.

I get it. What the fuck else do you want from me?

Steve is seated beside the cockpit, flipping through a report like it owes him an apology. Natasha leans against the wall by the hatch with her arms folded, wearing the expression of a woman who'd just listened to two coworkers have a very personal argument on speakerphone.

Because she has.

Because everyone has.

Sam lets out a long, theatrical sigh from the back bench.

"Just say it," I snap without looking at him. I tightly clench my fists, waiting for his remarks.

"What?" he asks, all innocent.

Fucker.

"Whatever comment you’ve been chewing on since we left the ground."

He grins. "Oh, I wasn’t gonna say anything. I’m just wondering who’s gonna crack first and scream ‘I love you, you emotionally constipated bastard!’ because honestly, I’ve got twenty bucks riding on Y/N."

I open my mouth. Close it. Turn to glare out the window instead. If I could kill Sam legally, I would. At this moment, he's on the same level as Bucky on my shit list. "I hate you."

"You've said that a lot today," Bucky mutters.

I snap my head toward him. "And you keep earning it. Care to earn another one?"

He finally looks at me, face hard. "I didn’t ask to be stuck on a roof with you."

"Believe me, if I could’ve picked anyone else on this planet to crouch beside for two hours of pure hell, I would’ve!" I tear my eyes away from him as I roll them.

"Oh my god," Natasha mutters, dragging a hand down her face.

Steve stands up abruptly, closing his folder. "We’re debriefing in an hour. Separately."

He's tired of our shit.

Tony, from the cockpit, calls back, "Debrief? Nah, just show me the footage of their comms again. That was way more entertaining than the mission feed."

"Delete it," I hiss. "Or I swear to-"

"I enhanced the audio," he replies brightly.

Of course he did. Why wouldn't he?

Sam wheezes. Natasha covers a snort with a cough.

Bucky is back to brooding in silence, but I can feel the heat rolling off him. Or maybe that's me. I can’t tell anymore.

We don’t speak for the rest of the ride. But I can feel his anger in my bones.

This has been the worst day of my year.

------

When we arrive back at the compound, we're all instructed to fill out our mission reports. Of course, I fill mine out as honestly as possible.

According to Bucky, he does, too. Sure.

Then we're called into a meeting by Nick Fury. Of course we are.

I sit with my arms crossed, refusing to look at Bucky, who’s already slouched in the chair across from me like he’s being forced to endure a root canal. His jaw flexes. Mine probably looks the same. The silence stretches like wire, taut and ready to snap.

Fury walks in, holding two tablets. He doesn’t sit. He just stops in front of the table, stares at us for a second, and looks like he’s calculating how hard he’d have to throw them for one to hit me and the other to clock Barnes. His glare is sharp enough to slice a block of metal.

“Alright,” Fury says, voice low and loaded with irritation. “Let’s recap.”

He lifts one tablet and reads.

"Agent Y/L/N: 'Mission compromised due to Barnes' refusal to follow sniper protocol. Irresponsibility put my safety in danger. Verbally hostile. Referred to me as, and I quote, "a trigger-happy liability with the patience of a caffeinated squirrel.'""

My arms fold tighter. I stand by my words. "Accurate."

Fury doesn’t react. Just switches tablets and reads again.

"Sergeant Barnes: 'Agent Y/L/N compromised positioning with unnecessary movement, broke radio silence to argue during enemy fire, and nearly shot me during an escape maneuver. Refers to me as having, quote, "the emotional range of wet drywall.'""

Bucky shrugs. "Still stands."

I scoff. "Only because I didn’t include 'walking splinter with a martyr complex.'"

Bucky snaps, "Maybe if you'd shut up for two seconds—"

Sure, maybe it's a little immature, but we're both already in deep shit. I scowl as I mock him.

"Enough," Fury barks, slamming both tablets onto the table like they’ve personally offended him. His glare shifts between the two fo us.

The silence that follows is blistering. Bucky looks like he wants to say something else, but I throw him a glare that could slice through vibranium.

Fury pinches the bridge of his nose like this briefing is physically draining him. "You two do realize your comms were on the entire time, right? While you were sniping. Escaping. And—what did the tech guys call it—oh right: 'screaming like a divorcing couple on Judge Judy.'" He spits. His brows are furrowed in anger.

My face burns. Fucking tech guys.

Bucky mutters a sharp curse under his breath.

"And thanks to that little performance," Fury continues, "Tony enhanced the audio. Sam made a remix. Natasha uploaded it to the team drive under the file name 'The Sound of Sexual Tension.'" His eyes narrow. "Not to mention, you put yourselves and your teammates at risk."

"I’m going to kill him," I mutter. "Actually, all of them. I'm going to kill all of them."

"You’ll have to beat me to it," Bucky growls. His posture is stiff and straight. He looks ready to jump up and hunt them down the second Fury excuses us.

Fury claps his hands once. Loud. Final. "Great! You'll have plenty of time to coordinate the murder. Together."

My stomach drops. What does he mean? Together. I don't want to spend another minute with Bucky. "Wait, what?"

"You’re both being reassigned to Safehouse Bravo-Tango-Twelve,"Fury says, way too casually, "for a mandatory cooling-off period."

Bucky and I speak at the same time.

His tone is annoyed. "You've got to be kidding me." For a moment, he closes his eyes like he's wishing this was all a bad dream.

"You’re locking us in a cabin?" I demand, staring Fury straight in the eye. I'm ready to fight. No way am I staying in a cabin with Bucky, we'll kill each other in minutes. I'm not kidding.

"No. I’m locking you in a lakeside four-room, twenty-camera, panic-button-equipped safehouse with 2 weeks' worth of rations and no mission clearance until I get a report that doesn’t read like it was ghostwritten by a Real Housewives producer."

"You've got to be fucking with us!" I groan, leaning back further into my chair. This is a nightmare. "Tell me you're fucking with us."

Bucky leans back, arms crossed like he’s bracing for a fall. "I'd rather bunk with Hydra."

Fury leans down, voice low and lethal. "Don't tempt me."

He grabs the tablets, heads for the door, and pauses just long enough to twist the knife.

"Oh -and if either of you so much as touches the surveillance cameras, I’m putting you in a room with Loki for a week of trust-building exercises. You are not allowed to leave the premises. If this isn't sorted out by two weeks from now, someone will bring you more supplies until it is. You two decide how long you want to let your egos get the best of you."

The door slams.

I whip my head toward Bucky. He turns at the same time. We both have a similar glimmer of rage in our eyes.

"This is your fault," we snap in perfect sync.

This is a nightmare.

------

Taglist: @buckysdoll85

[rafesapple]

softened white lies-chapter 3

the start of more

you slip on a simple dress and then into your tights, as they glide over your thighs you finish it off with a pair of kitten heels. rafe was to take you to the country table this afternoon, though you just guessed his fathe….ward told him to. ever since that night, he didn’t interact if he had to, not even a text. you didn’t understand him, how were you both going adjust to married life. thank god your father wasn’t here to nitpick about your clothes.

once grabbing your purse you went downstairs, seeing your mother starting dinner. “what are you doing.” she looked up at you with a tight lip “i'm cooking dinner for your father. the maid is out today.” “oh.” you sit on the couch messing with your keychains then texting rafe “please act decently today, your father won’t be in the mood to hear about your…antics.” you stay silent as you continue typing

you: when will you be here.

after that it was silent as always, only your mother chopping up vegetables could be heard. Until the doorbell rang, you got up “i'm leaving..” you spoke quietly then walked over to the front door. You looked up at him as he stood now looking down at you. “ready?” he asked dryly. “mhm.”

when settling into the car your shoes gently tapped against the floorboards “why…” you muttered while looking at him, he looked at you for a second, his eyes drifting back to the road “why…what?” “why didn’t you answer my text…you haven’t texted me since that night…” “been busy.” your jaw clenches, he couldn’t have been that busy, that was like 4 weeks ago. Is this what you’d deal with once married? “hm.”

he cleared his throat speaking up, “let me ask. why’d you wear that.” you look at him with confused eyes, your eyebrows furrowing “what do you mean.” “nothing just most the girls they… never mind.” he hesitated, not wanting to cause an argument “no, what?” his hands gripped the wheel harder “i said never mind, alright?” he spoke bitterly, you scoff, sure you might not have done that with other people when they ticked you off. but you really couldn’t help it with him.

you stepped out of the car after the valet guy took the car, and you got distracted by the building. if you weren’t getting married you would’ve gone into architecture, it was so beautiful. you hear rafe calling your name, already ahead of you, you catch up to him as you both enter. once walking through out the country club a few older men recognized rafe. complementing him on his new pretty thing. thing? of course, they’d only refer to their wives as objects. not a person. is this what it will be like with him, you thought to yourself.

“sit down.” rafe called out as he found his friends or more so ‘acquaintances’ “i’d rather n-“ “sit down.” you lower yourself into the chair, watching and quietly listening to the conversation. you felt like a doll. or a puppet. always did as told. why could he talk with his friends but you had to just sit there, what was the point of even coming with him. “i'm going to the course with them. just stay here and watch.” he spoke as he grabbed his golf club. once his friends and him left you scoffed to yourself, hoping no one would hear.

after a while of watching them hit golf balls, you started getting hot and dehydrated you had gotten up, going to find something to drink. thank god there was a bar. you sat in a chair quietly waiting for a bartender. after ordering a man had sat down next to you, probably in his early thirties, didn’t bother you at first. though once he spoke up… fucking christ “hey, you cameron’s girl aint you?” you bit your lip, you hated being called that, you hated the arrangement “yeah um.” “why don’t i take you to one of the rooms on…the other floor, darling?” though before you could even speak, you felt a tight grip on your wrist.

you look over to your side seeing a sweating and pissed-off rafe “what the fuck are you doing.” he spoke pulling you roughly “let go- i hadn’t even got my drink-!” “doesn’t matter i’ll get you something else, who the hell was that. he was undressing you with his goddamn eyes.” “let go of me rafe.” “then tell me.” you look between your wrist and his face “he spoke to me first, i didn’t even want to talk to him.” he sighed letting his grip loosen, though still wrapped around your own “why didn’t you tell me, call me letting you know you’d be gone. huh?” “i was just dehydrated and hot. i wanted something,” you spoke quietly

driving back to tannyhill you got out slightly annoyed, but you just masked it. after all, you had to make plans and deal with other things for the wedding. as you both come in, sarah’s on the couch with some friend but rafe just tugs you along to the dining table. he leaves and comes back with a notebook and some paper. “what’s this for.” “it’s for our honeymoon. where are we going.” he asked sitting down on your left side. “huh?” “where do you want to go for our honeymoon.” “i know that…i just assumed my dad or yours would do that,” you spoke quietly messing with your fingers.

you hadn’t wanted to go anywhere specifically really. you liked staying at home.in your own bedroom. “i don’t know..bora bora? the maldives…”you muttered “do you even want to go anywhere for a honeymoon.” he got up scoffing “yeah i’m not doing this today..um ask ward to take you home.” what the hell, just because you didn’t know where you wanted to go he’s gonna blow you off. You follow him to his room “what’s wrong with you.” “you're so indecisive. can’t you just-“ you cut him off with a croaking voice "i don't know. i don't know what i want, i don't even know what i want in a marriage. i hadn't thought of it until this arrangement. i just...i need someone to decide for me. i can't know how i..." you pause looking up at him, though it just seems like there was a boredness in them. but that's where it started, even though it was little. you were too indecisive, you didn't know what you wanted.

so he'd decide for you.

©rafesapple est.2024

[strwbiris]

you'll be like everyone else.

yandere! popular! boy x average! fem reader trigger warning: dark themes, emotional abuse, stalking, psychological manipulation, obsessive behavior, god complex, power imbalance, paranoia, subtle mentions of suicide. (if i miss anything, do let me know.) note: this story is focused more on the mental toll of psychological manipulation, obsession, and stalking of the reader. read at your own discretion. this story is not yet proofread and will be edited soon. also, if you do know the artist of the art in the banner, do let me know. :)

yandere! popular! boy is the kind of guy everyone in school knows. If you haven’t heard of him by now, are you living under a rock? With his keen good looks, charming words, and annoyingly perfect smile, he has the entire students wrapped around his finger. Girls swoon, and boys either admire him or silently wish they were him.

yandere! popular! boy isn't downright cruel, but he's far from a saint. He skips detention without hesitation to attend his basketball practices. He steals a look at someone's paper during test, and he attends every party, frequently leaving with someone on his arm. It's just who he is: irresponsible in a way that only adds to his appeal.

He's a natural extrovert who exudes charm. With a single flash of his pearly whites, people fell in line. He can turn strangers into friends in minutes, as if it was second nature. If he even acknowledges your presence, let alone speaks to you, consider yourself lucky.

As captain of the basketball team, the school's pride and the bringer of every trophy and medal, he’s practically a hero in the eyes of the staff. The coach treats him like a golden child, and his teammates envy or admire him. He wasn't chosen as a captain for no reason after all.

And then there’s you. A typical student, slipping into the background as you always have. You're not a loner; you have a small group of friends and participate in a few extracurricular activities after school.

Everything about you is average. Your looks, your grades, your hobbies, even your personality—nothing too special. You’re not the type people turn their heads for, and you’ve grown used to it. You’re content floating under the radar, doing your own thing while the more noticeable people take the spotlight.

But for some reason, he noticed you. You do not worship the said boy. Sure you can agree that he's fairly attractive, but you're well aware that there's probably something deeper going on behind that charming smile and polished appearance. Hell, you won't be even surprised if he's doing drugs behind everyone's back. It’s just human nature—no matter how flawless someone appears, there’s often something far less admirable lurking beneath the surface.

It all started when you bumped into him in an empty hallway on Saturday afternoon. He came to school because he still has basketball practices despite the weekend, and you were supposed to pass an essay that you did for one of your extracurriculars to the president. Absorbed on your phone, messaging your friend, you just suddenly collided with something or rather someone.

You immediately apologized, feeling a little intimidated under his gaze. You’d never interacted with the yandere! popular! boy before—only heard a few scattered rumors, so you had no idea what to expect. To your surprise, he just offered a quick smile, helped you to your feet, and gathered the papers you’d dropped without a word of complaint.

You thanked him and walked away, rushing because you were short on time. All you wanted was to get home, collapse into your bed, and indulge in your favorite snacks and shows. Behind you, he watched, his eyes following your retreating figure until you disappeared from his view. There was something about the way you left that held his attention. You weren’t awestruck like the others. You didn’t look at him with admiration, longing, or curiosity.

The interaction had been simple—brief even, but something about it felt raw, unfiltered. From the way you carried yourself, he could already tell you weren’t like the girls who usually threw themselves at him, all trying to impress with flashy curves, tan lines, and revealing outfits. There was a quiet defiance in your indifference, and it stuck with him. Your resistance—it irritated him. But more than that, it intrigued him. For the first time in a while, he felt a spark of genuine excitement. A challenge. And he was more than ready to make you worship and praise him, just like everyone else eventually did.

After that brief interaction, you started seeing the yandere! popular! boy everywhere. And I mean everywhere. You’re in the library, absorbed in a novel you just picked up? He’s there too, pretending to read, but clearly watching you. His eyes follow your movements, the way your fingers turn the pages, how your gaze stays locked on the words like the rest of the world has faded away.

You're in the cafeteria, laughing with your friends over lunch? Of course he's there, but out of all the empty tables in the room, he picks the one right next to yours. At first, you brushed it off. Maybe he just likes that spot. No big deal. You even told yourself you were overthinking it. Because there’s no way he’s actually interested in you, right? You’re not his type. You're sure of it.

Everywhere you went, he was there. And what began to gnaw at your nerves was his constant gaze. Even when he was surrounded by friends, laughing and chatting, his eyes never fully left you. Always watching, always lingering.

The paranoia you'd been trying to ignore surged to the surface, as you were walking home alone one late evening. The sun had long disappeared, leaving the streets draped in darkness, broken only by the glow of flickering streetlights.

You’d walked this path late before, never once feeling afraid, but tonight felt different. The lights seemed harsher, too bright in their unsteady flicker. And the silence wasn’t comforting — it pressed in around you, heavy and cold. For the first time, every step echoed too loudly, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t walking alone. You glanced over your shoulder, heart pounding, but there was no one there. Just you and the flickering lights. You told yourself you were overthinking — letting your mind spiral for no reason. But deep down, you knew exactly why.

It was him. Ever since that day, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze, heavy and sharp, even when he wasn’t there. It clung to you like a shadow. Everywhere you went, you could almost feel his eyes, his smile: watching, waiting. Even if he wasn't even there, his lingering gazes were engraved in your mind.

You shook your head, feeling ridiculous for letting your thoughts spiral. No one’s here—just me and my shadow, you told yourself, trying to steady your breathing. You picked up your pace, hoping movement would drown out the unease curling in your chest. As you hurried past a narrow, unlit alleyway, your eyes quickly took a glance in the alleyway. And there he was. Standing silently in the darkness, his figure barely visible, almost swallowed whole by the shadows. His eyes were fixed on you, unblinking.

Your own eyes widened in alarm, and before you could stop yourself, you were running. You didn’t look back. You didn’t want to know if he was really there or if your mind had finally caved under the weight of all your overthinking.

Meanwhile, he watches, hidden in the shadows, and it excites him. The way your fear unfurls in front of him, how your grip on reality loosens, unraveling bit by bit. You’re different, he tells himself, a twisted sense of satisfaction creeping through him. You didn’t fall for him like the others did—didn’t chase after him, didn’t look at him with longing or admiration. So he’ll make you break. He’ll make you kneel in front of him, worship him, even if it means shredding your sanity piece by piece to do it.

The yandere! popular! boy's lips curled into a slow, mocking smile. Come on, now. I won’t hurt you. Just... don’t push me to. He stepped out of the alleyway, his gaze fixed on your running figure, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips as he watched you stumble in your frantic state. Now, I’ll be constantly in your mind. Just like everyone else.

The following days, he starts talking to you more, always with that sickly sweet smile. His words are coated in honey, but there’s something sharp underneath, something that makes your skin crawl even when he’s complimenting you You try to pull away, to avoid him, but he closes the distance every time.

You were beyond confused—and terrified. Why was he doing this to you? You were just an average student, someone invisible to most people. So why was he so obsessed with you? The thought sent a cold shiver down your spine. It was all too much to comprehend, and it terrified you to the core.

Desperate, you tried to talk to the police, hoping someone would listen. But they brushed you off without a second thought. His family was well-known in town, too influential for your words to carry weight. They didn’t believe you. And that feeling of being completely powerless settled deep within you.

With the police refusing to help, you realized there was no one you could turn to. Who would believe you? The golden, untouchable boy of the school stalking you, a mere normal student? You could already picture the looks on their faces—the disbelief, the mockery, the ridicule.

You were slowly losing your sanity. Every corner you turned, every shadow that crossed your path, felt like it belonged to him. It was as if he were always just behind you, watching, waiting for you to let your guard down. The paranoia started to consume you. You could barely sleep anymore, dreading the thought that you might wake up one day to find him standing there—just standing in the corner, that eerie smile on his lips. It didn’t stop there. He even began appearing in your dreams, haunting you, following you everywhere you went, no matter where you tried to hide.

As the days dragged on, everything around you started feeling off, like the world you once knew wasn’t even real anymore. The usual buzz of daily life faded, replaced by this creepy silence, like the calm before something bad was about to happen. His gaze never left you, that constant feeling of being watched sticking to you like a second skin. Every corner you turned felt like it was hiding something—someone—and the shadows seemed to grow thicker, more suffocating, with every step you took.

Weeks have passed, and your apartment remains shrouded in darkness. The once fresh scent of your space has long dissipated, replaced by the faint but distinct odor that lingers in the air, ignored by the landlord, who has long since stopped knocking. The curtains, still unwashed and forgotten, sway gently with the breeze, a haunting reminder of days that have slipped away, unnoticed.

Your phone, abandoned on the countertop, vibrates with an unrelenting stream of notifications. The messages pile up, voices from a world that has slowly forgotten you. You don’t bother to check anymore, the endless pings echoing in your mind like a song you can no longer remember, but one that still feels so familiar. They’re all the same. Concerned, worried messages from people who no longer have the right to ask.

Your absence hasn't gone unnoticed, not entirely. Your teacher, concerned by the sudden emptiness at your desk, assumes you’re simply taking a break. After all, your exhaustion had been so visible in the days before, your sleeplessness growing as your mind seemed to crack under the weight of something unseen. You were always distant, eyes flickering like you couldn’t quite grasp where the world ended and you began.

The yandere! popular! boy carried on with his loud, vibrant life, keeping up the flawless image everyone admired. His smile remained perfect, flashing to the world as he moved from one conversation to the next, always at the center of attention.

No one suspected the truth hidden beneath his charm that he had unknowingly destroyed someone's world. Your absence, your empty desk, never seemed to faze him. He never questioned it, never acknowledged it. Instead, he wore his smile, pretending everything was fine. And as the world continued to praise him, he kept on smiling, never admitting the role he had played in your silence.

[bardic-tales]

Having insomnia with a migraine is horrible. This started last night. No warning. No aura. Just eye strain and the pain that came after it. I wrote this to comfort myself, but I hope that someone else can find find comfort in it, too.

You’ve got your forehead pressed against the bathroom wall. Your stomach threatens to betray you. Your head pounds like war drums. Sephiroth finds you there. You're naked from the waist up with your eyes glazed and a bit burning from your inability to sleep.

He kneels behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. “Come,” he whispers, “I’m not letting you go through this alone.”

His mouth presses between your shoulder blades. They are soft, grounding kisses like blood rites.

Back in bed, he settles between your legs. His head rests against your belly, as he listens to your breathing. Silver hair spills over his shoulders and brushes against your sides, glinting in the streams of moonlight filtering through the window. His hands stroke your thighs like scripture: a touch only a god could give you. His touch is reverent but not meant to be arousing. But it is intimate. You fall asleep like that, as your pain is dulled by his worship.

[mssorceressupreme]

Hate and Love | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel.

Warnings/content: minors DNI 18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine (if u squint), raw penetration (wrap it plz), cumming inside, orgasm denial, fluffy ending, fighting death eaters, dom!fred, sub!reader

Wordcount: 5.8k

———

You stood near the wall, arms crossed, in the house of number four Privet Drive, the place where it all began for one of your closest friends, Harry Potter. The group of you were gathered in the empty living room, discussing the highly dangerous plan of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow.

Beside you stood the twins, listening intently as Mad-Eye Moody instructed orders.

Seven of them had just taken polyjuice potion, resulting in seven 'Harry's', all in accordance with Moody's plan.

“Right then, we’ll be pairing off. Each ‘Potter’ will have a protector and to make it simpler for you, I'll choose the pairs.” His mismatched eyes scanned the group, assigning pairs, and an aggravating pit settled in your stomach once Moody called out your name, “Y/N, you're with Fred.”

Your head snapped toward Fred, who groaned audibly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered, but George nudged him softly, urging him to be tolerable while they changed out of their regular clothes.

“Yeah yeah, happy to be paired up with you too.” you rolled your eyes, the sarcasm in your tone apparent.

Fred and you had never gotten along. Since your days at Hogwarts, the two of you had been like oil and water—always at odds. He thought you were too uptight, too rule-abiding, while you found him utterly insufferable, reckless, and far too smug for his own good.

But for Harry, you’d endure today. He'd done a great deal to help you throughout your years at Hogwarts, so it was only fair of you to return the favour.

“Head for the Burrows, we’ll rendezvous there!” Moody finished. The room stirred with movement as everyone prepared for what was to come.

Outside, the night air was cool as you mounted Fred’s broom behind him. The scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy, hit your nose, and you hated that you thought it smelled decent, inhaling a bit more. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist, well, 'Harry's' waist.

Fred stiffened slightly at your touch, “Don’t get too comfortable back there.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t.”

Before you could snap back another remark, he kicked off into the sky, soaring above London, splitting up from the others.

Everything was eerily silent for a few moments. The flight seemed too smooth for your liking. You kept an alert eye, constantly scanning your surroundings.

You caught a shadow in the corner of your eye, and you whipped your head around, squinting your eyes at the figure in the dark.

"What the..." You muttered.

"Fred go faster...." You ordered, losing sight of the shadowy figure.

"Why don't you come fly the broom then." He retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Fred! I"m serious!" You yelled, gripping his waist tighter, as he exhaled before picking up the pace.

"In case you forgot, I need to be able to breathe to fly this thing properly." He grunted as you practically squeezed every breath out of him.

"Right, sorry," You loosened your grip ever so slightly, "...it's just, I swear I saw something."

You turned around again, catching a glimpse of a shadowy figure. The shadow was no longer a mystery figure but a person, or, three people rather.

Death Eaters.

"Oh shit! Fred! They're here!" You took your wand out and began fighting with them.

Spells shot through the night, streaks of green and blue illuminating the sky like a twisted fireworks display. The death eaters had appeared out of nowhere, zooming in, attacking viciously as they trailed behind you on their brooms.

“They’re following us!” you shouted over the wind, turning back around to gauge Fred.

“Oh, really? Thought we were just out for a lovely evening flight,” he shot back sarcastically, dodging a hex just in time.

You rolled your eyes but focused on firing spells behind you, hitting one death eater square in the chest and sending him spiralling downward.

"Stupefy!" You shouted, casting the second death eater off his broom. Two down, one to go.

Just as you felt a moment of victory, another spell whizzed past, striking the broom.

The wood splintered with a sickening crack. "Uhh, Fred?" You called out, glancing at the broom.

“Hold on—” Fred barely got the words out before the broom snapped completely, and the two of you plummeted toward the Thames River.

You hit the water hard, the impact knocking the wind out of you. You kicked frantically, breaking the surface and gasping for air. The coolness of the water had your body in shock, shivering as you forced yourself to stay afloat.

Fred emerged a second later, coughing.

Glancing above, you saw the third death eater laughing maliciously as he flew off, leaving you and Fred. He must've figured it wasn't the real Harry, given that you called him 'Fred'.

“Great! Look what you’ve done!” you accused, treading water furiously.

“What I’ve done?! That was you—you were supposed to be fighting them off!” he retorted, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He had transformed back into his original self, the fiery redhead Fred you knew.

You groaned, swimming toward the embankment where a set of stone stairs led to dry land. Your fingers were frozen as you pulled yourself up, collapsing onto the pavement. Fred followed, shaking out his drenched hair like a dog.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” you muttered, clutching one-half of the broken broom while he had the other. “Now how are we supposed to get to the others?”

Fred sighed, pushing his hair back. “Let’s just go somewhere dry first.”

You nodded begrudgingly, too cold and exhausted to argue.

When you emerged from the river, it was given that pedestrians would stare at the two of you strangely. Swimming in the Thames River wasn't exactly the most normal thing to do, let alone at this hour.

Though, in this particular instance, more of them were starring at you, rather than Fred.

Fred cleared his throat, eyes darting down to your chest then back up before averting his eyes immediately.

You furrowed your brows, glancing down, only to remember that you were wearing a white shirt along with the worst possible undergarment to pair with it, a black bra.

You felt your cheeks heat up, as you covered your chest, "Let's just go..."

Fred shook his head, taking off the grey jacket he wore and putting it over you, "Here."

Though still wet, it offered the coverage you much needed and you were entirely grateful. "Thanks." You muttered softly, as you two began walking.

"Figured you wouldn't want to walk around flashing the whole of London."

The two of you walked in silence as you tried to figure out a way to get to the others. “We can apparate—” he started.

“Absolutely not. There are muggles everywhere,” you snapped, nodding to the late-night pedestrians strolling along the streets.

Fred scoffed, shooting you an eye-roll. “Alright, Professor McGonagall.”

You ignored him, scanning the area. A small, dingy-looking hotel caught your eye. Without another word, you trudged toward it, Fred trailing behind. The receptionist, a bored-looking woman in her mid 40s, barely glanced up as you approached the desk.

The hotel looked cheap enough for an overnight stay. All you needed to do was clear your mind and get a good night's rest before figuring things out in the morning; yes, that sounded ideal to you right this moment.

“Two rooms, please,” you said firmly.

She tapped at the keyboard, chewing on some gum as she did so. “We’re fully booked.”

Your heart sank. “What about one room? With two beds?”

"Sorry, we're full." She continued typing, then clicking on the mouse as she looked around the screen, "It's peak season honey, we're always maxed out."

"Please you've got to have at least one room, with two beds, anything?" You pleaded, desperate for whatever you could acquire.

"We'll take whatever we can get, you've got to have something." Fred added, backing you up as he stood closer to you.

She checked again, then looked at you, eyes lighting up. “Ah, it seems that we do have one left with two beds, but the heating is broken, that's why we didn't offer it to customers. Actually, I was supposed to call the maintenance guy, but he's my ex, you see, so it's a bit of a rough story. I always thought he loved me, you know, how could someone not, I mean look at me? I'm gorgeous. He was supposed to come by today but we—”

"We'll take it!" Fred interjected swiftly, clearly exhausted. "Thank you."

Relief flooded you as you he paid with muggle money. You were surprised he even had some on hand, but after all, he was a businessman.

"Interesting, all this muggle stuff eh?" Fred mused, as you both entered the lift, his eyes darting around as he observed his surroundings.

"I suppose so, yeah. I guess I was lucky enough to be born a half-blood, you get the best of both worlds." You shrugged, as though hotels and 'muggle elevators' were the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright then, you lead the way, Ms expert." He mocked, gesturing for you to lead the way once the doors opened.

You scoff softly, marching down the hallway before finding your room number. Fred reaches seconds after you, looping his arm around your body to swipe the keycard.

He placed an arm on the door to open it, letting you in first before closing it after he entered.

But the moment you entered the room, your jaw dropped.

One bed.

“What? She said there were two beds.” You blinked, looking around the room in confusion.

“She must’ve meant the couch,” Fred said, nodding toward the small, lumpy-looking couch a few inches beside the bed, by the window.

You swallowed, “Right, well, who's sleeping where?” Honestly, at this point, you didn't even mind taking the couch, as long as you could get some rest.

Fred's eyes darted from the bed to the couch, exhaling exasperatedly before finally looking at you, "I'll take the couch."

"I didn't know Fred Weasley had manners?" You gasped, faking your amusement.

He shot you a glare, grabbing a towel as he did so, "Could you be any more aggravating?"

You tried to think of a witty comeback, something, anything to get a reaction out of him. But alas, you were lost for words. He did have a point though.

Come to think about it, you realised that you might've only been behaving this way because you were not used to him being so much of a...gentleman. This was foreign to you.

"I'll have the first shower." He shifts past you, nudging your shoulder, which sends heat through your bodies temporarily.

“Be my guest.”

You hear the lock shut, and seconds later, the water starts running.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took in your surroundings. This was no five-star hotel, but it was presentable and decent enough for an overnight stay. The walls are dark grey, with ambient lighting all around the room. Navy blue sheets grace the double bed, with a soft brown leather footer in contrast. There is a tea tray and a kettle, on top of the dark brown desk that sat in the corner of the room.

Minutes later, the door clicks and unlocks.

Fred steps out, a white towel hanging around his waist. His hair is wet, and his body glistening with water droplets. Your eyes couldn't help but drift down, his body was incredible defined, a stark contrast to your school days when he was merely a boy, now, he was a man.

Oh, he definitely works out. You noticed his arms, much larger and buffer than they used to be.

"All yours." He jerked his chin to the bathroom.

You gulped, brushing past him before hurriedly entering the bathroom and locking the door.

Wow, since when did Fred Weasley get so, attractive?

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the cold. You stood under the steamy shower for a couple of minutes, taking in as much warmth as you could.

With no new clothes to change into, you wrapped yourself in the plush hotel bathrobe, sighing in frustration. It appears there was only a kids sized one left, and you had no choice but to wear it. Whatever, it’ll do the job for tonight.

You hung your wet clothes on one of the bathroom racks, and you saw that Fred did the same, you placed your clothes beside his.

You were humming to yourself when you stepped out, relieved to be in some dry clothes, dancing a little as you strolled to the bed.

When he heard you walking, Fred glanced up, something flickering in his expression, though you're not quite sure what.

“That bathrobe is way too small for you." He remarks, laying with his legs out on the couch, two arms behind his head as he rests.

"What was I supposed to do, wear my wet clothes to sleep?" You respond as you hop into bed, tugging the covers and snuggling in.

"It could be an enlightening experience." He hummed, as he shut his eyes, adjusting himself on the couch.

"You try it then." You counter, scoffing at his idiocy.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are dim. Silence fills the room as you both unwind for the evening. Before you shut the lights from the switch beside your bed, you call out, "I'm going to off the lights now, need anything before I turn them off?"

"Yeah actually..." He perks his head up, turning to face you.

"What?" You ask, listening keenly.

"For you to be quiet." A small smile played on his lips as he laid back down.

You rolled your eyes, before hitting the lights.

"Good night." He cooed.

You lay there, tossing and turning, but you couldn't seem to fall asleep for the life of you. It didn't help that the room was so cold, due to the heater being unfixed.

Minutes passed in silence before you turned your head slightly. Fred was stretched out on the tiny couch, his long legs dangling uncomfortably over the armrest.

It was evident that he was way too tall to fit on all that, he did not look the slightest bit comfortable.

“See something you like?” Fred smirked, feeling your stare though his eyes were shut.

“What? No! I was just—”

“Just what? Admiring this handsome face?”

"Honestly Fred, how conceited are you?" You sat up now, shooting daggers at him. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in fact, handsome. Annoyingly so.

Truth be told, had he not been so irritating, you might've actually considered dating him.

You loved the Weasleys, Ginny was like a sister to you, Ron, your close friend, George, always on the lookout for you. He even took you down to Hogsmeade for a meal and bought you treats when you cried over one of the Slytherin boys rejecting you back in your fourth year.

But Fred, oh Fred, you could never see eye to eye with him. You only ever tolerated him because his family was so warm and welcoming.

A tiny part of you felt guilty that he was forced onto the couch, despite being the one that paid for the room.

You wanted to offer the place beside you to him, seeing that the bed was larger than anticipated once you were actually tucked in.

"Well you are staring, something you need?" He countered, his eyes are still shut, arms still behind his head.

"Well, I was thinking...." You hesitated, "well, you could sleep on the bed. It's actually more spacious than I thought."

His brows shot up, and he opened his eyes, turning to face you. “In the bed? With you?”

“Don’t make it weird, Fred,” you huffed. “The couch looks uncomfortable.”

"Are you, being nice to me?" He teased, the urge to take back your offer growing stronger.

"Don't make me change my mind, Weasley."

After a beat, he groaned. “Fine. But don’t hog the covers.”

"Please I sleep like a log, it's not like I'm going to cuddle you or anything."

"Cuddle me eh?" He mused.

"Not bloody likely, besides you're too annoying to be my type." You retort.

Fred stood up, walking to the other side of the bed. He slid in beside you, and the bed suddenly felt too small. You kept your back to him, but quickly got up and put one of the spare pillows between you.

"See this line? Don't cross it and you're good." You commanded, and he chuckled lightly,

"Alright alright." He raised in hands.

You turned away from him, back to him as you attempted to fall asleep. You hadn't realised how far you were from him, you were practically tipping over the edge of the bed.

You scooted inside a little, bumping into the pillow wall you put.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, you sighed in defeat. The room was cold, and the blankets were not much help.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were the only one awake. You extended your arm behind you, trying to find the pillow 'wall' you had put up. But with all the tossing and turning from the two of you, the pillow must've slipped out of place and down the lower half of the bed somewhere.

As you extended your arm behind you, you accidentally came into contact with Fred's back, and he shifted slightly before turning to face you instead.

It's dark, almost pitch black, but with the small glimmer of light, you can see that his eyes are shut. Curious you called out, "Fred?" you whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am now, no thanks to you." He fluttered his eyes open, facing you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see if—"

"Don't be." He sighed, "Couldn't sleep a wink either. This room is bloody cold."

"The blankets aren't doing anything." You exhaled, agreeing, before an idea popped into you head.

"This might sound silly, but, if we revert back to old fashioned methods, we could, um—actually it's stupid, nevermind." You began, but quickly dismissed it.

"Go on, I'd like to hear what genius solution you've come up with."

"It's dumb, I don't think you'll like it."

"Try me." He replied.

You hesitated again before suggesting, “We could—uh—use body heat.”

He stared at you momentarily, it looked as though he thought about it, considering it before responding, “Absolutely not.”

"Okay, whatever, I just thought it was a feasible option. These robes aren't exactly pyjama material either." You say, trying to tighten your robes, with the hopes of warming up your body.

You both fell into silence again your back facing him once more, before Fred spoke up, "Come here."

"What?" You turned around.

"I suppose, we could try the body heat thing."

"Oh so now you want to try my idea?" You raise your brow, scoffing as you shift over slowly, and he extended his arm, pulling you in.

"Don't get any ideas, I just need to sleep and call it a day." You firmly spoke, pressing your back to him, as he faced you. You felt his heat, no doubt, it was working, and you were starting to warm up. In all the places apparently, your cheeks, and an area of yours down there. Your heart pounded as his hand rested against your back, his breath tickling your ear.

"Let's do shoulder-to-shoulder." You suggested, trying to hide your flustered-ness.

He didn't argue, respecting your decision. The two of you lay there, facing the ceiling as your shoulders touched. Though not as warm as before, it was still warmer at least.

You turned your head, Fred's face illuminated by the dim light coming through from the curtains, his jawline ever so chiselled. Merlin, he was undoubtedly a handsome chap. You shut your eyes, trying, yet again to enter a slumber.

As you laid there, eyes shut, Fred opened his, gauging you. He smiled softly as he took in your features, rolling his eyes fondly as he saw you breathing slowly.

You swore you were about to cast some sort of sleeping spell, because you still could not fall asleep for the life of you. You keep moving, accidentally brushing against Fred's body countless times but you couldn't help it, you needed to find a comfortable position.

You move your arm around the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position for yourself until you accidentally graze something, unexpected.

You freeze.

Did you actually just graze that?

Was he....?

You slowly turned to face him, your body merely an inch away from his. You see him shut his eyes, heavily breathing, his Adam's apple bopping up and down from swallowing hard.

"Would you quit moving so much?" He whispered, trying to contain himself.

"I....Fred, I didn't mean to." You pause. "You're still awake?"

"10 points to Y/H (your house), captain obvious."

You furrow your brows, turning on the bedside lamp which offered the tiniest bit of ambient light in the dark room.

Your gaze flickered down, and well, you saw, a little friend poking up from the sheets beneath him.

"Is that, because of m—" You swallowed not daring to finish the sentence, looking at his hard on. "I'm sorry shouldn't have moved so much."

"Alright, it's okay, it's not a big deal, so what it's normal right. I didn't mean to accidentally keep grazing or grinding on you, I was merely trying to find a comfortable position. Listen, I'm not weirded out or anything, you can go sort it out. Who am I to judge? This time tomorrow we'll all be at the burrow and I'll be sharing a room with Ginny and 'Mione, so it's fine, we can—" You began ranting out of nervousness, but Fred had enough, opening his eyes to sit up with you,

"Merlin, Y/N. Ranting like you're so innocent, moving around like that? On me?" He leans in closer, growling, "I bet you'd really want to know what got me provoked in the first place, yeah?"

You gulped, inspecting his features as he leaned in closer to you, now an inch apart, "You aggravate me, pushing my damn buttons all the bloody time. Maybe if you weren't such a whiny brat complaining about everything, I would've fucked you an hour ago till you were silenced.” He ranted before continuing,

“You want to know what got me so hard? You waltzing around in those darn bathrobes that are far too small, exposing every inch of your body, your cleavage is practically begging to be seen. I can't keep my fucking eyes off you. Ever since Hogwarts, it was always you, grating on my last nerves. I thought I hated you so, until I realised that there was a fine line between hate and attraction."

"Fred..." your eyelids flutter; how did his voice get so low and sensual? You could feel yourself throbbing, growing wetter by the minute, and you found yourself growing more needy for him.

"Bloody hell Y/N, you've got me wrapped around the irritating finger of yours."

"Just shut up and kiss me Fred." You breathlessly whisper, not realising that you'd been holding your breath the entire time.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, he wasted no time pouncing on you. His hand is behind your neck and he pushes you down onto the bed, hovering on top of you.

Fred's lips meet yours furiously, desperately, never in your life has someone kissed you this passionately before. You open your mouth, and he slides his tongue in, a desirous clash of tongues. He savours every inch of your mouth and it makes you wonder how long he's been wanting to do this for.

"May I?" He asks for permission as he tugs at the belt of your bathrobe.

You nod, too breathless to speak as you gaze up at him. Fred undoes your robes, leaving you clothe-less on the bed. He does the same, kneeling between your legs which are spread open and on either side of his waist. You subconsciously give him doe-eyes as he does so, merlin, he looked so deliciously attractive.

"So fucking beautiful, all this hidden from me all these years?" He leans down and gently kisses your neck while gripping your waist, sucking on a sensitive spot which earns a moan from you.

"Going to leave hickey's on you so everyone knows you're mine gorgeous."

"Who said I was yours?" Every so daring you retort, though you lacked conviction.

He chuckled lowly before sucking on another sensitive spot, leaving a reddish mark on you, "Fred..." you moan again. His kisses grow more wet and fervent as he plants kisses trailing down your body. His hands move from your waist to your breasts, massaging them gently as he continues further down your body.

You're barely able to control the obscene moans slipping from your mouth, any attempts at suppressing them growing more difficult by the second. You didn't even care that people around you might hear.

"You're soaking wet, and yet you say you're not mine." Fred cooed, his eyes glued to your heat, coated with glistening wetness.

You revel in the fact that he can barely take his eyes off you, you glance at him, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust. Once he catches sight of your lustful eyes, desperate for him, he can't tear his gaze away from you. He slowly leans down, sensually licking your coated slick.

Your sensitive cunt throbs even harder upon the contact from his tongue, "Fred please..." You whine, throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He traces the shape of your vulva, pressing kitten licks on your needy clit, causing your legs to clamp around his head. He doesn't break eye-contact, as he continues to work his mouth around your core.

He continues sucking your clit, his tongue working his way on your swollen pearl.

You tangle your hands in his head, tugging lightly. Your body can't help but arch into his face due to the overwhelming pleasure, as he continues indulging in your cunt. "Merlin Fred!" You cry out as he suckles on a particularly sensitive spot.

"You taste so damn good love, so sweet unlike that bitter mouth, hm?"

"I'm yours Fred....all yours..." You whimper, succumbing to his words.

"Say that again." His voice low, commanding, you could feel the heat from his mouth near your throbbing cunt.

"I'm yours, Fred." You moan, as he continues straight into your core.

The feeling is heavenly, both hands tangled in his red locks as he gives you the most pleasant head you've ever felt in your life. Once he stops assaulting your clit, he lifts his head and faces you, his eyes smiling up at you, as though you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Oh, you're so close, tilting over the edge of something mind-blowing. He leans down and gives your clit a few more kitten licks, planting soft kisses before pulling away, just as you were about to cum.

"Don't stop," you whimper, "I was so close...."

"Fred?" You plead, again, but he sits up and crawls to you, now hovering over you his hands on either side of your head. "Please let me cum...."

"You will, darling." He cooes, leaning down to your ear, "Around my cock."

You felt yourself throbbing yet again, upon his words. What the hell was he doing to you, causing you to feel this weak beneath him? This powerless? Your sharp, witty tongue, nowhere in sight.

"Please Fred, I need you." You whine, begging him for more.

"What ever happened to, 'I despise you'?" He hovered over you and you sat up, meeting his lips. Giving him a passionate, hungry kiss before pulling away,

"There is a fine line between hate and love, and I think today I've learnt that you've been sitting in the wrong category all along."

He smiled, brushing a hand on your cheek as he gazed down at you lovingly, "Took me so long to realise that you're the only person I've ever felt something with."

"Took us bloody ages." You roll your eyes fondly, before giggling as he pecked your forehead gently.

You gazed up at him with doe-eyes, and him down at you, to your lips then back up, his mouth parted slightly as he took in how breathtaking you looked beneath him. Shit, you were always beautiful to him, he'd only now realised.

"Need you inside me Fred." You plead softly, desperately, which only fuelled his desire for you even more.

"Anything for you, love."

You never thought you'd admit it, but he has a fucking incredible dick. You assumed he'd be packing because he was 6"3, but the sight of it made you drool. Bloody hell, he had every right to be so smug.

His slit was already leaking with precum, his eyes lock onto yours as he lowers himself. Your legs are still on each side of his waist, he grabs his dick and teases it along your wet entrance, sliding it a few times to coat it with your slickness.

You involuntarily buck your hips, desperate for penetration as you whimper. He slowly lowers himself down, and finally into you.

At first, you hiss at the pain upon being stretched out by his hugeness, you could feel him stretching your walls, registering that fact that he was fully inside you now.

"Fuck...." he moans, letting out a groan, "So tight for me hm?"

"Freddie...." You moan as he begins moving, rocking his hips slowly. You get used to the size of him, filling you to the brim, every slight bit of movement causing your walls to tense around his dick, rubbing within you sensually.

"I know baby, I know." He responds softly, continuing at this pace.

With every rock, his breathing increases, your soft pleas and his eager pants filling the room as he speeds up, going faster and harder.

Your moans start to get louder, getting more deafening by the minute. Fred leans down to plant kisses on your neck, and pecking your lips occasionally, you moan into him as he drives himself further into your core.

"You're doing so well baby." He coos into your ear, murmuring praises as he continues to thrust into you.

Fred doesn't stop pounding into you, you move your hands to his back, your nails practically digging into his skin from the pleasure.

Skin slapping against skin, you feel every jolt of his body into you. He's fucking you so gently but hard at the same time, treating you as though you were the most fragile thing on the planet.

"Baby..." You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, as he continues thrusting into you deeply, you are overwhelmed with so much pressure that you might cry, but it just felt so damn pleasurable.

"I'm getting close Fred." You pant, breathing heavily, as he picks up his pace.

"Look at me." He demands, and you open your eyes, gazing into his hazel ones. For once, they aren't filled with irritation, or the usual annoyance you were used to seeing, they were more gentle, admiring you, it was a look of love.

"Fred, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling an orgasm coming closer, "I'm gonna—" you can barely finish your sentence, the pressure. on your g-spot and the intense penetration becoming too much for you to handle, along with the gaze of hazel eyes burning into you.

You let out an obscene moan as your walls clench around him, you jerk harshly, causing him to let out a guttural moan. It's a pleasurable ache, your entire body pulses beneath him.

"Gonna come inside you baby, that okay?" He asks, and you nod, to breathless to speak.

Seconds later, he comes undone, squirting his juices inside you. The world slows down as you enter your state of euphoria; you're entangled in pure bliss as you come down from your high. Your body is still electrified from the feeling before.

It takes a while for you to fully settle down. You slowly flutter your eyes open to find yourself engulfed in Fred's buff arms, your breathing in sync. The two of you lean against the wooden bed-frame, and you lean your head on his shoulder, while he cradles you.

You glance down at your body and notice that it's covered in marks, which looked bloody hot. Merlin, you really were Fred's now huh?

"So much for body heat." You chuckled softly, as he stroked your back gently.

He laughs, and you feel the vibrations of his chest, "The best kind of heat if you ask me." He says which earned an eyeroll from you.

Fred plants a soft kiss on your head, "Y'know I'm not one for apologies, but I was a bit of a jerk to you back in Hogwarts, and I want to apologise."

"It was a two-way thing, Freddie, suppose I should apologise for being one too. Merlin, you did grate on every last one of my nerves though." You tease.

"Always a pleasure." He grinned down at you, engulfed in his arms as you looked up at him, sharing a moment of sweet silence as you put the past behind you.

A ray of moonlight shone through the tiny gap in the curtain. You turned your head, glancing out the window as you pondered about the others back at the burrow.

"What're we going to tell the others when we find them tomorrow?" You giggled, taking in the state you were both in.

"I have a feeling they won't be surprised." Fred confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in my family thinks we have a thing for each other, especially Ginny. Won't stop talking about us that sister of mine."

"Since when?!" You were amused, the two of you were the epitome of the word hate back in Hogwarts and to hear a statement like this shocked you.

"Since school apparently." He laughed, shaking his head, "I thought it was silly too, but look where we are now."

"Just wait one day, you'll eventually get married." He mocked Ginny's tone, mirroring her facial expressions too, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Please, you and me?" You raised a brow, teasing him, though biting back a fond smile.

"Neverrrr." He scrunched up his nose, holding you closer as you both now laid down in bed, safely in each other's grasp.

Finally comfortable, you found yourself drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The same could be said for Fred, it was safe to say the body-heat idea turned out better than anticipated.

And with this newfound love, perhaps the broomstick breaking was a blessing in disguise.