#Sam Wilson hottest man alive

[spectreofawoman]

Oh man I had a realisation just now Holy shit.

So everyone knows that Sam Wilson is the Captain America we deserve right? And when he shut down Zemo's hypothetical we see that directly, but I just wanted to talk about Zemo's comment about those with the serum being supremecists for a moment.

So I guess there's two ways to interpret this, there's the eugenics interpretation, as in the master race, the facist dream of survival of the fittest which is its own whole other post, but I wanna talk about a different side of things.

Bc Dr Erkstine said that the serum inhanced what was already there right? And even Lemar said that power only makes people more themselves. I feel like this is even more prevelent in terms of belief in themselves and their own morality.

We see this with Carly, who believes her cause justifies her means. In that sense I TOTALLY see the parallels between her and killmonger, both had noble causes but went around it wrong.

You have the plain crazies of Red Skull and John Walker obviously, but I wanna talk about Bucky for a second.

Because Bucky isn't perfect we knew this, and we also know that he is trying to make amends and that he doesn't beleive in the killing of innocents like Carly and Erik.

But what he does beleive in is the supremacy of his ideals which you can argue as being thanks to the serum, sure they aren't as harmful as the other guys but it's there. And we especially see this in how he tramples over Ayos and Wakandas trust in order to get to his goal, which only ends up hurting himself and them in the long run.

You see, all of these people believed that the ends justify the means, which is why Sam is so unbelievably perfect.

Everyone spends the entire episode trying to persuade Sam that whatever he saw in Carly wasn't worth saving, but he just saw a flawed, scared kid who he believed in.

And that's just it. Captain America can never believe that one life has value over another, that's why, for better or for worse, Steve Rogers refuses to give up Vision in infinity war, because ultimately his life is worth saving.

And yeah that's my ramble of why Sam Wilson is a fuckin BAMF and deserves that fuckin shield man!!!!

#Bucky barnes #Killmonger #Sam wilson #Tfatws #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #Ayo #dora milaje #Red skull #Captain america #Steve Rogers #baron zemo #This is in no way bucky slander I've loved that boy for years #Because of that love I can admit when he's wrong #Sam Wilson hottest man alive #All that empathy ur so sexy samm #If ayo and bucky aren't friends again by the series finale I will be immesly sad #sambucky #I'm a member of the sambucky nation #TFATWS meta #Marvel #Izwatches tfatws

[yumeinikki]

The first time it happens Bucky had laughed it off. He had probably personally invited it even. The huge media circus that was Captain America's wedding. So many people. So many important people. Something was bound to go wrong. So when Sharon gave him an apologetic smile before he even had the chance to sit down for breakfast, he knew exactly what was going to happen.

"Suspicious person spotted on the roof" she had said. The pain clear in her eyes. But the venue was compromised. And with their guest list no one wanted to take the risk.

By the second time they didn't even get to the venue. Only making it to the car for a roadtrip from DC to Delacroix with Torres and Belova (Sam's idea) when Torres got the call.

"Sin's been spotted near a crucial powerplant" that's all Bucky had to hear to know she was up to no good. But in all honesty. He didn't mind skipping the roadtrip.

By the third time Bucky started believing it might be an actual curse. Making a mental note to check in with Dr. Strange next time he'd be in New York. Though it was probably his own fault for kissing Sam goodnight with a cheeky "Third time's the charm" and very specific instructions to not come see Sam before the ceremony.

So when he finally had coaxed Sarah into even letting him go near Sam's room, with ample warning before hand, he gave a soft knock.

"Sweetheart, I know you said no peeking. But does it count if I'm in my uniform and not ny tux?" Bucky asked through the closed door

"We gotta go beat up some bad guys hmm? Saw it on the news" Sam replied. Bucky could hear his weight shifting behind the door, it opening slowly as Bucky closed his eyes obediently.

"It's what I get for marrying People's sexiest man alive, hottest groom of 2032 and GQ's man of the year, third year in a row. Everybody wants a piece of you" Bucky said, letting out a breath he didnt know he was holding as Sam chuckled softly, about to retort when he felt Sam's lips press against his own.

"You better not be peeking" Sam said as he pulled back, Bucky could hear him hold back a sigh. So he gently pressed their foreheads together.

"You think it was this hard for Steve?" He asked.

"I don't know" Bucky admitted. "I guess not, but then the world thought he was a popsicle. And I'm not quite ready for something that extreme. Besides, I'll gladly fight for your honour of actually getting to marry you. We'll make them regret it"

Sam laughed, Bucky melting as he felt Sam's breath against his skin. "Torres will be here with your uniform soon. You get ready, I'll tell the guests" Bucky said, pulling back reluctantly. But not before Sam could steal another quick kiss. "No peeking" he has repeated as Bucky pulled back. Giving a salute before he turned around as he heard Torres approaching.

By the fourth time Bucky found himself clumsily adjusting his speech. Leaving out a few of the colourful nicknames he and Sam had for each other. Quite sure Sam would never let him live down calling him 'his favourite asshole' in front of Riley.

By the time most guests had left and Riley was asleep in Sam's arms from way too much excitement Sam turned to Bucky.

"You were gonna call me asshole, weren't you" he said

"Favourite asshole. And in my defense, i wrote this speech a year ago" Bucky replied, holding his hands up in surrender.

"How were you planning on explaining that when she grows up?" Sam said, shaking his head.

Bucky pondered for a moment. "Well, I was gonna start with that full body slam. Also that time you didn't move your seat up. That time you made me sleep on Sarah's couch instead of your bed. Should I go on?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Remind me why I even married you?"

"Beats me, Sweetheart, last time I checked you hated me" Bucky replied with a smirk, leaning in and sealing their lips together.

"Yeah I hate you Mr. Wilson" Sam replied.

And as Riley lay curled up in his arms Bucky realised that someone, somewhere had probably been looking out for him. That curse might've been a blessing after all.

#marvel #sambucky #only sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #long post #my hc #is this even a hc #more like drabble #happy fatws day #this is for the loves of my life #our lord n saviour aashna #tiana doing the lord's work as usual #redwingsupportgroup #sammy-souffle

[yikeswtfmate]

Golden // Part 2

Summary: Y/N pays Sam a visit. He has some explaining to do.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: language; uh? sexual references? maybe???

A/N: listen. LISTEN. I am so excited about this. I’m so excited about this that I might turn this whole thing into a series. Is this how IAFAG came into being as well? Yes, it is. Am I as excited about this as I was about IAFAG? MAYHAPS! Here is the second part, I hope you like it! 

(as always, thanks to @the-chocolate-bunny​ for cheering me on and shouting OHMYGOD over and over again when she’s reading whatever it is I’m sending her, you’re a clown but I love you)

previous part // masterlist

“Samuel Thomas Wilson!” Y/N shouts and her finger is so far in his pec that he has to swipe her hand away and rub at his chest. Good.

“It’s 7 in the morning.” He groans and just follows her trampling inside his kitchen. He watches with a pout as she’s turning on the coffee machine, taking out two mugs and the sugar jar – I just want to sleep some more, what did I do to deserve this on a Wednesday?

“Well, rise and shine, buttercup, because you have some explaining to do!”

Sam yawns and sits down, practically melting over the kitchen island. She pushes a coffee right next to his nose, where the smell and heat should be enough to keep his eyes open.

“Why am I even friends with you?” Sam mumbles, but Y/N just looks at him unimpressed. “What?”

“You know Steve.” She says and good god, does she look pissed.

“Ok, honey. I’m gonna have to ask you to be a little more specific. I own a bar, I know too many Steves to count and most of them aren’t even worth you coming over here at 7 in the morning.”

Y/N looks pointedly at Sam as if by magic he could read her thoughts – which wouldn’t be surprising in normal circumstances, the man is scarily accurate, especially when she’s trying to hide her flings away from him. In his defence, she did knock at his door for 10 minutes to wake him up and then nearly tackled him to the ground, even though she has a goddamned key. But then again, he might have an inkling on who exactly she’s talking about, considering he never does anything without knowing exactly what the results might be.

“Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, beard, built like a fucking tank, unable to buy shirts his own size, owns a stupid bike?!” Y/N is aware that her voice is turning into a brassy squeal by the end of her sentence, but at least now Sam is starting to look more alive. He’s raising one of his eyebrows, which could only mean there’s some sense of recognition at her words.

“Don’t tell me the idiot finally talked to you.” He’s chuckling in his coffee mug, as if this would explain what just happened an hour ago.

“Sam.” She presses, staring pointedly at him. “More words, less sphinx-like riddles, please.”

He rolls his eyes, but puts his mug down with a sigh. He knew this would happen, hoped this would happen if that idiot Golden Retriever would just get his shit together already but he didn’t expect Steve to be a little asshole. Bucky, sure, but Steve? Yeah, ok, fine, Steve can be an asshole too.

“Remember when you asked me to help you move a while back?”

“And you convinced me to go for a run at 5 in the fucking morning with you in exchange for that? And you stood me up because apparently you slept through your alarms? That somehow involved Clint for some goddamn reason, but if I think about it now, I have no idea how that happened considering you don’t live with Clint.” She’s literally voicing her thought process, which in turn makes Sam proud – she’ll put two and two together soon enough. “Unless you both slept at the bar that night and somehow…wait. No. Sam, you dick, you planned this?!” There it is.

Sam leans over the table and pats Y/N on the head – one, two, three and she’s batting his hand away. She’s fuming, but it’s great seeing her get so worked up. Ah yes, Sam thinks, there’s nothing funnier than meddling in Y/N’s life. To be fair, it’s not like she’s regretted any of his plotting – she’d actually let him take all her decisions for her if there wouldn’t be something called rEsPoNsiBiLitY and other disgusting adult stuff. But couldn’t he have meddled with this Steve earlier? Couldn’t he have told her there’s a hunk of man that she’d like to climb like a tree the day they met?

“Explain yourself before I either self-combust in rage or tell Clint you’re allowing him to eat all the peanuts in the bar.”

“He knows better than to obey orders that don’t come directly from me, sweets, but at least you tried.” Sam chuckles, which earns him another whine. “Fine! Goddamn, woman, sometimes I wonder what I did in a past life to deserve this. I was with Steve when you called me and your weird face came up on my phone. He kept hinting at wanting to meet you but I played dumb and wouldn’t give him anything.”

“I – what?!” Y/N screeches yet again, and Sam swears he might just buy some noise blocking headphones.

“It was his birthday present.” He shrugs.

“What was?”

“Making you two meet, you dumb clown.”

Y/N looks at Sam, a mystified frown on her face. He can practically see “Processing” right on her forehead. It’s the most fun he’s had in months and if he ever had any doubts about his mischievous plans, he now knows with certainty that it was all worth it. He takes a sip of his coffee, patiently waiting for her to talk, because she’s a talker, after all, she’ll either let out a final screech that will wake up the whole building or he’ll suffer through an endless tirade of ingenious expletives.

“Wait, hold up.” She finally says, one hand raised, as if he’d ruin her reaction by talking. Come on, Y/N, baby, you know me better than this, and she does. “Let me get this straight. You knew Steve was already interested, you knew that we kept meeting in the park every morning and knew I was also interested, yet you’ve kept quiet until now?”

“That’s exactly right, babygirl.” Sam grins.

She smacks him then – lunging over the kitchen island, right over his head, making him nearly dunk his face in his coffee. Sam tries his best to show that he’s furious at her reaction, but it’s an unfortunately common occurrence, so that wouldn’t stick.

“Why would you hurt me in this way, Samuel?” Y/N wails, throwing herself on the table – dramatics, this is why only Steve could handle you. “Have I not been a good friend to you? Have I not kept your secret that you wore braces when you were a kid? Have I not brought you coffee whenever you asked for it in college? Have I not introduced you to Bucky?”

“First of all, I did it because Steve had to be taught a lesson. And second of all, it was payback because you did tell someone I’ve worn braces in middle school. And that was Bucky!”

Y/N scoffs and crosses her arms. They’re stuck in a match of pouts and throwing around blame – a game they’ve played since childhood, but Y/N is bad at it, as always, and she’s the first to relent, as always.

“What lesson?” She mumbles.

“What?”

“What lesson did you have to teach Golden Boy?” Y/N repeats herself, enunciating each word.

“To learn to ask for what he wants.” Sam grins.

“And what’s that?”

“You.” Sam rolls his eyes, already tired of this conversation, why can’t his friends just sort this out together anyway? “He wants you, Y/N, but he was too much of a coward to ask.”

That’s the moment Sam’s phone starts pinging with what sounds like an entire waterfall of messages. He groans, standing up from his chair, because really what the fuck is up with people today and waking him up at 7 in the morning on a goddamn Wednesday?

At least Y/N stays put in her own seat, watching him like a hawk as he retrieves his phone from his bedroom. It’s lighting up like crazy and as he reads the messages, he can’t help but start laughing like a certified villain.

“Your boy is having a meltdown.” He finally supplies an explanation to Y/N’s confusion.

Before she can even open her mouth in a futile attempt to deny having “a boy” or even ask who he might be talking about, because let’s be honest, it’s not like she’s been wondering what it’d be like to tap that ass in the few minutes it took Sam to come back, he thrusts his phone right in her face.

Oh god, Sam, I talked to her today

Holy shit she’s even prettier from up close

Fuck, I think she caught me staring at her butt

What if she thinks I’m a creep?

AND I ASKED HER OUT??!?!?!?!

HOW COULD I EVER THINK SHE’D SAY YES????

BUT SHE SAID YES????

WHY DID SHE SAY YES??????????

SAM WHAT THE FUCK SHE SAID YES AND I HAVE A DATE WITH THE HOTTEST GIRL I’VE EVER MET AND NOW I HAVE TO CALL HER AND I’M EXCITED BUT HOLY SHIT WTF AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY TO HER????????

I’VE ACTED LIKE SUCH A DOUCHE!!!!!!!!!!!

I TOLD HER I’LL PICK HER UP ON MY BIKE AND SHE SOUNDED SO CONFUSED WHAT IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE BIKERS???????????

SAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I’m in love

By the end of the last message, a huge grin is splitting Y/N’s face. Sam knows this reaction too well for comfort and oh shit, what have I started, but it’s too late now and she’s already typing.

“Really, Y/N? On my phone? I might just have to throw it in a river now.” Sam sighs as he reads over her shoulder.

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, but the grin doesn’t leave her face. Waking up at 5 in the morning might not be so horrible in the end if she gets to send messages like this to a Golden Boy who is having the most adorable meltdown over her.

I might be impartial to bikes, but I’m definitely not impartial to you or your butt, Stevie

***

Everything Marvel Taglist:

@bonkywobble​

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic

[tabloidtoc]

People, November 30

Cover: Sexiest Man Alive Michael B. Jordan 

Page 7: Chatter -- Dolly Parton on parenthood, Jason Momoa on wearing pink, Kurt Russell on making a negative first impression with longtime love Goldie Hawn, Taylor Swift on dating Joe Alwyn, Keke Palmer on preferring leggings, Viola Davis on processing the state of the world 

Page 8: 5 Things We’re Talking About This Week -- stars prep a seasonal singalong, a Baby Yoda cocktail wins over famous fans, The Bachelor mansion hits Airbnb, Arnold Schwarzenegger heads to Netflix, Blue Ivy narrates an audiobook 

Page 11: Contents 

Page 12: Contents, Editor’s Letter 

Page 14: StarTracks -- Famous Families -- John Legend and Chrissy Teigen attended the drive-in premiere of Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey in L.A. with their kids Miles and Luna 

Page 15: LeBron James with mom Gloria, Gabrielle Union backyard with daughter Kaavia, Chris Hemsworth and his mother Leonie, Rupert Grint and daughter Wednesday G. Grint

Page 16: Kit Harington filmed a scene for the second season of Modern Love in Dublin, Tiger Woods awarded a green jacket to 2020 Masters champion Dustin Johnson, Patricia Clarkson showed off a shimmering gown at Housing Works’ annual Fashion for Action Benefit 

Page 17: Nashville’s Biggest Night -- Carrie Underwood and husband Mike Fisher attended the 54th annual Country Music Association Awards, Charley Pride performed with Jimmie Allen before accepting his CMA Lifetime Achievement Award, Miranda Lambert with husband Brendan McLoughlin, Maren Morris won three awards and shone a light on Black female country artists 

Page 19: Timothee Chalamet packed on some layers for a bike ride along Manhattan’s Hudson River Park, Molly Bernard and Sutton Foster and Hilary Duff during a break from filming for Younger in New York City’s Upper West Side, Mandy Moore cradled her pregnant belly at the E! People’s Choice Awards in Santa Monica, Tyler Perry at the E! People’s Choice Awards 

Page 23: Scoop -- Healing on Grey’s Anatomy -- inside Patrick Dempsey’s surprise return 

Page 24: Lena Dunham reveals her struggle with infertility and IVF 

Page 26: Heart Monitor -- Olivia Wilde and Jason Sudeikis surprise split, Ryan Cabrera and Alexa Bliss engaged, Michelle Pfeiffer and David E. Kelley happy anniversary, Kristin Cavallari and Jeff Dye dating 

Page 29: Britney Spears’ battle with her dad continues, Britney and Sam Asghari’s island getaway 

Page 30: Ciara and Russell Wilson’s new family moves, Buddy Valastro making progress after his accident 

Page 32: Rebel Wilson -- my year of health and love, Pioneer Woman Ree Drummond becomes a proud foster mom 

Page 34: Passages, Why I Care -- after losing her mother to pancreatic cancer in 2012 Mindy Kaling is raising awareness about the disease 

Page 37: Stories to Make You Smile -- there’s no debate about who won the popular vote in Rabbit Hash in Kentucky: a 6-month-old dog named Wilbur, a tiny preemie grows into a healthy 4-year-old with Superman by his side 

Page 41: People Picks -- The Flight Attendant 

Page 42: Hillbilly Elegy, Happiest Season, Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, Q&A Lindsey Vonn 

Page 43: Lego Star Wars Holiday Special, People Presents: Once upon a Main Street, Small Axe, One to Watch -- The Christmas Chronicles: Part Two’s Darby Camp 

Page 45: Books 

Page 47: Jewel -- what I know now -- she went from homelessness to pop stardom 25 years ago and now the singer gets candid about healing from her abusive childhood and finding true happiness 

Page 53: At home with The Undertaker -- the (family) man behind the WWE legend -- after 30 years in the ring Mark Calaway reflects on his career and catching up on lost time as a dad 

Page 56: At 51 Julie Loving becomes her daughter’s surrogate -- a mother’s amazing gift -- after years of struggling with infertility Breanna Lockwood thought she’d never have a child and then her mom stepped up and gave birth to a healthy baby girl 

Page 60: John Belushi -- the private world of a comedy legend -- nearly four decades after the groundbreaking actor’s tragic death at age 33 those closest to him open up about the legacy he left behind 

Page 64: Emma Stone and Ryan Reynolds -- kids asked and they answered -- the stars of The Croods: A New Age take questions from their youngest fans 

Page 66: A High School Coach’s Betrayal -- shattered justice -- Emilie Morris told police her former track coach had sexually abused her but charges were dropped when she died; now her family hopes a new TV special will bring fresh attention to the case 

Page 72: Michael B. Jordan is the Sexiest Man Alive -- he’s driven and compassionate and playful and doing more than his fair share to help change the world 

Page 83: Men of the Year -- Chris Evans 

Page 84: Harry Styles 

Page 85: Trevor Noah, Kevin Costner, Maluma, Lakeith Stanfield 

Page 86: Paul Rudd, Steve Kornacki, William Zabka, Ryan Seacrest, Darren Barnet 

Page 87: Brad Pitt, The Weeknd, Paul Mescal, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II 

Page 88: Manny Jacinto, Dr. Elvis Francois, Stephen Colbert, Robert Pattinson 

Page 89: John David Washington 

Page 90: Dwayne Johnson, Lucas Bravo, Dr. Anthony Fauci 

Page 91: Pedro Pascal 

Page 92: Chris Rock, Matt Bomer, Penn Badgley, Andrew Cuomo, Justin Bieber, Jonathan Majors 

Page 98: The People Have Spoken -- readers exercised their right to vote by picking their favorites in an online poll 

* Sexiest Star Who Kept Us Smiling -- John Krasinski 

* Sexiest Small-Screen Star -- Jensen Ackles 

* Sexiest Royal -- Prince Harry 

Page 99: Sexiest International Man -- Jeon Jungkook 

* Sexiest New Dad -- Joe Jonas 

* Sexiest Happily Settled Guy -- Ryan Reynolds 

Page 100: Sexiest Sports Star -- Patrick Mahomes 

* Sexiest Social Media Star -- Shawn Mendes 

* Sexiest Brothers -- Liam Hemsworth and Chris Hemsworth

* Sexiest Netflix Heartthrob -- Noah Centineo 

Page 106: Dan Levy -- sexiest man in quarantine -- baking and jigsaw puzzles and so many Zooms: whatever quarantine had to offer the Schitt’s Creek co-creator and star tried it all 

Page 115: Hottest Couples -- these twosomes make being in love look good -- Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, Matthew and Camila McConaughey, Kevin and Eniko Hart, Katherine Schwarzenegger Pratt and Chris Pratt, Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid, Gabrielle Union and Dwyane Wade, Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez 

Page 117: The Eyes Have It -- in the era of face masks these men are still able to flaunt their finest feature -- Idris Elba, Bradley Cooper, Jesse Williams, Mark Consuelos, Boris Kodjoe, Henry Golding, Zac Efron, Ian Somerhalder 

Page 120: A Sexy Man’s Best (Instafamous) Friend -- Nick Jonas with Gino Chopra Jonas 

Page 123: Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka with Gidget and Spike 

Page 124: Harry Connick Jr. with Tuka 

Page 127: Cats Are Instafamous Too -- these felines and their sexy celeb owners prove they’re just as worthy of social media stardom -- Ed Sheeran with Calippo, Bobby Flay with Nacho, Keegan Allen with Tyn, Ricky Gervais with Pickle 

Page 129: Sexy at Every Age 

Page 130: Silver Foxes -- they’ve still got it -- these former cover stars are as smoldering as ever proving sexiness gets better with age -- Richard Gere, Harrison Ford 

Page 131: Pierce Brosnan, Harry Hamlin, Mark Harmon 

Page 132: All Glowed Up -- this group of guys outgrew their sweet baby faces to become dashingly handsome men -- Adam Rippon, Charlie Puth, Josh Peck, Mario Lopez, Michele Morrone, Skylar Astin 

Page 133: Orlando Bloom, Ramy Youssef, Brooklyn Beckham, Hunter Hayes, Wilson Cruz, Chase Stokes, Jordan Fisher 

Page 134: A Change of Scenery -- we’re all sick of staying home so luckily these sizzling guys have found plenty of ways to get things done outdoors -- Paul Wesley goes camping in his yard 

Page 136: Cole Hauser takes a bath 

Page 137: Common gets a shave and a haircut 

Page 138: Edgar Ramirez enjoys coffee and a book 

Page 140: Derek Hough does his laundry 

Page 143: Cutest Baby Alive -- CNN anchor Anderson Cooper’s sweet son Wyatt 

Page 151: Second Look -- Melissa McCarthy in Superintelligence 

Page 152: One Last Thing -- Kate Mara -- the actress stars in the new limited series A Teacher

#tabloid toc #tabloidtoc #sexiest man alive #michael b. jordan #emma stone #ryan reynolds #the croods: a new age #jensen ackles #chris evans #robert pattinson #rob pattinson #kate mara #grey's anatomy #patrick dempsey #lena dunham #britney spears #ciara #russell wilson #rebel wilson #jewel #the undertaker #john belushi #emilie morris #harry styles #paul rudd #john david washington #pedro pascal #dan levy #nick jonas #neil patrick harris

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | February 3-9

To adult or to make my weekly recap? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Complete

on the nose by Deisderium (ABO, WW2 AU | 3,5K | Explicit): "Barnes," barked the sergeant, and Bucky jolted out of his thoughts. He strode forward to get his mail and was thrilled to see not only a letter from Becca and another from his ma, but an actual package from Steve. He took his treasures and retreated back to his tent. Inside the package was another bound in butcher paper and string, but much smaller than the shirt. There was a note tucked in the strings of this one too, but it was just a small square of folded paper. The note in the string was much shorter than the letter Steve had sent him with the larger package. It read in its entirety: don't open this unless you're alone. 

would anybody recognize by luninosity (Evanstan AU | 3,3K | Mature): Sebastian doesn't mind watching movies by himself. Not everyone likes obscure Finnish art-house movies about lumberjacks, right? Except someone else has joined him in the theater, this time...

Not Another Alien Green Card Marriage by crinklefries (Modern Loki/Thor, Fake Marriage | 15K | Teen): The bifrost is broken and Thor is stranded on Earth, working for SHIELD without any authorized documents. Loki gets way too drunk and regrettably horny one night and offers to marry the big, dumb superhero for a green card.

Throw Me (A Cat Toy) by Quarra, RemingtonFae (Bucky&Loki | 35K | Mature): Barnes and Loki volunteer to help Peter clear out a supervillain's labratory. While there, Barnes is bitten by a radioactive snow leopard. Now Barnes has cat ears, a poofy tail, and a new pet. Loki finds this hilarious.

WIP

💙 A Trace of All That Was by leavinghope (Post-Endgame | 13/14 | 33K | Mature): Bucky Barnes has to deal with the pain of watching Steve Rogers leave and return as an old man. Sam Wilson has to learn how to become Captain America when he had not asked for the role. How could they both have been so wrong about Steve? How could the man they both thought they knew have let them down so completely?

💙 Latte Art and Slow Dancing in the Dark by deadonarrival (Modern AU with powers, Daddy kink | 17/20 | 85K | Explicit): Bucky is a somewhat well-adjusted former army sniper that got his shoulder blown out. He took his discharge and went home to finish school. His best friends and roommates (Nat & Clint) are CIA agents and tip him off that their local Sbux is hiring. He gets a job there and meets none other than the hottest guy on earth. So how does one get a date in the most top secret government location in the US? What happens when that guy is more than just a hot dorito and wants to give Bucky everything he wants? 

💙 four dreams in a row where you were burned by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (canon divergent, post-Endgame, 1945 alternate timeline | 9/? | 52K | Mature): When Steve uses the last of his Pym Particles to travel to 1944 and save his best friend, he doesn’t have a plan beyond leaving behind the battlefield and living his life alongside the people he loves. But the life that finds him is not the one he expects.

💙 Like the Tide by Deisderium (Canon divergent, Post-Avengers | 3/7 | 25K | Explicit): In which Steve and Bucky never met, and Steve was always a USO performer instead of an actual supersoldier. The serum keeps Steve alive in the ice, but he wakes up the size he used to be in the 1930s, albeit healthier. Hydra sends the Soldier to kill Captain America, but somehow the Soldier can't make himself do it. Suddenly Steve is stuck with an assassin who can't quite kill him but refuses to leave him alone and the knowledge that Hydra is still out there somewhere.

💙 A Company Man by mambo/ @whtaft (Modern AU | 11/16 | 51K | Explicit): No matter what it is, the truth is the same: Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes, a married man.

Re-Read

💙 Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (Shrunkyclunks, canon divergent post-Avengers | 67K | Explicit): Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour’s drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec #evanstan #evanstan fanfic #evanstan fic #evanstan fic rec #weekly recap

[wilsonsnest]

winter, Sweetheart - Interlude

follows part 1 & part 2, but takes place from a different perspective. 

had to go ahead and set up riley (hes alive, whoo) for the later parts. theres a significant lack of sambucky in this though unfortunately. in some ways this seems like a big excuse for me to go back and watch ca:tws which, well...

warnings: hurt/comfort, violence and a general hydra warning

It was only when he pulled a knife on Captain America at 3am in the middle of a park that Riley realizes something has to change. Luckily, the guys a saint and only twists Riley’s wrist hard enough that it’ll be sore for a few days, but won’t require a Doctor’s visit. Then after that Steve Rogers, symbol of American freedom invites him out for burned coffee with a too bright diner and everything just falls apart.

It’s not that Riley avoids talking about Sam, it’s more that he avoids getting know people who he could talk about Sam to. The only person he regularly speaks with is Mama Wilson, every Sunday at 3:30pm when she gets out of church. She’ll tell him about the sermon, the latest gossip, how her grandkids are doing. They talk about Sam occasionally, but it’s not a constant.

She does what good Moms do and always asks the important questions. Is he eating? Is he sleeping? Is he getting out of the house? It’s mostly for Riley’s sake, so that he can finally spill all the shit he’s been bottling up for the past week because talking to people suddenly got harder without his wingman by his side.

He stopped talking to his own parents when they came up to visit. Saw his shitty apartment and said “This isn’t what Sam would want for you.”

It’s been a while, so maybe they were right. But two months after the funeral probably wasn’t the best time to say it.

He tells most of this to Steve Rogers. And it should be weird talking to a stranger, but then again his whole life is currently plastered on thirty walls in the Smithsonian so Riley feels like it might be okay to share back. He’s a great listener, surprisingly funny and doesn’t push for anymore than Riley’s willing to give. He may be a superhero, but he’s also a vet and he’s lost people, more than most so he gets it.

Maybe going to those VA meetings wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

They don’t exchange numbers, or even a promise to talk again. But it does open up Riley’s eyes to the dark pit he’s dug himself into. He spends the next day vacuuming, washing dishes and doing his laundry. His place is old, and cheap and the paint on the walls is chipping. But at least it looks like someone lives there now.

He sees Steve one more time. He goes to the diner during normal hours and runs into the other man. They eat breakfast together, catch up and that’s it. Steve seems a little more open, talks about how he isn’t sure what he wants to do. Maybe the superhero business doesn’t have as many perks as people assume. Riley jokes that he’d make both the hottest and most qualified history teacher. Steve just smirks, his eyes filled with mirth and Riley thinks they might actually be friends.

He doesn’t run into Steve again and he just kind of figures, that was that. He’s been going to the VA, sitting in meetings though he isn’t quite up to talking about what happened yet. He’s thinking of seeing a therapist, maybe even taking some cooking lessons. He tells most of this to Momma Wilson and she almost cries on the phone, and she says she’s proud of him.

What she won’t be proud of is if he gets himself killed being a fugitive on the run with Captain America and his red-headed friend.

One minute their questioning a secret nazi operative sitting in the backseat of his car, and the next theirs a metal hand punching through the roof and a hand ripping the steering wheel out. Riley’s first thought is that even if he had insurance it wouldn’t cover this, and his second thought is that he may definitely be way in over his head.

The next thing he remembers, he’s groaning on the pavement, he’s pretty sure his entire left side is bruised and he might be bleeding. But he can hear the sounds of gunshots and panic in the distance and he forces himself up. For a split second, he considers turning and running. He isn’t trained for this, sure he knows how to fight, but he got into this to save people.

He looks up, sees the snipers and knows that Steve and Natasha are down there, fighting for their lives, badly outnumbered. He has to do something. Shrugging out of his torn flannel, he takes the knife out of his belt and makes a decision. He disarms the snipers on the bridge, and takes out a few on the ground below.

But then Steve is fighting a man dressed in all black kevlar who, if his eyes aren’t playing trick on him, has a metal arm. He throws the gun to the side and looks back to wear his car had crashed, its a hike, but he figures this is the part where the superhero stuff comes in and a shotgun really isn’t going to cut it.

He starts to run toward the battered remains of his car, hoping that the wing pack hasn’t been destroyed in the process when suddenly bullets rain down from above, blocking him in his path. He skids to a halt and rolls to cover next to an abandoned black jeep crushed up against the side of the bridge.

He’s expecting a helicopter, maybe even someone in a parachute, but what he sees shakes him to his core.

It looks like someone has stolen his wing pack, and for a moment he fears that Hydra got to it. But it wouldn’t make sense for them to even know how to operate it. Against his better judgement, he moves so that he can get a better look. He realizes right away that they aren’t his wings. They are sleeker, and longer than Exo-7 ones. They have a nearly chrome silver finish with red accents. The man wearing them is dressed in all black, from the goggles and mask he wears down to the two guns he carries in each hand.

Riley is awestruck, he looks like some sort of horrible avenging angle, the sun’s rays outlining him like a burning halo.

There is *no way* Riley can get past that by just running. For a moment, he’s sure he’s stuck when he remembers the two discs Natasha had slipped him. She said they can disrupt electrical flow for at least a few seconds, a good distraction tool.

There was no time like the present to test out the theory. Riley waits for a moment until he sees the winged man looking toward the action happening below him. He doesn’t hesitate the throw the disk at one of the wings, before taking off toward his car hoping to god it worked.

He only glances up to see the man startle and drop heavily, trying to keep his wing from seizing up. He isn’t even paying the slightest attention to Riley as he gets to his car and opens up the trunk. Sliding the harness on feels like coming home again, even if it's the second time he’s done it today. It was just like riding a bicycle and ten times as exhilarating.

He runs a few steps and then takes off, a little shaky at the start and then he’s soaring. From his vantage point, he can see Natasha has taken cover and Steve is still engaged with the metal-armed soldier. He waits for an opening and then sees it. Steve manages to create distance and Riley dives in, kicking the man from behind and soaring past Steve, ready to turn around and go back in for more.

But suddenly he hears gun fire at his back and he tucks in his wings to shield himself. Ducking out of the way, he turns to see the winged man diving straight for him, silver wings glinting in the sun. He doesn’t have time to react before he feels himself being slammed into the side of an overturned van. He screams as he feels claws digging into chest.

Whoever the man is, he is ridiculously strong and determined, even as Riley flails himself and his wings in an attempt to dislodge him. Desperately, he grabs at the man’s goggles, if he can get to his eyes, maybe he’ll loosen his grip.

With a desperate pull the goggles and mouth mask all tear off and fly to the side. Riley’s heart nearly stops in his chest as he stares into familiar brown eyes.

“S-Sam..” Riley’s voice cracks, eyes widening in confusion.

The man - his partner, his best friend was holding him pinned against a van. The one he saw fall of the sky, whose Mom he had to hold up during the funeral as the preacher ended his sermon, who he had mourned every day for the last six years.

But he was there, staring at him with a cold blank stare. Like he didn’t recognize Riley at all.

His lack of struggle seemed to cause Sam to hesitate momentarily and Riley threw a punch before scrambling away, retracting his wings back into his jetpack. He couldn’t stop staring, everything else seemed to fade out and there was only him and Sam.

The other man looked strangely small, dwarfed by the wings on his back. His face was clean-shaven, something he had always complained about when they were in training together. It had always made him look so young, and Riley teased him about never leaving him pretty boy phase.

“S-Sam...” He knew how broken his voice sounded, but he couldn’t help it. “Sam, it's me, Riley. C’mon, man..”

But Sam just stared at him, and then suddenly past him - like he was insignificant. Before Riley could say more, Sam took off, heading for him again but this time he just grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him to the center of the road, dropping him heavily near Steve. Riley’s legs barely held up his weight, and he watched as Sam landed gingerly next to the metal-armed man.

Steve looked just as lost as he did, and Riley finally tore his eyes away from Sam to see the face of the man who had torn out his steering wheel. Holy shit. It was unmistakable, as many times as he had seen that face in books, slideshows and tv specials. No wonder Steve looked like he had seen a ghost.

Somehow there were two right in front of them.

Suddenly, there was sirens and black suvs began surrounding their position, more agents in black leapt out brandishing weapons. Orders to get on the ground barely registered on Riley’s radar as his body moved on autopilot.

Even as they cuffed him, he couldn’t help but stare at Sam and Barnes. They had seemingly forgotten anything else around them, only having eyes for one another. He swallowed thickly, watching as Barnes used his metal hand to tilt Sam’s chin back, looking at the bruise blossoming on his cheek from where Riley had hit him. It was almost tender, even with the blank look on his face.

As he was hauled away, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the moment when they lifted off and were gone.

#riley #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #fanfic #ca:tws au #wintersweetheart #rileys a good good boy whose trying to help #also that sambucky at the end tho

[sian22redux]

Entanglements

by sian22redux

For @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  ‘s Angsty writing challenge: Star’s Marvel Mayhem

Prompt:  ‘He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.’

Bucky x reader

Rating: M

Summary:  The fight for love is sometimes harder than the mission.  

How Bucky and Y/N of Private Party came to be together.

Timeline:  After Wakanda of Black Panther end scenes, but assumes IW is over and he’s safe.

Tags:  oral sex-mentioned, het, canon-compliant mayhem, hurt/comfort, angst, angst, angst

Thank you so so much to the heroic @wheelrider for expert beta’ing, even in a fandom that is not hers!!  And to awesome @theycallmebecca for checking it worked!  

—————————————-

The first time it happens, it is just a drunken hookup.

The party at Avengers Tower is star-spangled, loud, and pulsing fun; rare vodka fueled and graced by the hottest DJ in New York.  You’ve left your uniform and new medal of valour in the hospitality suite Miss Potts has thoughtfully laid on.  Donned a slinky black cocktail dress and four-inch heels and walked into the space on Mr Stark’s arm,  blushing at his gushing praise.  

Thank heaven this evening event is more relaxed than the White House’s lavish ballroom. Your knees had knocked so loud you were sure that the President had heard. Visibility is not your thing.  Or speeches.  But your few heartfelt words had tumbled out, applauded by brass and dough-faced senators and Bucky had stood, smiling, looking oh so perfectly edible in a charcoal suit.  He’d winked at you, a shining in his eyes that was almost as bright as in the moment your marksmanship had saved his life.  

 Perhaps you hadn’t imagined his yearning after all.

Tony plies you with whiskey sours, and sometime after the fourth (or fifth?)  Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson coax you out onto the dance floor.  Time for some fun.   Bucky stands and stares and takes it in: Steve’s hilariously sloppy groove, Sam’s easy sway. He’s frowning adorably, critiquing every move until he’s had enough of watching amateurs.  He sets down his beer, absolutely murder struts out onto the dance floor, and with a ‘my turn punk’ rips you from their arms.  The music settles into something smooth and slow (has Steve’s had a hand it that?) but then suddenly Bucky leans in.  Cheek to cheek and hip to hip.  There’s a fire blazing up inside that takes the pair of you by surprise, and when Bucky whispers, voice molasses dark and slow, “Doll, let’s escape,” you go.  

Oh god.  

You wake up so hung over it feels like you need to shave your tongue.  Your dress is nowhere in sight and Bucky is sprawled out on his stomach.  The bedclothes are mostly on the floor, his evening tux makes a trail of black and white against cream carpet and your (only) lacy underthings dangle off the lamp.  

Fuck, what were you thinking?  

Weren’t, obviously.  You’d let the heady abandon of the evening, the crackling electricity between you both mess with your hard-earned self control, but it just can’t be.  This man is your assignment, the one you are set to guard from the tentacles of a wounded, dying global empire that is trying to grab hold.  

Best not to stick around.  You lever upright, stagger to the washroom, run a wet hand through your tangled hair and try not to notice the lurid hickey on your collarbone.  

Your dress is underneath the dresser (?), you slip it on without a sound, but ugh, the shoes are a pain: your feet are swollen from dancing for so long and so you fumble, trying to do up the flimsy straps.  Finally, the prong slots through the tiny hole.  All set.   

Just as you find your purse and reach across the bedside table for your thong, a silver hand shoots out and clasps your wrist.  

Gently.   

But not planning on letting go. 

“Doll, where ya going?”  Bucky cracks one eye open and the corner of his mouth quirks up.  “No one’s on this morning.  Tony promised.”  

“Got a briefing,” you lie, wincing internally, hating yourself for doing it, but this is a one-time thing and you do not plan on speaking of it.   

Again.  

Or ever.  

The disappointment that clouds the lazy sparkle in his eyes is something to avoid.  You hastily turn away, but at the door you pause guiltily for far too long.  At last, you speak to the quiet resignation from the bed.   

“Thank… thank you.”   

Safe. Or almost.  Steve Rogers wakes up early.  He’s showered after an early run, set up in the kitchen; got french toast frying and washed wineglasses in the drain tray.  He’s grinning.  Wide and hopeful just like an excited Labrador.  

“Breakfast will be ready in a jif.”  

You blink in the too=bright space and think, Fuck my life.  

“Captain… uhh.”  

What the ever lovin’ hell should you say??  

Sorry, can’t stay after banging your best friend. Can’t eat cuz I might just puke.  Or better yet…yes I have read DAOD 5019-1 but this does not constitute inappropriate fraternization across the ranks. 

“Not hungry, Corporal?”  Steve shrugs those massive shoulders and flips a tea towel across his arm, peeking at the toast’s browning underside.  “Suit yourself.”   

You do.

But no regrets.  

It had been too wonderful for that.

—————-

The second time it happens, you tell yourself it is just the frantic release of relief.  

It’s been another too-close-for-comfort call.  Six months past cryo in Wakanda and the insanity that was the Infinity War, and you’d think in the aftermath the remnants of Hydra would no longer care.  But they do, and can’t help but see he’s back, and if they can’t control the Asset, they want him gone.  

There is a careful balance between keeping Bucky safely whole and actually giving him a life.

You’re walking up out of the subway into Battery Park’s wintery sun, a hologram cover hiding your M24 because you just can’t saunter past New York’s Sunday shoppers and happy families pushing strollers openly armed to the teeth.  

Bucky’s a block in front, sunglasses on and hood of his dark puffy jacket pulled right up because camouflage is necessary and the stiff southwesterly off the Hudson is cutting through the naked trees.  He’s heading for the SeaGlass carousel where he will stand and smile, hands sunk deep in pockets, remembering the original aquarium he and Steve delighted in another lifetime ago. 

After two months of tracking him on every outing, you know him well. 

James Barnes loves plums and granola bars.  Extra whip at Starbucks and hunting for old comic books.  The Hayden planetarium and giant, hairy, slobbery dogs.  A fresh trim means things are good because Nat can get close to him with shears.  A fringe of days-old stubble means he’s having harder nights.  The triggers are gone, but not the memory of what he’s done.  When he stops, stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, lips moving and new hand clenched into a fist, you know he’s centering.  Running through a routine in whatever language comes to his head.  

At least he is a better subject than most.  Always watching.  Baseball cap or hood pulled down, changing his route each day, not making it easy on the goons who might dog his steps.   Or you.

It’s part of what makes this detail fun. This day he’s slid into an empty booth at Gigino, near enough the front for light but not so near he hasn’t a good view of the door.  The notebook’s out, bristling with sticky tabs like a multicolour hedgehog.  You are sitting diametrically across, scanning everything around but him, cuz hit men don’t all look like Brock Rumlow after all and folks carrying things in bags make a prickle at your nape.  Your unobstructed view down the gravel walks is good, but somehow, a figure by the Liberty dock sets the hairs rising on your arm.  Hunched. Looking back too often to the restaurant.  Arm akimbo and hiding something.  

You whisper urgently into the comms, hustle out of the doors and fire on the run.  It’s a challenge but not long range, nothing like the shot before, but precision is the thing.   You have no intention of damaging any of the good folk around.  

The subject drops.  Bystanders freak, scattering in all directions, and even as two agents materialize to cluster around Bucky as a precaution, he looks unerringly across at you, recognition and open longing on his face.  

Yeah. Well.  Me too, pal.

You melt away into the shadows, and after the NYPD have it all locked down, you find yourselves thrown together back at the Tower for a hastily convened debrief.

Coulson’s reviewing footage and Fury’s frowning, tapping impatient fingers on the tabletop, talking about the need for better eyes, but you’re having trouble focusing.  

There’s a thirst in Bucky’s eyes that matches the one making your nether regions throb.  God, how good would it be to strip off the Stark body armour underneath his vest.  Press your skin along the length of him and feel every hot, hard inch.  Too good. To be avoided, but beside you the metal hand flexes back and forth.  As if he’s read your mind.

“Soldier?”  Fury’s question drops like a bomb into your awareness.  Neither of you are listening, too aware of each other to focus on mundane things like strategy.    

“Umm, yeah…”  Buck licks his lips and starts again.  “I mean, no, I don’t know any more about that sleeper cell. 

Fury turns to rake you both with his good eye.  After one eternal minute, he shakes his head, looking more bemused than mad.  

“Get outta here.  Both of you.”

You don’t need to be told a second time.  

Buck stalks out into the hall and you follow, thinking how it was too close a call and you are pissed Hydra’s not backing down and goddammit why are the other agents letting these shitballs get so very close and it’s almost like you are vibrating 

Fuck.  Wrong choice of word.  

Your skin is positively alive with how aware of him you are, nerves jangled, sparking white hot arcs of lust, and then he has to make it worse.   He turns and devours you with those ocean eyes as he slams the button for the elevator.

Hard.  

With his prosthetic hand.

The thought of it on you again makes your bones almost liquefy.

“Steve’s off doing PR.”

The few spare words are said with a crooked grin, eyes challenging, and like lightening you are both struck on.  Somehow, your legs are wound about his waist, lips locked, your back up against the cool mirror of the elevator wall, so engrossed you don’t notice when the motion stops.  His metal arm bangs through the apartment and bedroom doors, makes the hinges scream in protest, and then without warning the axis of your world flips over.  You are both horizontal.  On the bed, frantically shedding clothes until his cock sinks into your molten core.  You arch your back with the utter bliss of it, strokes hard and fast and frenzied, rising higher and then, inexplicably, he stills; drags his lips off your nipple to stare intently at your face.  

“Y/N I ain’t gonna last.  I…”  

You open your eyes and catch his gaze.  His eyes are dark and wide and filled with wonder.  As caught off guard as you by the pure fury of the need– but oh you are not going there.  Not thinking about how right this feels, how close and perfectly in tune you are.  Nope. Nuh unh.  This is sex, not making love.  Scratching an itch.  Purely mechanical.    

“Bucky, move!”  

You flip up your hips just so, knowing instinctively what it will do to him, and pull his hip bones closer, tighter, until you’re both grinning and he’s moaning, long and low, shuddering as he spills and you come apart, shining in the afterglow.

This time you deliberately stay the night.  

You curl up into the crook of his flesh arm because you’re weak.  Just can’t pull yourself away.  It’s warm.  And easy. And some part of you wants the peace—for him and you.

When you eventually awaken, stiff and achy, smelling of sweat and musk and the haute perfume of the disguise you never bothered to wash off, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Bucky’s dead to the world, face soft and slack in sleep, so beautiful and vulnerable it almost hurts.

For a moment, breakfasting together flits across your brain, but no.  Way too risky.  Too much like normal couple life.

You slide out from under a heavy bicep and set your feet soundlessly on the chill of the floor, ignoring a lazy snuffle, but, by the time your shrug back on your (ridiculous) Dolce coat, the worry line has settled on his brow again.  

Damn. For a few precious hours, the perennial mark of his mistreatment had erased.  You want to run a finger down it, smooth away the shadowed ridge with a soft caress, but you do not dare.  That is exactly how another bonfire could ignite.

Instead, you gather up your rifle, activate the hologram and tip-toe away.  Like a thief in the night or a spy who’s set a honey trap.  

You text him ‘sweet dreams’ because this is not the bitch you want to be…  

————————-

The third time it happens—well, it’s just pure weakness…

You are, of necessity, an expert at disguise.  Part of a scout-sniper’s training is advanced stalking skills, keeping yourself hidden from a target just five feet away in rough open bush;  you’ve done that and mastered alternate camouflage for  downtown New York.  Four changes of outfit a day if Bucky’s going far.  Rocker grunge in ripped jeans and blue streaked hair.  Finance exec in Burberry trench and heels.  Thank heaven platform sneakers with lace and skirts are a thing; easier to run in those.  

Bucky may not pick you out, doesn’t know exactly where you are, but he knows you’re there.  Today, your hair is brown, next week redhead, after that could be pink: anything but your natural, and naturally noticeable, pale blonde.  It’s like a game—you hiding and him guessing where you might be.  He shows it (and how he’s memorized every conversation that you’ve had) in little actions meant just for you.

One morning, he ‘just happens’ to be forgetful and leaves a cup of mocha/hold-the-whip on the bench where he just sat.  Another scorching afternoon, he buys your favourite Oddfellows miso cherry cup and leaves it safely in the shade of a blue postbox.  Once, he spends two hours stalking every exhibit at the Met’s armory museum because you’d admitted you’ve never been.  (You like old rifles.  What can you say?)  

How can you not fall for this man?  He’s sweet and kind and deadly.  Wants the best thing for everybody if not for himself, and will soon become impossible to resist.  

Scratch that.  Is.  Is impossible to resist.  

Damn his super hearing.  One lunch strolling past Agent Provocateur, he catches your quiet sigh at something flirty but way, waaay out of your snack bracket and, the next thing you know, he’s marching into Victoria’s Secret.  Cruising the racks in exactly your right size.  Leaving the pink bag wedged behind a subway seat.  

Collecting it is just not wasting money, right?  

It goes on like this for weeks, until the day the teasing shit walks into Narcisse, buys chocolate body paint and leads you straight back in the direction of the Tower.

Oh god.  

This necessitates yet another reconnoiter with wardrobe at the safe house.  No one thinks twice about a well-groomed Chanel-suited woman visiting Tony Stark. 

When the morning comes and you crouch, hand poised above the new skimpy scrap of lace, silently agonizing whether to bring or leave, Bucky sits up in bed.  Confused. Dark hair temptingly messy and fingers reaching out.

“Y/N? Where’s the fire.  It’s early yet.”  

Fuck, he makes this so very hard.  Bucky wants something for himself and you want to give it, but this is, if not exactly wrong, so far from right.  

“Ah…” You don’t know what to say.  The sheets are rumpled low about his hips and the comforter sprawls across the floor.  He’d shoved it off.  Kneeling between your legs to plunder you mercilessly with his tongue.

Oh, Christ, Y/N, don’t think of that.

“I want to get in a run.”  The lie comes easily.  You hate running, but he doesn’t know that yet.

“Gonna hafta change those heels,” he chuckles, stretching languidly.  “You’ll need your coffee first.   Steve said he’d put some on first thing.”  

You pretend to relent, smile and plant the softest of kisses on the knotted scars of his shoulder.  

“See you later,” you murmur, intending to go straight on home, but Steve Rogers has other plans.  Ever the gentleman and always up with the birds, he’s made pancakes. And sausage.  And fruit salad with blueberries.

The table is already set for three.

In the awkward silence, he misunderstands why your mouth is open.  

“Syrup or sugar and lemon juice?  Buck’s mom was British.”  

The assumption you don’t understand the condiments is just too much.  Turning him down again would be far too rude.  

You sit, wrinkled disguise and all, and take a bite of bacon, realizing you have slept with the subject eight times over three different nights and you had no clue what his mother’s background was.  

The fact you want to know is somewhat startling.

From down the hall, you hear the whoosh of water beating down and an adorably off-tune whistle.  Your faithless libido says if you’d played your cards just right you’d be in there too. Soaping up his six pack and the dimples in his butt cheeks.  Going yet another round.  

Desperately, you hide your flaming cheeks in a perfectly foamy cappuccino, but Steve isn’t fooled.  

“You know,” he remarks, casually forking up the detritus of an entire fluffy stack.  “Buck never has nightmares when you are here.”

It’s a hard lesson, but one you obviously have to learn.   

Again.  

Never, never underestimate Captain America’s mastery of tactics.  

———————————–

A week, a month, and you fall into a routine. Bucky’s shadow in the day and his teddy bear at night.  A watcher on his six.  Fire when he needs it and softness when he does not. That he’s let down his guard and become intimate with someone shows just how far he’s come. A growing part of you wants to do this, cheer on every little bit of taking back himself; but another part says stop.

You pride yourself on your skill and professional approach.  Dispassionate execution.  It is part of the reason you are so very good.  You do not get distracted.  At all. You’ve got no baggage. No serious exes clutter up your past. You have not spoken to your folks in years (their commune frowns on ‘making war’).

It comes as something of a shock to need your daily dose of Buck.  Sarcastic jokes.  Lips like silk.  Muscles rippling underneath your touch.  

It shouldn’t matter but it does.  The mission is to protect him.  

Even if it means from yourself.  

———————————-

It is the shot, just a few centimeters stray, that settles things in your mind.  

Sure, everyone has rougher days. Aim a little off.  Skin jumpy and so tight it messes with your zen. But not you.  Never you.  Your concentration is absolute.  You just can’t miss and that is exactly why Coulson first brought you in.  Ms. Hill, in charge of Stark’s security, wants the best of the very best and you are it.  

Next to the man you are sworn to protect.

Barton’s grinning and looking at the minor spread on the target sheet, leaning casually on his bow. “What are you thinking of, Y/N?“ he laughs, blue eyes sliding up to your face.  “Sure ain’t your work.”  

Your cheeks flame up.  He doesn’t mean it.  This is Clint never passing up a chance to take the piss but still it gets your brain cells firing.  What were you thinking of?   Slim hips in black tac pants.  A stubbled, chiseled jaw.  Silver fingers cradling the barrel of a gun.

Shit.

Bucky’s standing not ten feet away in the next corral and, fuck, you can’t help yourself.  It’s the first time you’ve seen him all that day and the need flares up; wild and feral and messing with your head.  You want to know how he’s doing.  Ask about his bout with Steve, see if he wants to grab some lunch, make sure he’s eating right because he’s looking a little hollow in the cheeks and…  

Stop.  

You’re shocked and frankly terrified.  Is this love?  Infatuation? A school-girl crush?  Your heart is raw but what is this for him?  A diversion?  Something steady?  You have no idea, you don’t get much time to talk but you know what it shouldn’t be: too serious.  He is still recovering. You’re his rebound and it isn’t healthy.  Buck needs to date casually, get a better sense of himself and Jesus fucking Christ he is your job.

If Coulson or Fury find out, they’re entitled to put you on report.  A black mark on your copybook.   Though that isn’t what’s got you truly rattled.

You have to be a perfect shot.

For him.

His life depends upon it.

When you finally find the courage to rip the bandage off, you learn first hand that bullshit in Russian has an awfully familiar tone.

Bucky’s a solid wall of disagreement, arms crossed over his chest.  “Babe, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does.”  You raise your chin.  “I am here to protect you.  I can’t do that when my focus is…distracted.”  

“It’s not that way for Nat and Clint.”

Really?  You file that new tidbit of gossip away for more analysis, but still have to regretfully shake your head.  “Not the same. They’re a team, trained to work in tandem.  This is different.”

“It’s not.”  

“It is.”

“Not true.”  

His certainty that you’ll relent begins to melt away. “Y/N, don’t do this.  I thought we had something. Were working on it.  Can be something more.”  

“Please.”

He falls silent in the face of your hard bitten stare.  Lost eyes dark and pleading.  More like a kicked puppy than a famous murderbot, but still you hold.    

You can’t.  You wish you could, but no.  

“It has to be this way for me.”  

To blunt the hurt, you stretch up on tip-toe to press a delicate apology to his lips.  

Bucky flinches, acting like your kiss has broken him and his reaction is breaking you.

‘I thought we had something?’

The accusation rings in your ears all the days to come, but even tears don’t put the heart fires out.

——————————-

You do your job.  Break down and reassemble your gun for the soothing repetition.  Keep well away.  Do exactly what you need to do and not one iota more, but watching him all day is torture.  

Both of you are miserable.

You hide it.  Bucky not so much.  His blue eyes lose their spark;  become haggard and bloodshot.  You know you’ve put the dark bags there, but at least they’re there, you tell yourself when another hit gets foiled.

Everybody notices.  On those rare times you have to be in the Tower, Steve remains so professionally polite and clipped it’s just like being shot.  Next to him, no one knows.  You sit, mute and hurting, inconveniently placed beside Pepper and Maria at a SHIELD event, taking in Natasha’s blistering attack on ‘the gold dipped bitch’ who’s hurt her friend.  They know Bucky, too.  How much the silent, morose Soldier is a capitulation; how working through hurt makes it harder for him to keep the last dregs of Hydra programming at bay.  You hate yourself for it. But there really is no other way and now you realize, it’s getting harder.  Your concentration’s worse if anything and it would be kinder to stop torturing you both.    

The sick reality falls like lead into your stomach. 

You can’t be there at all.  

————————-

You never planned to work for SHIELD.  

You’d enlisted at age eighteen because with no formal schooling and no degree, Uncle Sam was the only outfit that would promise you a job. Your long-honed hunting skills were evident in basic; refined in sniper school until you were something of a legend. You’d set your heart on Special Ops, did every extra ribbon and rotation but still were not sent to the front. Women were not then given combat roles. It sucked.  And if your superiors were sympathetic, they still attached you to endless close protection details. Sent you to the AMU competitions.  Ignored your increasingly strident, respectful pleas for reassignment until you’d thrown your resignation papers down and marched straight off the base.

Seemed like just minutes passed before a bland, grey-suited man tapped you on the shoulder.

“Miss Y/N?” said Philip Coulson with a smile. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Nick Fury is the best boss you’ve never officially had, because sometimes your Army cover is somewhat helpful and Phil swiftly arranged for your resignation papers disappear.  

The rest is history.

——————————

“You want to be reassigned.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You will not squirm, but the Director, away from prying ears in his secure coordination room, is fixing you with his patented thousand-metre stare.  “You really want to go back to Fort Bragg and do paperwork?  Get trotted out when they need an affirmative action photo shoot?”

You groan. Ugh. They will and you know it, but anywhere than SHIELD is the objective.  Better a clean break, you think, but Fury’s not done with you yet.  

“I hear the First Daughter had some death threats.  FBI’s asked us if we can spare a gun. We could reassign you to Sparrow’s detail.”  

Oh fuck no.  The President’s petulant and self-absorbed teenager burns through agents faster than she raids Bloomingdales.  

It takes everything in you to do that nod.

Fury’s one visible eyebrow nearly hits the roof.  “You are serious.”

“Sir. I am.”  You’ve called his bluff.  You stand to attention and wait for it.  The serious suggestion you know is coming.  

“Thing is, Y/N, we were going to recommend you for a new assignment,” Fury paces, hands behind his back and shoulders to the view.  “It involves training.  As hard as anything you’ve done.”

Really?  You’re skeptical. You’ve done the Rangers even if they didn’t let you in the field. Toughed it out with the toughest the Army had.  

What he says next, nearly has your jaw upon the floor.

“We want you permanently cross-posted to the Advanced Threat Containment Unit.  Watch Sergeant Barnes full time.  Close in as he transitions to his next new role.”  

Surprise makes you blurt out the first thing in your head.  “You can’t mean on combat missions?!”

“Mhmm.”  

But that means…  “You’re sending Bucky back into the field!”

“Got a problem with that, Corporal?”  

Your mouth is hanging open.  “But you can’t…”

‘I don’t do that anymore’ rings in your ears.

“You’re going to let him…”

Fury looks, not mad, but entirely amused. “Not do assassinations, no. But let him train and participate.” 

“You can’t,” you stubbornly repeat.  He’s stupidly reckless.  Prone to throwing himself headlong into everything. Not completely healed.  “Not ready,” you finish lamely. 

“You disagree with the psych eval?” 

You shuffle your feet.  This is thin ground. SHIELD does not employ folks with fake degrees.   “No, Sir.” 

The Director smiles, as warmly as you’ll get.  Which is to say, about as a warm as a melting icecube.  “Good. Sergeant Barnes needs someone who has his back and Captain Rogers can’t do that leading from the front.”  

So true.   But also why Bucky shouldn’t be out at all.  “Sir, he forgets…”  To care about himself enough.  

“Precisely why I’ve suggested you be assigned.  You are the best markswoman we have got.  Look, I’m not entirely happy with this either, but he can’t sit and knit forever.  Stark says he’s ready.  The -ologists say he’s ready.  And he’s spending his days moping around the compound too much.”  You wince inside, knowing the cause of that.   “Getting some of his own back might even help.”  

It might.  

And someone will try to take Bucky out again.

And he will be focused on everything but himself.

Shit.  

There is no choice.  

You know you can keep him safe.

Fury, the bastard, just stands and cracks his deaths-head grin.

 ———————————

Training with the Avengers is more brutal than anything you’ve done.

Steve’s in charge, and Nat.  Both merciless.  Both focused on honing you into something more than a gun.  It’s brutal and physical but that isn’t the hardest part.

Bucky is there training, too.  

It feels like being a cat on a hot tin roof.  Circling each other.  Carefully.  Two negative terminals on a magnet—repelling as far away as they can get.  

“Corporal.”

“Sergeant.”  

You’ve said no and Bucky is bending over backwards to be polite and perfectly correct.  No physical contact outside sparring.  No first names unless you can help it.  No interaction at all, outside missions, to be honest.  Tony, oblivious (at least you think he is), organizes movie nights and BBQs that you mostly miss.  You follow Buck’s lead, keep yourself more closed than usual.  Socialize with your old SHIELD squad when you can, haunt your room when there is no time.  

It takes a toll.  

You are not, by nature, a recluse but this is how it has to be. You can’t stand the brief flashes of disappointment in Bucky’s eyes, the wariness with which he interacts.  They cut at your resolve. Shred it, until you’re forced to shut out everything but mission goals. 

They come and go.  Days. Weeks.  The strain coils higher, but you tell yourself you are doing it for him: the man whose eyes haunt your waking moments. You become a shell, sapped of life and desiccated, but each shot is crisp and clean.  This makes it right, but not natural. Eventually, you switch roles like understudies in a play.  He is the pro, silent and efficient as he does his job, while you are the damaged one, snapping at every little thing, recklessly taking risks, heedless of your own safety.  

It all seems worthwhile until the day you walk silently up the empty ramp for the Quinjet and find Steve and Sam huddled by the cockpit.

They don’t hear you slide like a shadow into your berth.

“His nightmares are getting worse.”  

Sam whistles low. “Worse? Man, they were bad before.”

Steve slowly shakes his head. “It’s like Wakanda before he went in cryo.  I honestly don’t know how he is even functioning.”    

“Yeah.  But the shit truth is there nothing you or I can do about it.”  Sam sounds resigned.  “Unless he comes clean on what it is that’s eating at him, and you know he won’t do that easily. Dude’s too stubborn.”

“He’s not the only one.”  

Steve, you realize later, says this for you.  His eyes bore like a laser into your forehead when he comes over to sit down, shrugging his five-point harness on.  

“Corporal.” 

“Captain.”  

“You good?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You fiddle unnecessarily with the heat shield on your stock.  Out of the corner of one eye, you can see him frown, loop his fingers into his belt and sigh, but you know he won’t call you out, won’t give away your private business to anyone.  Still, the optimist in him can’t help but hope.  Steve Rogers is really like a giant collie dog that shepherds a whole flock of misfits—he isn’t happy unless everyone’s set right; and you and Buck are waay out on the fringe.  It feels as if the solid, brooding bulk of his suit is willing you to change your mind. But you are stubborn.

(A trait that you and Bucky share, along with snark and an obsession with perfect lattes.) 

While you wait for everyone to load, you keep your head down and bite your lip, worrying about what you’ve heard.  Fuck, if Buck’s not sleeping that makes both of you, and to do this job you need to be on. You’re good.  You’re fine, you can tolerate a little sleep deprivation, but Bucky—that’s not right. Years of cryo and mind-wipes have messed with the circuitry.  He needs sleep to heal, more than most, and you shake your head, knee vibrating like Clint’s bowstring, dreading but anxiously awaiting for him to load.  

You don’t have long to wait.  Nat and Clint clatter past and take the pilot seats, Tony swans through and starts briefing Steve with last-minute intel and then Bucky’s there. Stowing his gun and hiding behind a fall of dark, lank hair.  You’re shocked.  It’s been a week since you saw him last, in the common room, but oh god he is worse. Clearly.  He barely responds when Clint does a system check. Grunts at Steve’s chirpy welcome. Falls into his seat across from you and that’s when it starts.  The sense of failure.  The hurt that the brutal truth is you are making this all worse; doing exactly what you had wanted to avoid.

Bucky’s not safer with you there.  He’s more in danger and the knowledge of it sucks out all the oxygen.

You spend the three-hour trip and first half hour of the ensuing firefight under water, surfacing for precious gulps of air between the mounting pressure in your chest; like your harness is strapped down way too tight.  

You thought that you’d be helping him, but oh, Y/N, you are really not.  

You need to leave.

Entirely.

Goddamn it hurts, but you have no time.  The heinous bastards who have grabbed a SHIELD tracking station have their dander up, are resisting with all they’ve got and you need to be on your game following as Bucky’s cover.  You leap and sight, neutralize another target still feeling like you can’t get air, watching his lithe form duck and roll, mercilessly slamming a terrorist to the ground.  

His face is all dark angles and unhappy shadows.  Lined and smudged, a ghost of the man who’d smiled, run his fingers through your hair, gently nuzzling at your neck  

“Babe, I could stay this way forever.”

The flash of memory is like a sucker punch to the gut.  

You’ve screwed this whole thing up.  

Can’t do your fucking job cuz you gave in and slept with the man who is your mission and now you’re… what?  

Miserable in his company.  Miserable without.

In love.

Fuck.

This is not how things should be.…  

You’re drowning in the unhappiness, but even with a red haze of doomed understanding filtering across your gaze, you can’t not see it.

The motherfucker three hundred yards away taking aim at Bucky’s head 

You need to pot the asshat now–but your view is obstructed by the base’s cell tower and, so, you leap out, aim and squeeze, heedless of your own back.  The concrete behind the man’s dead eyes neatly disintegrates in a spray of elegant debris and your world dissolves in a rain of stabbing hurt, like a whole river of gravel is fired from the sky.  

You fall.  

There’s a roaring in your ears and the breathlessness is getting worse.  Iron and smoke tinge the soup of dust and rock and gas that your lungs don’t want to breathe. Concussion grenade, must be: and, at first, you struggle, but the twisted beam that roofs your little world won’t even shift.  It’s close, pressing on your chest and you will yourself to fight the panic down.  Don’t disturb it.  Don’t make the situation worse.  You want to laugh at that—fuck no—all you do is make situations worse— but the breath in hurts like full-on hell.  

That has to be good, doesn’t it?  It’s when you don’t feel anything you’re going down…

Ok.. just…lie.  Breathe… take inventory. There’s a trickle of blood running from your hair down through your eyes: you can taste it upon your tongue.  Your left hand stings, but your right is just lying here. Numb. Not moving. Broken probably, but that is the least of your concerns.

The pressure of the beam bears down steadily.

And with it your space to get some air.  

“Y/N!”

From somewhere to your left there comes a voice.  Faint and muffled.  As if someone is shouting way way far away and you realize—this is it.  You are going to die.  No ones gonna arrive in time but weirdly you are ok.  Bucky is allright.  You saw him flip and roll away.  That’s good…that’s everything.  You cough on the settling dust and steel and try to take shallower breaths.  Your heart’s too fast and the air’s too thin and you close your eyes.  Float, indistinct at the edges.  Nothing hurts too much right now.  It’s good. You can close your eyes and drift away.  

“Y/N!”

This time the call is muffled but louder: anguished, as if everything in the world is wrong.

A chunk of steel is wrenched away and for the first time a patch of light shines through the dim.  

“Y/N, are you hurt?!”

You blink through the blood that gums your lashes.  Bucky’s there.  Shoulders wedged into the impossibly tiny space, eyes wide with something you are sure you have never seen.

Fear.

You want to ease his mind, but words are a little hard.  “I’m ok,” comes out more wheeze than whisper.

“Hang on, we’re gonna get you out.”  Bucky barks into the comms for Sam, and help, and oxygen.  He turns and gingerly shoves aside the loose jagged chunks of steel to make a little space.  When there’s a hand’span of pavement clear, he dips down on his left, grimacing and flexing up against the beam.  

There’s a slow metallic groan, an endless pause, but eventually it lifts just barely. 

But sadly not enough.  

The fuzzy world is whiting out, dissolving in a ring of sparks.

“Y/N!”  He frees a hand, shakes you roughly and sends a lance of agony through your chest.  “Stay with me, babe, stay with me.  Cavalry is coming.”  

But we don’t have any horses…  

The wry smile on his face is blurry.  You must have whispered this out loud.  He closes his eyes, resets his metal hand down against the pavement.  Flexes up again.  “Aiighhh!”

The monumental effort gains another precious millimeter and the sparkly whiteness starts to fade to the indigo of his vest.

“What? Can’t you hear the hoofbeats?”  Bucky is shaking, sweat beading on his brow but above there is a whoosh and the carbon ion smell of repulsor jets.

“Got it, Barnes!”

“Took you long enough!”  Bucky sags just slightly, protecting you in case something shifts, but mercifully the metal does not move.  

Sam is crouched behind.  You dimly hear his coolly calm instructions. “Barnes, don’t let her move. Pretty sure those ribs are broken.  Can’t risk a pneumothorax.”  Bucky squeezes out, disappears through the gap but is quickly back again, metal fingers softly pressing a cannula to your nose.  The dizziness fades some more.

“Better?”  His Brooklyn accent aches with hopefulness.  

You nod, warily taking a deeper breath, feeling clean, cool air rush in. Fuck its good but lord it hurts.  At least the world does not swim.  Bucky reaches to brush some damp strands from off your brow and Sam passes a pad into the gap.  You hiss as he presses the treated gauze over the worst of the cut.  “Sorry.  Sorry.”

He glances around the narrow space.  You’re basically in a coffin.  Just wide enough for your hips and long enough for your feet.  When you flex your foot, your toes touch something that feels smooth.  A dish? A beam?  The girders of the tower have toppled like a marionette’s arms and legs when the control strings have been cut.  “Gonna take a bit to cut this mess.  Properly, so it doesn’t shift.”

Bucky’s right, but you’re worrying about the waste of time.  “Is it safe? The cell?”

You mean the rogue Hydra group, the reason why you’re here, because if it’s not, Jesus, you are going to thump him hard.  You’re useless pinned.  But if there’s shooting still going on…

“Relax, babe, we got ‘em.  That grenade was their hail mary pass and it’s failed.  Steve and Clint and Nat are mopping up.”

Thank God.  Some of the tension bleeds away, like steam from a radiator.  You shiver, shock starting to set in, and, tenderly, he drapes you with a silver thermal blanket.  It’s better, but now it’s time to wait.  Bright arcs of light shine through the cracks and you know Tony is working as fast as he can, but still it’s hard.  You’ve been strong forever, but the fear you’ve held a bay is now too much with Bucky near.  

A whimper escapes your lips.

“Shushhh, baby,” he croons, leaning near to cup your cheek with a warm hand. “I’m not going anywhere.   It’s all gonna be ok.”  But it really isn’t.  His other one, metal reflecting Tony’s blazing work, keeps stroking your tangled hair.  This close you can see a forest of tiny scrapes and nicks and cuts upon his dusty skin.

And the ever present smudges of tired grey below his eyes.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”  You’re stammering.  You’ve been selfish, you see that now. Doing what you thought right and best for him. Totally certain you had to be the one to help and all the time the ache of want has never stopped.  

It doesn’t matter.  You need to be strong for him.  Move on and let someone else have the watch.  

“I can’t do this anymore.”    

You’re not sure what you are speaking of: holding yourself together while he kneels and strokes your face, or staying at his side.  Both make sense.  The sounds of working are getting louder.  “Barnes, I’m almost through,” crackles through the link.  

A cool metal finger strokes your brow.  “Hey, not much longer now.”

You turn your head, catch the light in his worried eyes. “No..us, side by side.”  

There, you’ve said it.  SHIELD med will patch you up. Ship you out to base where you can crumble into dust somewhere on your own.

It’s brutal but better than being an irritant.  Scratching endlessly at the scab of him.  

“Goddammit, Y/N. You don’t have to go.”  

His growl is not hurt but sheer frustration.  There’s a storm in his eyes and in the flat set of his frown.  Bucky wriggles a little closer in, cradles you like the most precious thing in all the world.   “Fuck, it takes this battered brain a while, but, babe, you gotta hear me out.  I get it now.  You’re terrified that serving alongside someone who means too much makes you vulnerable.  Messes with your skills–but it doesn’t have to be that way.  There’s a shakedown sure, for a little while, but Clint and Nat–they manage.  Wanda manages with Viz.  Steve works alongside me and we may not be lovers but our bond is just as strong.” His lips pull into the saddest smile. “I fucking need you. You. Y/N. Not the Corporal with the medals.  I need you everywhere.  At night, when the monsters in my head crowd close and, in the day, when I need a snarky smile.  You are best thing I have had in my life and I can’t let that go.”  

Bucky’s face is almost pressed against your cheek.  It’s that smile, soft and warm, and just for you.  

Fire in the night and a watcher on your six.  

“I’ve tried, Doll, I really have, but it just doesn’t work. I need you, complicated as it is. And I won’t let you give up on us. Not without trying, anyway.”  

His whisper is rough with meaning.  He huffs out a little sigh and presses an achingly gentle kiss across your bloodied lips.

This time his kiss breaks you….

——————–

tags:  @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  @theycallmebecca @mewsiex @emilyevanston @mycapt-ohcapt  @pegasusdragontiger  @winters-beauty

@badassbaker @heather-lynn @saffreelove @loricameback @nomadicpixel @missfirstavenger @prplprincez @marvel-lucy

#star’s marvel mayhem challenge #sian22redux #engtanglements #bucky barnes #reader #prequel to Private Party #angst #smangst

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Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/2017-comic-con-must-see-tv-panels-plus-westworld-comes-alive/

2017 Comic Con: Must See TV Panels plus 'Westworld' comes alive

Comic-Con can easily become overwhelming if it's your first time, or even if you've been here numerous times! There are so many panels to check out and things to see, that it seems impossible to get everything all done in just a few days. To help you wade through those endless number of panels, we've laid out the ones you absolutely must check out below. Game of Thrones (Friday, 1:30-2:30 p.m., Hall H) The hottest show on television returns for what's likely to be an artful display of avoiding spoilers. With the season-seven premiere having already aired, the panel will not offer SDCC attendees an early look at episode two. Still, that's an hour of Q&A — moderated by what's being billed as a "special guest from Westeros" — to allow stars Alfie Allen (Theon Greyjoy), Jacob Anderson (Grey Worm), John Bradley (Samwell Tarly), Gwendoline Christie (Brienne of Tarth), Liam Cunningham (Ser Davos Seaworth), Nathalie Emmanuel (Missandei), Isaac Hempstead Wright (Bran Stark), Conleth Hill (Varys) and Sophie Turner (Sansa Stark) a chance to offer up enough of a cryptic tease to go viral. Stranger Things (Saturday, 3-4 p.m., Hall H) Netflix's surprise breakout makes its Comic-Con debut to tease the highly anticipated second season and even unveil never-before-seen footage. In addition to creators (and brothers) Matt and Ross Duffer and exec producer Shawn Levy, returning stars Millie Bobby Brown, Gaten Matarazzo, Finn Wolfhard, Caleb McLaughlin, David Harbour, Joe Keery, Charlie Heaton, Natalia Dyer will be joined by new additions Sadie Sink, Sean Astin, Paul Reiser and Dacre Montgomery for what will no doubt be an animated panel. Westworld (Saturday 4:15-5:15 p.m., Hall H) Now that the show is a proved hit, could the cast and creators of HBO's Emmy darling Westworld offer a tease about the highly anticipated Samurai World? Or will spoiler-phobe Jonathan Nolan keep the cast tight-lipped about the mysteries of its sophomore drama? Still, expect a lively discussion from stars including Ed Harris (the Man in Black), James Marsden (Teddy), Thandie Newton (Maeve), Evan Rachel Wood (Dolores) and Jeffrey Wright (Bernard/Arnold), among others, in a panel moderated by Reggie Watts. The Walking Dead (Friday, 12:15-1:15 p.m., Hall H) In keeping with the show's annual SDCC tradition, the cast and creators of AMC's zombie drama will debut the season-eight trailer and announce a premiere date. And given the timing, expect exec producers including Robert Kirkman and Greg Nicotero to pay tribute to the late George Romero and, possibly, lead the cast in a moment of silence for late stuntman John Bernecker. Set to appear are stars including Andrew Lincoln, Norman Reedus, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Lauren Cohan, Danai Gurira and Melissa McBride, among others. (We'll miss you, Steven Yeun, Michael Cudlitz and Sonequa Martin-Green.) Timeless (Thursday, 3:30-4:30 p.m., Room 6BCF) How does a show get canceled and renewed in less than a week? A very vocal fan base. While production on season two of the NBC drama hasn't even begun, stars Abigail Spencer, Matt Lanter and more join creators Shawn Ryan and Eric Kripke to say thank you the right way: in person. (And maybe Ryan and Kripke will outline some broad strokes about season two.) Star Trek Discovery (Saturday, 2:30-3:15 p.m., Ballroom 20) Welcome back Sonequa Martin-Green! The actress moves from The Walking Dead to the CBS All Access drama as the cast and producers make their debut at Comic-Con — without former showrunner Bryan Fuller, who exited months ago. Following multiple production delays, will the drama — launching in the fall on CBS before moving exclusively to its digital platform — offer another trailer or screen something more substantial? Here's hoping it's more footage than this lackluster trailer. Still, a seal of approval from the Trekkie-filled ballroom will go a long way as the series faces its biggest mission yet. Guest star Rainn Wilson moderates. Outlander (Friday, 5-6:30 p.m., Ballroom 20) Series showrunner Ronald D. Moore, author Diana Gabaldon and fellow exec producer Maril Davis join stars Caitriona Balfe, Sam Heughan, Tobias Menzies, Sophie Skelton and Richard Rankin to preview season three of the time-traveling romance. Judging by the length of the 90-minute panel, moderated by series fan and actress Jenna Dewan-Tatum, it appears as if fans may get an extra-long look at the new season. Once Upon a Time (Saturday, 10-10:45 a.m., Ballroom 20) The rebooted ABC fairy tale drama brings superfan Yvette Nicole Brown to moderate a panel with producers Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz with what's expected to be the Comic-Con debut for a handful of new cast members. (And yes, we're expecting some familiar faces to be there, too.) Marvel TV (Legion and Inhumans: Thursday, 5-7:15 p.m., Ballroom 20; The Gifted and Defenders: Friday, 3:45-4:45 p.m. and 5-6:15 p.m., Ballroom 20) With several new series debuting in the coming months, the comic book company looks to make a big splash at the annual convention with panels for Netflix's The Defenders,ABC's Inhumans and Fox's The Gifted and season two of the X-Men-inspired FX drama Legion. In addition to offering a sneak peek at the series premiere, The Gifted will release a new trailer. Meanwhile, Legion may make some news at it's first-ever San Diego Comic-Con panel. DC TV (Saturday, 3:30-6:30 p.m., Ballroom 20) As the DC Universe expands again with the upcoming addition of black superhero drama Black Lightning, The CW's entire team of vigilantes will, again, touch down at Comic-Con to tout their upcoming seasons. Expect casting announcements at the panels for Arrow, The Flash, Supergirl and Legends of Tomorrow and (potentially) Lightning as well. "Westworld" comes alive this week at Comic-Con, but the fans who visit will have to make the ultimate choice: white hat or black? (Watch the exclusive LA Times video above to see which one this reporter picked.) HBO's immersive, theatrical, and 21+ only "Westworld: The Experience" runs Thursday through Saturday here at the San Diego pop culture confab, offering treats far more intimate than the deluge of marketing that lines every square inch of Comic-Con. A limited number of fans will have the chance to visit "Westworld" this week at the Comic-Con activation, located just outside the convention center, which runs about 30 minutes long and in small groups of only a half dozen guests at a time. Greeted by two hosts dressed all in white, guests are first led through the Delos Destination offices and into a slick gallery stocked with costumes, props, and weapons. "I like things that I can easily conceal," our hostess offered with a smile. "Because we all have secrets." As you enter the personality assessment area, you are told to ignore a door marked “Research and Development.” The door also happens to bear a logo that looks like “SW,” most likely a nod to the Samurai World that was briefly teased at the end of Season 1. After a brief (and surprisingly accurate) personality assessment, a Delos employee decides whether you should receive a white hat or a black hat. With your new hat in hand, you are taken down a dark hallway where you are prompted to watch a brief introductory video, similar to the one first-time attendees watch on the show, though this one features quite a bit more blood. You head down a hallway lined with the ghoulish heads of Ford's previous models and into your own one-on-one personality assessment session. It's meant to determine just what sort of "Westworld" experience it is you've come to find, but like the sorting hat at Hogwarts, the decision has serious consequences. Even before you get to "Westworld," it's a dream come true for fans of the show. Easter eggs teasing the upcoming second season are planted throughout the space. Guests have the chance to interact with several of the park's "hosts" and staff as they're transported to Sweetwater to sip handcrafted libations in the Mariposa Saloon. And at times, it's also just as nightmarish as you'd expect. Keep your eyes open at all times and you might get a surprise or two, some stimulating conversation with the bar's resident hostess (our fave topics: consciousness and robots) -- even a glimpse of the Man in Black. Appointments will be taken in the lobby of the Hilton San Diego Bayfront on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday starting at 9:30 a.m., and the experience runs through Sunday. If you can't get it, don't forget to check out the Westworld panel on Saturday in Hall H at 4:15 p.m. PT and then those autograph signings at the Warner Bros. booth on the convention floor right around 6 p.m. PT.

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