#i wanted a simp bucky though sorry not sorry

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | My Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Queen!Reader

Plot: The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there’s a willing soldier at your disposal.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and mentions of violence.

Words: 4OOO

“There are guests, Your Majesty,” John tells you with pity in his voice, not mentioning it because he thinks you have forgotten, but because he needs you to be aware of the important fact. If you tried hard enough, it wasn’t too much of a task to remember your duties and who those entailed, but it was a relief to have John around to remind you of such things, since you valued your duties and relations with the outside world dearly.

You glance around nervously and give him a guilty pout, grabbing the last of your belongings.

“I know, I am so sorry, but this is important. Send them a plane and I will get back to them as soon as I can,” you plead and quickly rush out of the room to the main entrance hall, John following you as you make your way to the prepared jet.

Mind occupied by making sure your small legion is armed and ready to go as you walk, you get brought to an abrupt stop when two large men block your path. Raising your head, you glower curiously at the rude interruption. As busy as you have been the past weeks, you study each and every encounter you plan, so you know exactly who the two men are.

“Captain Wilson. Sergeant Barnes.”

“Your Majesty,” Sam’s greeting is curt, yet kind. “I don’t suppose a sudden departure is part of your infamous warm welcome?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You have an awful lot of courage speaking to a queen this way,” you warn him, your tone formal before your features soften towards your guests. “But I apologise. Something important came up and I hardly think sending you into war with me is considered a warm welcome.”

The man you recognise as James Barnes lets out a humoured scoff. “Clearly, you don’t know us very well.”

Your eyes dart between the men suspiciously and a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, hardly able to contain it at the sheer boldness coming from the men. After a pregnant pause and your legion having left the hall to board the jet, you slowly turn to John.

“John. You heard the men. Get them suited and onto the jet.” Sharing one more glance with the men, your eyes lingering on the twinkle of mischief in Bucky’s eyes, you brush past them and step onto the plane without another word.

…

“It’s not often a queen goes into war with her people.”

“Well, unfortunately my legions are struggling on their own,” you explain to Sam calmly.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, brows pulled together in slight worry.

“John? Could you please bring them up to speed while I get ready?”

As John takes over and shows the two heroes what their next mission will be as they serve someone else’s queen, you step over to the side and let one of your generals help you suit up. Slipping into the modern metal, rusted with nano technology, the shimmering suit glides over your body perfectly.

From the corner of your eyes, you notice Bucky Barnes losing interest from John’s briefing and your eyes lock with his. There’s a rush of heat pulsing through your body at the sheer boldness of Bucky not breaking eye contact once he gets caught staring. His eyes rake up and down the sleek suit and lock back onto yours, a knowing smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth before he drags his eyes away and turns back to his previous conversation.

Leaving you absolutely flustered and furious.

Did he just ogle a queen?

…

Bucky is startled enough for it to nearly show on his face when he sees the feral look you have on yours. He knows that look, has worn it plenty of times himself. Battle doesn’t quite leave your body and mind as soon as it is over. Even with your spectacular win, which Bucky knows is mostly because of your reliability and skills as a powerful leader, the raging chaos of adrenaline lingers like you have days worth of battles to fight still.

He came in to check up on you post-battle, easily slipping past your guards, to find you pacing in your blood-splattered gear around the chamber before what he assumes is your bedroom. The hall is large and decorated wonderfully, but so very empty with your restless figure pacing through it. He’s certain he can feel your energy buzzing all the way up to the impossibly high ceilings.

Having enough decency to announce himself, he gently knocks on the door from inside of the room. When you whirl towards him in your frenzy, he finds it amusing enough to plaster a smirk onto his face. “Restless, my queen?”

You huff through your nostrils. “I still have fight in me.” He knows. “I want to kill them for springing that attack on us.” He knows that too, but the gravel in your voice awakens a slumbering beast inside of him and fire starts curling around his bones.

“I think you gave them enough hell for what they did to you,” he assures you and something in your eyes seems to soften at that. You did give them hell. Rightfully so.

“But this energy–” You shake out your trembling hands to rid yourself of that restlessness. Bucky nods and slowly prowls closer, hands gliding into his pockets as he slants his head to the side to observe you.

“I know,” he acknowledges, “it takes a while to wear off.”

“How do you handle it?” you ask him, taking a steadying breath as he crosses the room. “After a fight, how do you get rid of all of that energy?”

Bucky flashes you a grin, his brows raising with intrigue and a mischievous shimmer in his eyes. “I hardly think I could speak about such methods to a sophisticated queen.”

“Sophisticated, my ass,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at the broad soldier. “You hardly felt like you had to be appropriate when you were watching me put on this suit,” you say with a scoff, ushering to the intricate metals you’re wearing.

“In my defence, I hadn’t seen you fight yet. Whereas now,” he shrugs, “I’d prefer staying in your good graces.”

“You fuck it out, don’t you?”

Bucky’s blink is the only sign of his surprise and he cocks his head at you again. “Excuse me?”

“The only way to get rid of the energy after battle is to get your dick wet,” you clarify, “isn’t it?”

Bucky chokes on a laugh, stepping even closer to you now with his hands still in his pockets, close enough to make you have to tilt your chin up. “You have a filthy mouth for a queen,” he breathes and to accentuate his words, his eyes drop to said mouth.

“I didn’t become queen by being prim and proper,” you explain with a little less fire than you intended to say it with.

“No,” he breathes, “you didn’t.”

Another restless shudder up your spine reminds you of your predicament, your thudding heartbeat not coming to a rest. You sigh, searching those blue eyes still trained on your lips. “Care to help a queen out?”

“You want to see me bow for you again, don’t you?” He smirks and finally raises his eyes to meet yours.

You can’t help but smile slightly, giving him a guilty shrug, because yes, you loved seeing him bow for you earlier as you stepped onto the battlefield. Not just that, plenty of pretty men had bowed for you. It was Bucky’s willingness and respect as he took a knee for you that was particularly invigorating. He matches your smile and takes a long second to let you take in what he is about to do, before slowly sinking to his knees in front of you, steady hands moving to rest on your thighs.

“Your people are awfully lucky to get to serve you every day,” he murmurs, looking up at you with eyes of fire and submission. That manages to make heat surge to your cheeks and ears, swallowing hard as you take in the sight before you. “May I?”

It takes all of your power not to nod too eagerly before he starts working off the buckles and belts of your suit, the nanotechnology wingmanning perfectly as the metal retreats into the hard base of the suit.

Soon, you are in nothing but your underwear. Bones and muscles are trembling beneath your skin in response to forcing your body to be utterly still. Chemical reactions are ricocheting against the barrier of your skin to make you spring apart. So much energy. So much fire and passion and fury still roiling inside of you. A heavy blanket settles over it – desire. But before you can order him to act on it, Bucky comes back to a stand.

“Close your eyes,” he mutters.

“I’m close to fighting you, Sergeant Barnes,” you promise him, showing your active restraint, but deciding to close your eyes anyway.

He huffs a soft laugh and you feel his eyes burning into your skin, a knuckle brazenly trailing over your collarbones and down the centre of your chest. “I will take you up on that another day,” he answers and your blood heats up at the fact that Bucky revels in both of those sides of you. Most men cower at your bloodlust, but not him. He kneels before it.

Speaking of him kneeling–

“I didn’t tell you to get up,” you remind him and his hand pauses.

“I didn’t particularly think it would be fair to leave you standing as I proceed to immobilise your legs, my queen,” he drawls and you snap your mouth shut. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you find him having taken a step back, holding out his hand for you to take.

Carefully taking it with a questioning look in your eyes, Bucky leads you to your bedroom like he has been there a thousand times. Slowly and deliberately, he guides you to your own bed, still fully clothed himself in those black leathers.

“I expected it to be more rough,” you admit steadily. “Fucking out that energy...”

Bucky turns back to you, hands now on your waist as he pivots you with your back to the bed, the backs on your legs touching the foot of it. “Fucking you roughly won’t do the trick,” he explains. “Fucking you thoroughly will.”

If you weren’t quaking before, this would do the trick. Your heartbeat is pulsing between your legs, hammering for attention, the seams of your underwear teasing you more than the man before you. It paralyses you, that desire coursing through your veins like syrup, makes you fall quiet. Only for a short while.

“Then do it.”

Bucky’s brows raise again, not having expected you to fold so fast. “What?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” you hiss at him. “I need you to fuck me before I explode.”

Bucky smirks at you again and you’re so tempted to smother that smirk – you have your ways. “I am not yours to give orders to.”

You restrain from rolling your eyes at him, the close proximity making you prone to holding your breath and making your words coming out strained. “I’m not going to beg for it.”

“You already have,” he reminds you, not an inch of him giving away that he might be unravelling. “And I think you will, sweetheart. I think you are seconds away from begging for it.”

As if in answer to his outrageous insinuation, a shudder racks through your bones and flashes of that wild battle make your nervous system rush to life again. It’s so frustrating, to have so much energy begging to be released.

His solid eyes and steady hands on your waist make you want to sink into him for relief. You want Bucky to tear you apart, almost similar to the way he tore apart those monsters earlier. Calculated, precise and only slightly unhinged. His fighting earlier was like a choreography your body wanted to study and practice until it can memorise nothing else. The way his muscles moved, the precise strikes of his metal arm, the focused crinkles in his handsome face, his thick thighs planting him firmly onto the ground – your ground. Fighting for your lands. For you.

My queen, he had called you. You suppose he does answer to your commands, then. But you might just beg for it. If only because it feels so tempting. To whine for his pleasure, sob for it and make him serve you like he wanted to do earlier. How awful, for a queen to want to beg for it.

“Please,” you almost gasp from holding your breath for too long.

He hums, low and deadly, his finger kneading gently and appreciatively into your soft flesh. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs and before you can shout in outrage, he slowly dips down and presses his pillowy soft lips to your collarbone, instantly making your head tilt backwards.

His hands pull you close enough for your front to be pressed to his and your hands automatically grab his shoulders. His lips part and his tongue traces a singular line over the thinnest piece of skin on your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His mouth moves up, tongue dipping in and out to raise your pulse as he suckles at your skin. Your fingers curl slightly and your body starts to nearly shake with jitters at the adrenaline coursing through you like an electrical charge.

Bucky bites down on the tense skin beneath your ear where he hums against you, the sound ringing in your head like a gong. His hands have travelled to your back, stroking up and down the bare skin until your bra pops loose with you barely noticing. You tremble with need when all you are left in are your panties and Bucky pulls away to once again sink down to his knees.

You swallow hard at his stare from below you and follow his silent command to sit down at the edge of the bed. Hooking his hands around your knees, he presses them apart and lifts one leg over his shoulder. Your fingers dig into the soft sheets with anticipation and you only break the intense eye contact to watch his tongue trace his bottom lip. He hooks your other leg over his shoulder and drags you to the very edge of the bed, getting comfortable on his knees.

“Is this where you want me?” he asks, but you don’t deign to answer him. “Kneeling before my queen.”

“Something tells me you don’t mind being there at all,” you answer tightly and his hands stroke up and down your calves lovingly. Bucky presses one kiss to your inner thighs, taking in a big whiff of air and groaning at the smell of your arousal.

“There is something about eating a meal on my knees that speaks to me,” he drawls, his eyes settling on said meal, only covered by the thin fabric of your panties. He presses another kiss, right over the damp fabric. You shudder.

“Then eat,” you bite back, scrambling to hang onto your power as a queen.

Bucky gives a wide grin, keeping his eyes on your soaking core. His hand lifts and his finger loops into the fabric, making you bite your lip painfully hard at the brief touch. He pulls the fabric to the side, spreading your legs enough for him to dive in, but not doing so yet. “That is no way to speak to your soldiers.”

Your soldier, Bucky supposes after today he is. You’re torture. Your smell, your voice, your body, the sheer power you have over him – over everyone.

Your hand finds his hair and you rake your fingers through the thick, brown tresses. Your eyes are soft when Bucky looks up to find them. “Will you take the honour of being my soldier?”

You’re genuine, he’s sure of it. Bucky can tell you’re asking him for so much more than just this. And considering his current predicament, he will consider his duties as your soldier later. Right now, he can only nod, entranced by the queen who has her legs wrapped around his head. He can only think of one duty right now and that is to rid you of all of that devastating warrior energy the only way he knows how.

Bucky buries his face between your legs and begins his feasting. Nudging his nose against your clit and prodding his tongue in and out of you. Licking every inch of your warm, wet, lovely cunt as if it’ll guarantee a place in your kingdom for him.

Sam will kill him for never returning home, but by the heavens, he can’t find it in him to care enough. Not with you tasting so heavenly and– fuck, those goddamn moans.

…

He was right, he was so fucking right. The slow and steady and longs thrusts make your body hiss in delight. The thorough swivel of his hips when he’s buried into you as far as possible, releases every bit of pent up energy that suffocates you. The sharp snap of his hips right as he’s about to hit home makes you shudder and sob, clenching around him every time as if you feel every thrust like the very first one.

Bucky strikes your deepest spot with each one, your hair between his fingers, your back arched to meet him and your cheek pressed into the mattress. Your eyes flutter painfully against your will, your toes curling when pleasure wraps around every abdominal muscle, your pussy spasming around him in need for release as the pressure between your hips grows to be unbearable.

The sounds that slip from your parted mouth sound inhumane. Soft and pitiful whimpers between huffs of breath. Oh God, oh God. You need him to slow down for a second, except he’s not going fast at all. He’s slow and deep and oh God, he’s so fucking deep.

You grapple for a grip in the sheets, any tether to reality slipping from your mind after every move he has already made. The last of your control, your power as a queen, slips away from you on a phantom wind, desire clouding every piece of domination inside of you. It’s all his now, you are all his now.

Within a short second, you get hauled up by your hair, arched against his heaving, sweaty chest until his mouth nips at your earlobe. Your hands grab his hips behind you, nails digging into his firm skin.

“You still there, my queen?” he coos, and you feel his grin as his mouth grazes over your neck possessively. Your answer is the harsh tightening of your nails into him and the groan he lets out makes you clench around him wantonly. “Oh, somewhere. You’re somewhere in that sex-riddled brain of yours. Losing your mind a little, are you?”

You swear you mean to speak a sentence – a word, at least – but the sound that comes out sounds like another garbled moan and Bucky laughs at your demise. He quickly presses a loving kiss to your shoulder, a deep thrust settling him so deep inside of you, you flutter helplessly around him.

“Don’t worry,” he hums, another deep thrust following as the hand in your hair slips to securely grip your throat and move your ear back to his mouth. “Next time, I will let you take the reigns. You can tie me to the bed and use me to make yourself come. I’m looking forward to it, actually.” You pulse around him and he snickers. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Prefer to have control and use the ones that serve you.” He bites your ear softly and squeezes your throat. “Oh, but you look so pretty like this. Don’t take this away from me, sweetheart.”

It's a whirlwind of emotions that rush through you at his words. You feel his desperation to have you like this seep through his ignorant confidence having you exactly like he wants you. The last of your working brain cells are screaming yes, yes, yes at his request. You’ll let him have you like this every day for the rest of your life. And it flashes before your eyes, him waking you up by slowly fucking you, hand back in your hair and lazy mouth muttering filthy things against your skin. God, he’s filthy.

Your vision is swirling as his pace picks up and blood flow to your brain is slightly limited by his grip. Ecstasy is rushing through your head and limbs with heavy tingles, and your moans raise in pitch. The metal hand bruising your hips with its possessive grip, slides between your legs and messily toys with your clit, the feeling making you want to buckle over.

“Shit!” you gasp and throw your head back into his shoulder, thighs quaking at the stimulation. Too much, it’s too much. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel every inch of him glide in and out of you with an ease and precision that feels degrading and embarrassing. Bucky’s breath is equally laboured now and his grip on you turns from possessive to desperate, like he cannot get enough of you into his hands.

“Come for me again, my queen,” he purrs in your ear, knowing what that term now does to you, and you nod blindly. Following his command blindly, unable to resist the feeling of his deep thrusts and his firm circles on your clit any longer, you let the warmth of your orgasm consume you. You tremble and shake and stiffen at his touch and he doesn’t stop. “Come on, keep coming. Keep fucking coming, baby.”

You choke out a sob, surely drawing blood with your nails as you gasp for air, for any word to make him ease up on you, but he only stops when you buckle over and your trembling form succumbs to the sheets below you. Curled up on the sheets, bearing the waves of pleasure that haunt your every nerve, you feel Bucky’s exhausted and sex-glazed eyes watching you carefully. You faintly feel the trickle of him come pulsing out of you and it nearly makes you smile.

Two hands, one scorching with heat and one a welcome cool, gently stroke up the sides of your thighs, cooing sounds coming from Bucky as he watches you come back to your senses. Lips follow his soothing touches, warm kisses being pressed to your quickly cooling skin.

“How’s that post-fight energy?” he asks softly and your eyes finally flutter open to meet his curious ones, the blue shimmering with… Pride.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you.”

He laughs, “Again?”

You breathe a soft laugh and he at last presses a kiss to your lips. If you had the energy, you know your body would betray you by lifting your head to chase his lips.

You finally let out a defeated sigh, letting the corners of your mouth lift to a lazy smile. “Thank you.”

“At your disposal,” he mutters back with slight amusement and you open your eyes again to look at him. God, he’s beautiful.

“Are you,” you dare to ask, earnest in your eyes, “at my disposal…?”

“It would be an honour.”

“Likewise.”

“That is more than I’ve ever had before.”

“The honour?”

He nods. And then leans in, his mouth brushing your ear as your eyes flutter closed again, goosebumps rising over your skin. “I will bow for you any day,” he breathes softly, “my queen.”

#Oh my god #i did it jfc this took me forever to finally get to i apologise #i have genuinely NO idea if this is good i am in a daze i actually finished something #im trying my hardest to stay original and I'm sorry if its not what you expected #i wanted a simp bucky though sorry not sorry #please tell me what you think? #bucky barnes #writing #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #IT DELETED THE LAST TWO LINES SO I ADDED THEM NOW

[navybrat817]

Break Check

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You made quite an impression on Bucky Barnes before his race. Word Count: Over 1.1k Warnings: Mentions of flirting, rivalry, previous accident, a touch of insecurity and jealousy, motocross!Bucky Barnes simping a bit over you (he’s a warning, okay?) A/N: Second day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to Hothead and Spitfire and we get glimpse of how Bucky feels after meeting you! I can't wait to share more of them. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was waiting for someone like you to come along. Before his accident, he dated a few girls here and there. While it was fun, it was never anything serious because something was missing. The deep connection he wanted wasn't there, no matter how hard he tried to make it work. He wasn't an asshole though. He did his best to never hurt anyone when things had to end.

After his accident, dating came to a bit of a standstill.

The loss of his arm was a shock, but he was lucky in hindsight since he was alive. Between recovery and getting used to functioning with a metal prosthetic, dating wasn't a priority. A couple of riders tried to tease that the ladies would want him more because of how badass he looked. They was right in a way. The pit lizards still occasionally threw themselves at him once he showed the sponsors and fans that his previous injury wouldn't keep him down.

It didn't drive the pain or lingering insecurities away.

And after he finally went out with Dolores, which turned out to be disastrous, he swore off dating for the time being.

Then you showed up and changed his mind.

"Buck!" Steve said as Natasha pulled you away. "You good?"

"Better than good," he said, staring after you until you were out of sight.

He heard you ask Natasha “What the hell just happened?" before she dragged you off and he wondered the same thing. He expected to be in the worst headspace after his run-in with Rumlow, but you turned it all around. He certainly didn't expect to meet a sweet spitfire today.

"You seem distracted," Sam said, smirking at Steve.

"If I'm distracted, it's for a good reason," Bucky said, taking off his helmet. "A very good reason."

"I can't believe you kissed her," Steve smiled slightly. "Well, I kind of get why you did. She's-"

"She's what? Do you want her?" Bucky asked as a swirl of jealousy formed in his gut.

It was similar to how he felt when Rumlow looked you up and down like a piece of meat.

"Didn't think we were calling dibs, but I'm not into her," Steve said, making the brunette let out a breath. "Even if I was, I'm positive she isn't into me."

It wasn't right of Bucky to feel possessive over someone he just met. He had no claim to you. He knew Rumlow was bad news though and not the kind of guy a girl like you deserved.

You don't deserve a guy like me either.

He didn't like to talk about the occasional nightmares he had, how he'd wake up covered in sweat with his heart frantically beating. And though he still did well on the tracks, he hated how on edge he could get before a race. No one should have to deal with that.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He had no reason to snap at his friend.

"Don't be. I was just going to say she seems like the type of girl you've been looking for."

Steve was right.

While Bucky put a hold on dating, he didn't want to give up hope. As if Natasha knew, she had mentioned a new friend in the area. Single. Smart. Not afraid to speak up. The fact that she spoke highly of you intrigued him. He surprised himself when he told Steve he was interested in meeting you.

Now that he had, he felt shattered and whole all at once.

Sam shook his head. "I'll say it again. I hope she knocks your ass in the dirt."

"I kind of hope she does, too," Bucky smiled dreamily. He considered himself lucky that you didn't after he bet a date with you instead of asking you out like a normal person. "Fuck, I wish someone would've recorded her verbally kicking Rumlow in the balls."

Watching you put Maddox in his place was the highlight of his year. Hardly anyone stood up to him, but you did it with ease. He wanted to kiss you then and there and tuck you under his arm when he saw his rival look you over. Even with your insults, the prick wanted you.

Not happening, Rumlow. Fuck off.

"Maybe someone did. You know word spreads fast around here, Hothead," Joaquin joked.

Hothead and Spitfire has a nice ring to it.

Oh, you were a spitfire and he loved it. Which is why it broke his heart when you thought he'd tell you off. All because you gave him your insight on the situation with him and Maddox, which he knew wasn't to hurt his feelings.

You spoke your mind to help, not hurt him.

How many people have told you off for speaking your mind? Who made you feel like you couldn't?

What also struck him was that you defended him without a thought for yourself. It didn't matter that he was strong enough to handle it or that it wasn't your fight. You stepped in and gave him a smile that made him feel like he wasn't alone. It was a feeling that would stick with him long after today.

"Any idea where you plan to take her on your date?" Steve asked.

Bucky smiled to himself. If he asked him that, then he was confident that he was going to win the race. And that you'd agree to really go out with him.

"I don't know, but it needs to be perfect," he said.

He had to make it special, something unforgettable.

"Nat will rip you a new one if you don't do something nice," Sam said.

Bucky swallowed and nodded. "Of course, it'll be nice. It isn't just a fucking bet. I like her."

How could I not?

Beyond standing up for him, you kept up with his banter and pushed exactly the way he needed to be. That was just in the few minutes he spoke with you. And the moment he brushed his lips against yours, he was done for. It wasn't anywhere close to being enough. He wanted to spend hours exploring your mouth and discovering every secret only a lover had the privilege of knowing.

"Did you see how many necks broke trying to look her way? A lot of guys like her," Sam teased, making Bucky scowl slightly.

Nat failed to mention how fucking beautiful you are, especially in that skirt. I'm lucky all the blood in my body didn't rush to my cock.

"Just make sure Rumlow doesn't win," Joaquin gently said.

Rumlow has another thing coming if he thinks he'll lay a finger on you without your permission, Spitfire.

"He won't," Bucky promised.

You had awakened something in him he thought lost or broken. He wasn't about to lose. He just hoped you'd take a chance on him.

Bucky will win the race, right? 😏 Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #navy's naughty & nice nonsense #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n' #motocross!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #motocross!bucky barnes #hothead and spitfire #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #motocross au #dialed in: motocross au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

[winterarmyy]

Hi – sorry to barge into your lovely little space here like this.

Am a new follower – I absolutely adore your fics. They ways you describe our grumpy super soldier is just. . . 😩🤌🥺🥹

You brought me back into the fandom – WITH FULL FORCE I hate love you for making simp for Bucky again – smh

Anywhoo – my hun, dont mind me snooping through your blog with my little S.H.I.E.L.D skills 🥸 🕶 because I adore your stories and how you write so much 😭😭😢 – IT HAD BECOME A FREAKING ADDICTION

And. . . I can't help but notice you had a little red skull gremlin in your inbox that has me fuming enough to grab a few things called the space stones and snap them away into the oblivion – sorry. . . Not sorry 🤷🏼‍♀️

As someone you reads your works and support you fully, am very much offended that someone would write that to you – LIKE EXCUSE ME A SECOND – ARE WE ACTUALLY TALKING THE SAME LOVELY TALENTED BEAUTIFUL soldat simping YINN HERE ? ! !

I TRULY ADORE YOUR WORKS AND I TRULY TRULY HOPE YOU WLL NOT LISTEN TO THEM AND BRING YOURSELF DOWN BECAUSE YOU'RE REGARDESS OF YOUR RACE, RELIGION AND NAME ! ! ! YOU'RE A GIFTED WRITER WE ARE BLESSED TO HAVE AND I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT – THANK YOU

I just wanted to say that. . .anyways for ranting in your inbox. . .bye, love ya lots hun 💝💝

- Tara 🤗🥰

OH. MY. GOD??!

No,, please barge in all you want, Tara. Because it is so lovely to have you here. Thank you for following my blog! It might not be much but I hope you enjoy your time here 🧎🏻‍♀️🤍

AND STOPPPPP I DUNNO WHAT TO SAY??? Like I appreciate that you love my fics and the way I wrote Bucky. I get insecure about it sometimes because I've read so many amazing authors writing bucky, and how perfect all of them were. I doubt the way i wrote him because i feel like there's something lacking. So thank you for loving him and his imperfections! 🥺💞

addiction?? To my fic?? Please that's so sweet?! Like now I wonder which ones are your fav fic and why 👀

Ahh, sure that little nony slipped through my inbox to insult me. Yeah, I hope I doesn't happend again. Because that was totally uncalled for. But, I'd like to think that I handled it quite well though 😗😚

Thank you so much for your kind words! And this response might not have the same chaotic and fun energy as yours, but trust me when I saw you made me smile and blush so much you have no idea!!! 🥺😭 I hope you continue to love my work (which btw I just uploaded a new fic for And You're Mine AU. Find it in my masterlist or here)

Please come by and rant all you want tbh. I get giddy reading what my readers thinks of the fics that I wrote. It helps me go through the day! 🥰

#random asks 💌 #yinn replies ✍🏻

[elisaphoenix13]

Just Like That

When Peter came out of his room, it was to chaos completely caused by Lucy. Just over the railing of the stairs, he could see his baby sister streaking around the living room and Levi chasing after her. Probably in an attempt to get her diaper back on. Stephen was sitting on the couch reading a book while the little girl screeched with laughter, so Peter assumed the sorcerer learned to pick and choose his battles. At least until Lucy tired herself out.

So it was a normal day. Even Athena was walking around and picking up toys and trash to put in their rightful place…which admittedly was a little weirder. Athena didn't usually do stuff like that. If only because their family was pretty good about picking up after themselves in the first place.

"Hey Mom. Gonna meet with Harley and pick up Cassie and Will at school." Peter says as he walks down the stairs.

"What about Thomas?" Stephen asks, looking up from his book.

"Think he said something about hanging out with friends after school. He'll probably text you soon and let you know."

"Alright, have fun."

"Good luck with Lucy." Peter snickers as he heads for the elevator and Stephen snorts in response. 

"I'm leaving her for your father, Bucky, or Thomas."

Peter laughs as he walks into the elevator and takes it down to the lobby to leave the tower. While he had his driver's license, as well as Harley, sometimes they both found it easier to walk or take the subway. Sometimes they even used their suits to get around since their identities were public knowledge. The twins and Cassie's identities were still secret, but considering Thomas could run wherever he wanted to without anyone noticing and William could teleport…it wasn't a big deal to them. Cassie was the only one restricted to getting rides, taking the subway, or when Stephen was available, a gateway back home.

Most days, she only had to walk as far as the station that Quill worked at to get a ride home. He tried to keep his schedule lined up with hers so he could take her home afterwards. Today though, Peter and Harley were taking Cassie and William on a double date to the cafe the family enjoyed. It was Cassie's idea, and when William agreed to it, Harley was quick to figure out his schedule so he could make it happen.

And everyone thought Peter was whipped. He was…but Harley was worse. Thomas actually called him a simp one day and their dad ended up laughing for the rest of the day. Stephen usually sighed and ignored them whenever anyone acted like that or teased each other.

When Peter finally arrived at Cassie and the twins' school, Harley was already waiting outside with them and Thomas was nowhere to be seen. 

"Sorry. Got distracted by Lucy." Peter laughs after Cassie approaches him to greet him with a kiss. "Tommy already leave with his friends?"

William shakes his head. "Not exactly. Their plans fell through because the store they wanted to go to was closed for remodeling today. They had to reschedule so Tommy went home instead."

"Oh, cool. Maybe he can help with Lucy then. She decided diapers are out of fashion." Peter snorts.

"I'm calling it now, she's going to be a menace. Dad thinks I'm bad? She'll probably jump off a jungle gym onto a trampoline and give our parents heart attacks." Harley says.

"Or knock somebody's teeth out playing hockey." Peter adds before pointing in the direction of the cafe. "Come on. Let's go."

"We better buy Mom his chocolate cake before we go home." Cassie reminds them.

"I think he would ground us forever if we don't." William says as the small group makes their way to the cafe.

The short time is spent in idle chatter, either about how the school day went or rumors, or whatever random thing they could think of. Until finally they reach the cafe and they walk in to find a booth. Cassie slipped in next to Peter and William next to Harley as the waitress came over with some menus to give to them. After she walks away, William looks at Peter with a cringe.

"...her diaper wasn't dirty was it?"

Peter bursts into laughter. "I don't think so. Mom was still reading. The only one freaking out was Levi and it freaks out about everything when it comes to Mom's kids."

"It's true. It held up a corner of itself when I sneezed the other day." Cassie tells them.

"But doesn't Levi basically just mirror Mom's thoughts?" Harley asks.

"To an extent, but it is sentient. When Mom was being tortured by that weird alien dude on the spaceship, it was making its own decisions." Peter explains.

"Lucy is going to be a liability."

"I blame Dad." Cassie snickers just as the waitress comes back to take their order.

They ordered their food, which fortunately didn't take long to come out since Peter was starving , and he immediately started shoving fries into his mouth. Cassie gave him a look which immediately had him slowing down, and realized the look very closely resembled the one Stephen would give him. It was evidence that Cassie really was Mama Bear Junior as everyone liked to call her. Cassie didn't even argue against it much to Tony's amusement.

It was in the middle of their meal, when Peter was attempting to sneak a couple of fries from Harley's plate, when the group was interrupted. By a teenage girl that looked to be just a little younger than them…and made herself at home by slipping in next to Harley. They blinked at her in confusion and then owlishly when she just sighed and took some fries from Harley's plate.

"Ugh. I know. Weird stranger right? Please tell me Doctor Strange is your mom." She finally says.

"Umm…depends on who's asking." Peter finally responds.

"I knew him in another universe, but he wasn't your mom there. He wasn't a parent to anyone . But then I found out about this universe and knew I had to get in on it. It's one of the most peaceful ones I've been to." The girl shoves another frie into her mouth before holding out her hand to Cassie. "America Chavez. Nice to meet you."

Cassie tentatively takes her hand to shake it. "Uh…Cassie Lang."

America's eyes bug out as she turns Cassie's hand to stare at the ring on her finger. "Holy crap! You're married? Getting married? To who?!"

"That dimwit over there." Harley finally says, pointing at Peter.

"Dude, come on."

"This has to be the right universe then!" America smiles. "Where is he anyway?"

"Mom? He's at home." William answers, finishing off his lunch. "Probably finally getting a diaper back on Lucy if Thomas wore her out enough."

"Did he marry Tony Stark?"

Harley sighs when America takes the last of his french fries and pulls out his wallet in defeat. "Maybe we should just buy the cake and take you home with us."

America grins. "Chocolate cake for Stephen?"

Cassie raises an eyebrow. "Is he a whore for chocolate in other universes too?"

"Totally. He's just better at hiding it."

William snorts. "Not here."

"Well come on! I'm dying to see Stephen all domestic. I've only seen him serious." America says as she gets back up.

Cassie pops the rest of her chicken sandwich into her mouth as Harley slides out of the booth to buy some chocolate cake to go and pay their bill, and she steps away from America with Peter and William. They whispered amongst themselves about how safe it was to actually bring America back home with them, but Peter had told them his spider senses weren't going haywire. So they figured it was safe enough. When Harley walked back over after he left a tip on the table, he took William's hand as his boyfriend took Peter's, who took Cassie's. 

When Cassie held out her hand for America's, the younger looked at her in confusion. "Uhh…are you doing a prayer or something?"

Cassie laughs. "Nope. Going home. Just William's way."

America looked at them skeptically but eventually shrugged and took Cassie's offered hand, and in an instant they were back on the family floor of the tower. Peter still remembered when he first used William's teleportation ability. It actually gave him sensory overload and William had felt so terrible about it, but Peter had reassured him he was okay and that he just needed to get used to it. They practiced with shorter distances so Peter could adjust, and only teleported over long distances in an emergency.

America didn't seem phased at all. It was probably nothing to her considering she told them that she had been to other universes. Was she a super like them? Was that her power?

She was surprised though, when Valerie shuffled over to William immediately and held her arms up. "Liam! I got to paint my plate today!"

"Oh yeah? How about you show me Angel?" William smiles, walking away with the little girl to climb the nearby stairs.

Cassie was the next to be lured away by Diana who eagerly requested mani pedis, leaving Harley and Peter with America in the middle of the entryway. In fact, that was when Peter noticed that the floor was silent , so it meant that someone was able to put Lucy down for her nap. Maybe. Unless she weaseled her way down to the lab with their father.

"Mom?" Peter calls out experimentally.

"In the kitchen." Stephen calls back. "Thomas was able to wrangle your sister into a diaper and her high chair."

America follows the boys into the kitchen and Peter nearly laughs when her eyes practically bug out of her head when she finds Stephen wiping Lucy's mouth.

"Wow. Nothing could have prepared me for that." She breathes out, making Stephen look up at the new voice.

"Who's this?"

"America Chavez. She claims to know you in other universes." Harley answers.

Stephen raises an eyebrow. "Other universes? You can travel the multiverse?"

"I just learned how to do it with precision. I used to jump between them…and when I heard there was a universe where you were a mom to a bunch of kids…" she trails off and frowns a little. "I wanted to see for myself."

"Where's your family?" Stephen asks, frowning.

Harley and Peter looked at each other knowingly when America admitted they went missing because of her powers when she was little. Stephen was so predictable at this point that they looked back at America before their mother could even open his mouth to respond, and looped their arms with hers.

"We got it Mom. We'll show her her room while you tell Dad we have another sister!" Peter calls over his shoulder as they lead the younger teen to the stairs.

"Wait, really?" America gapes. "Just like that? I could be an ax murderer!"

"Nah. If you were, Peter's spider senses would have clued him in." Harley says easily. "Just a warning that Will sleep teleports sometimes so don't freak out if he ends up in your room in the middle of the night."

There was some sputtering coming from the direction of the kitchen, followed by Lucy's giggling, before there was a heavy sigh. One of defeat that made Harley and Peter grin again once they stopped in front of the empty room that would be America's.

"Your father will never let me live this down."

"Live what down?" Tony's voice follows.

"...we have another daughter."

"Magic baby or adopted?"

"Adopted."

"Oh…okay. Is there any more coffee?"

America gawks again which makes the boys burst into laughter. "Just like that?!"

"Just like that."

#mama bear au #stephen strange #supremefamily #ironstrange #tony stark #peter parker #harley keener #cassie lang #william kaplan #america chavez

[intrepidacious]

Sorry that I’m literally going to just blow up your asks with sleepover stuff but also very much not sorry 😌

⛵️ But can we do Bucky AUs LOL. Ya girl is a DnD nerd who loves being outside, fiercely independent but also aggressively touch starved, and my best friend is my cat. Also my favorite way to spend my weekends is a movie night where we’re watching 90s romcoms and/or early 2000 fantasy movies.

Thank you ily 💕

absolutely Do Not apologise for that love!! 🥰

first of all we're gonna go with bucky who is actually me AU because that sounds like the perfect way to spend a weekend and i want in on that. barring that ..... say hello to comic store owner!bucky

this man is a nerd and a simp, and he Will make it his mission to distract you during your dnd campaigns because, well, why aren't you paying attention to him? good luck getting him outside though, he's perfectly fine just curling up somewhere with the cats and reading all day. unless, of course, it's time for comic con. he might be there for work, but that doesn't mean he won't ask you to dress up with him <3

join the sleepover

#inbox #sleepover time #col 🍁

[ramp-it-up]

Chris Evans

Imagines (RPF)

AdorkableChris777*

You meet Chris and don’t know it. What happens next?

Choices *

It’s the first weekend alone with your husband after childbirth. What do you choose to do? The choice is yours.

Don’t Touch My Hair*

Even though he’s your crush, Chris can run off at the mouth sometimes.

Shorts Story

Beauty turns into a beast when you see Chris in this shorts.

Sorry, Not Sorry*

Is someone going to be sorry they were a brat? Maybe. Maybe not.

Asks

Maëlle

A German exchange student catches Chris’s eye.

Easy *

It was absolutely necessary to write a CE drabble due to his piano thirst trap. How I Met Your Father universe.

Peek

You’re cooking up something good for Chris.

TikTok Challenge

You prank Chris.

Mountaintop

Chris takes you there.

Warm You Up

Chris says goodnight..

It’s Over

If you and Chris had just communicated, none of this would be happening.

Chubby Dumpling

Chris misses his chubby dumpling.

Work from Home

When Chris works from the kitchen table, you get to as well.

Kitty Kat

A Kitten is eagerly awaiting Chris when he gets home.

Santa, Daddy

Thanks to a bet with Scott, you are Santa’s helper for the night.

Series

Again Series

You do it again and again and again…

Bottle Rocket Series

Seb is your Daddy. But you also want Chris to be your Sir.

The Customer Series

Chris is a bit of a fuck boy. But everyone knows how he feels about you, his favorite interior designer

The Fit and the Feel Series

You’re caught between a rock and a hard body. Chris and Henry.

How I Met Your Father Series

Your kids ask you how you and their dad met. It’s a funny story.

The List Series (Dark! Chris)

Chris loves you, but he goes too far. How long until you find out, and will it be too late?

The Princess & Mr. Evans Series*

You interview Chris for your dissertation and it’s love at first sight. The journey to the altar and beyond is like a fairy tale.

A Starting Point Series

You are Chris’ Director of Diversity at A Starting Point. And he’s in love with you.

———————————————————

Chris Evans Characters

Andy Barber

The Bar AU Series

Barkeep! Andy + You = ❤️‍🔥. How does your fellow bartender Frank factor into the equation?

Andrew & Princess Muffin Series

You were Andy’s paralegal. Now you’re his everything.

Ransom Drysdale

The Minx Series

You are cute, smart, and have one man in your sights. Ransom Drysdale

Lloyd Hansen

The Perfect Shot

It’s just another day at work as Lloyd’s intern.

TEACH ME + R U SHY?

More than just candy hearts, Lloyd gets his just desserts.

Jake Jensen

Angel Baby Series

Jake finds his perfect girl, you, but you’ve already found him.

Great Minds

To Jake, protecting you as an asset means more than just keeping you safe.

Ari Levinson

Little One*

Dom Ari teaches you a lesson in front of his friends.

Ari Love

Ari is your superior for this mission. Will you both survive the training?

My Favorite Things

Ari is your best friend in town. Could he be a little more?

Personal Growth

Ari was learning a lot of things about himself in this leadership program. Thing #1: He was a simp for you.

Johnny Storm

Make it Hot

Johnny just wants to make it up to you.

Steve Rogers

Always and Forever Series

The team finds you. You find love with Steve. Then he leaves. And then you find love with Bucky. Will you make the right choices?

All the Stars Series (w/Clark Kent)

Angst. Smut. Cheating. Choices.

This Thing of Ours AU (w/ Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson)

This band of brothers by choice are running a crime syndicate while managing the women in their lives. Let’s see if they survive love and the mob. Includes Try a Little Tenderness.

The Greatest Series

You are your superstar little sister, Aria’s, publicist. She sets you up on a blind date with Pilot Steve Rogers. You two get along like oil and water, but it’s fire and desire with just one bed when you all go on Aria’s honeymoon in romantic Italy.

Sugar is Sweet Series

Steve and Bucky. You’re caught in the middle but these two friends don’t share, they compete. Who will win? And will it be you?

The Sweetest Nectar (w/ Sam Wilson)

Steve is pining for you and the fact that you are Sam’s girl doesn’t mean a thing.

The Avengers

Shield High School Faculty AU

What happens when hot, horny teachers get together?

Those Who Seek Release

You hang out with the crew and decide to chemically unwind. What could happen?

108

#Chris Evans #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans fic #chris evans x reader #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #andy barber #andy barber smut #ari levinson smut #Ari Levinson #ari levinson x reader #andy barber x reader #Jake Jensen #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen smut #johnny storm x reader #Johnny Storm #johnny storm smut #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson

[idy-ll-ique]

I'll Hold Mine.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Requested: Nope

Warnings: None

Genre : Pure fluff

Summary: Y/N has stuffed toys. She's ashamed of telling anyone else she has stuffed toys. Bucky doesn't understand why, they're so cute after all!

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Before you ask, yes, I was screaming the whole time while writing— this wasn't what you were gonna ask? Oh. Enjoy!

---

Bucky Barnes stared as the woman walked into the communal area, bleary eyed. "Y/N, good morning! Had a good night's sleep?" Clint asked her. Bucky quietly watched as Y/N nodded, but he knew she was lying. "Good morning to you two," she greeted them, giving them a small smile. Clint, about to walk out of the room, ruffled her hair and left.

"You're lying."

"Pardon?" Y/N blinked, staring at Bucky as she waited for her coffee to be prepared. "You didn't sleep well, I can see it all over your face," he rephrased, taking a sip of his coffee. "Fine, you caught me!" she groaned, "I didn't sleep last night." Bucky frowned when the woman plopped down next to him, clutching her mug with both hands.

"Why not? Is everything okay?" he asked worriedly. "It's embarrassing and I'm not going to tell you." She refused to speak after that. Embarrassing? Her? In his eyes, never. He didn't press on, though, silently offering his sad friend some company. When he heard a sniffle, he couldn't help it.

"Tell me what happened. I promise I won't judge you," he insisted, turning to look at her. "It's just— it's just that—" Y/N took in a shuddering breath. God, why was she making a fool of herself in front of her crush?! "Morning, people! Oh, oh no, I picked a bad timing—" Bucky and Y/N both turned to Tony, who slowly backed out of the room.

Nope, she wasn't doing it.

"I'm sorry, Buck," she mumbled, got up, kept her mug away and left. Bucky nearly crushed the mug he was holding, cursing Tony because why did he have to walk in just as Y/N was opening up to him?! He huffed and sat alone, drinking his coffee in misery.

The thing is, Y/N was great friends with everyone. She was loud, cheerful, funny and excruciatingly beautiful— you get the gist. Not with him, though. Around him, she was always quiet, shy, meek… submissive, in a way.

Hey Y/N, can you pass me that bottle?

If it were anyone else: "Your legs finally give up on you? About damn time." With him? "Yeah sure, here you go." She never, ever talked witty with him. Something about her was off… was she scared of him? Bucky's eyes went wide. Of course, that was it! Y/N Y/L/N was afraid of James Barnes! Why, though?

He was always so good to her. Nobody minded teasing Y/N, sometimes going too far but it was all in fun and Y/N knew that. Bucky, on the other hand…

Roast Y/N or finish the bottle of beer— you always drink when it comes to her, simp!

He could never. He had no idea what her insecurities were, what if he accidentally pushed a button and she stopped talking to him? At least they still made small talk, if she stopped talking to him, he didn't know how he would live. "Hey, everything okay?" Startled, he looked up at Steve.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, "Everything is fine, what happened?" Steve sighed and sat next to his best friend. "It's Y/N, isn't it? I know the look on your face," he chuckled. "She was crying," Bucky spoke softly, "And she was about to tell me what happened but Stark walked into the room. Then she left without telling me."

"Why doesn't she talk to me?" he continued, intently staring at Steve. "I'd think that's fairly obvious," Steve laughed, "The woman loves you. Classic traits of a crush, Bucky. She limits her conversations with you because she doesn't want to embarrass herself. She never talks back to you because what if you start hating her?" Bucky blinked.

"Me? Hate her? Not possible," he scoffed. "You didn't find out why she was crying, right?" Bucky shook his head. "Why don't you go to the privacy of her room and find out? No one will interrupt you there, you might form a good bond and who knows? That might be the start of a beautiful, perfect relationship."

"I can't just go there like hey we were talking and you didn't tell me something so I've come to find out, that's invading her personal boundaries! She'll tell me when she's ready," Bucky spoke indignantly. "She hasn't eaten breakfast yet, there are some muffins in the oven, why don't you take those to her room?" Steve suggested.

After a minute of consideration, Bucky agreed.

---

Three short raps on the door.

"Y/N?"

Inside the room, Y/N froze. What was Bucky doing here? She glanced around her room, horrified, because it was a mess. "What happened?" she shouted from inside. "I brought you some breakfast, thought you might be hungry." She was hungry, though. "Wait 5 minutes!" Bucky patiently stood outside as Y/N made her room more presentable—

By hiding all her stuffed toys.

Some went in the wardrobe, some tossed carelessly under the bed, some stashed in the bedside drawer until she was certain there were no animals on display. "I'm so sorry," she whispered to the toys before opening the door to her room. "Bucky! Thank you for bringing me food, come in! Sorry, it's a mess."

Bucky waved his arm in dismissal as he walked in, looking around the room. "Your place is beautiful," he commented, giving her a small smile. She blushed and rubbed the back of her neck, shrugging. Both of them sat on the bed and Y/N picked up a muffin. "What do you wanna ask me?" At the blatant question, Bucky looked up.

"Why were you crying?" Y/N sighed and looked at her lap. "Sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to," she muttered. "No, no, it did not make me feel uncomfortable, I wanna help you," Bucky answered, shaking his head. "It's…" "Embarrassing? We've been through that, I don't care." A small laugh escaped her lips.

"Fine, I'll tell you. Promise you won't laugh," she whispered. "I promise." Y/N huddled close to him in case someone was somehow listening to them. "I lost my favorite stuffed toy and can't find her." Bucky sat silently for a few minutes. That was her definition of embarrassing?! What's embarrassing about stuffed toys?

"Should I help you?" he offered immediately, smiling at her. "You don't think I'm crazy? I'm a grown woman who still has stuffed toys. Names and everything," Y/N exclaimed, her jaw dropped. Bucky shrugged. "Of course I don't think you're crazy. There is nothing shameful about stuffed toys, I think it's quite sweet."

"Really? Just when I thought you couldn't be more perfect—" Bucky laughed at her words. They quickly finished eating the muffins and then stood up. "Have you checked the whole room?" Bucky asked her. She nodded. "Yes! The drawers, the cupboards, the wardrobe, over and under the bed… she's nowhere."

"But have you checked the bathroom?"

A loud groan left Y/N. "That's it, the bathroom! Ugh, I was so sleepy last night but I had to pee so I went to the bathroom, might've forgotten her inside, how stupid of me! Damn it!" As she kept rambling to herself, Bucky walked into the bathroom and fetched the doll that was sitting atop the sink. "Here you go, doll."

Y/N looked up at the nickname. "Hah, doll. Just like the one you're holding," she joked, taking the doll from his hands. "Yeah," he whispered, "Just like the one I'm holding." Y/N froze when his arms went around her waist, pulling her close to him. Was this actually happening?!

Did her crush like her back?!

She wanted to scream. "Bucky?" she whispered as he continued staring down at her, a dazed look on his face. "Why are you so adorable, doll?" he asked instead, gently rubbing her bottom lip with his thumb. Y/N gulped at the shockwaves the action sent throughout her body. "You tell me," she retorted, her breath hitching when he smirked at her.

"Find your wits now?" he teased, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips before she could answer. Shivers ran down her spine as she kissed the man back, clutching her doll tightly in her arms. Without breaking the kiss, Bucky walked forward until the back of Y/N's knees touched the bed. "Sit," he ordered and Y/N complied, looking at him with wide eyes.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Sleep."

Y/N blinked, expecting a sexy response but instead she got— "What?" she asked him, confused. Bucky knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his. "You haven't slept all night, doll, I need you to sleep. This—" He gestured between them, "—Has lots of time to happen. For now, all I want is for you to get some rest. You've had a tough morning." Y/N's eyes watered.

"Don't go away."

The way she said it was enough to keep him by her side forever and always. "Never, doll. Come on." He picked up the plate which was lying on the bed, dusted the crumbs off and lay down. Y/N lay down next to him, clutching her doll in her hands. She turned to face away from him as he turned, wrapping an arm around her, spooning her from behind.

"Thank you Bucky, goodnight."

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her exposed shoulder. "Goodnight. You hold your doll, I'll hold mine," he whispered, smiling when the sound of soft snores filled the room.

---

"Aye, sweet doll!"

"She is, isn't she?"

"You know damn well I wasn't talking about your girlfriend, Barnes—" Y/N burst out laughing as Sam and Bucky narrowed their eyes at each other. "But I was! Sweet doll." Y/N scrunched her nose as Bucky pressed his nose to her cheek, the stubble on his face pricking her skin. "Thank you, Sam, that means a lot."

"No worries!" He plopped down next to Steve, who was looking at them with a smile. After Y/N got into a relationship with Bucky, she was opening up more. She was no longer embarrassed about her stuffed toys; these people were her friends and they stood by her side no matter what, no judgement. That's all she needed.

Clutching her doll to her bosom, Y/N snuggled against Bucky's chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "All okay?" Bucky whispered to her, wrapping his arm around her as he brushed her hair away from her face. "Yeah," she whispered as Tony walked into the room, immediately getting hit in the face by a deflating balloon, "All okay."

"I love you so much, doll," he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as she closed her eyes. "I love you too, Bucky," she smiled into his shoulder, "I love you too."

"As cute as all this is, it's your turn to pick a movie, Y/N so please, pick a movie."

"Hmm, I'm not in the mood… how about you pick one, Peter?"

"No! No, anyone but him!"

"Come on, we haven't watched Frozen 2 in a long time—"

"Shut up! No! Maybe give your boyfriend a turn, he picks better movies!"

"Never have I ever been so offended by something I 100% agree with."

"What do ya say, doll? Give me a turn?"

"Sure Barnes, whatever."

"Ouch."

"Deserved."

"Breaking News! For the first time in the history of the world, we're witnessing Y/N Y/L/N actively roasting James Barnes—"

"I don't mind anymore, everyone knows he's gonna come running back to me in no time."

"Hot damn!"

"Come on now, doll, you wanna be punished so badly—"

"Ugh, keep dirty talk out of this!"

Needless to say, movie night went great.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a like if you enjoyed!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

[wolferine]

Heart Skips a Beat - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture

Word count: 2843

Part 3

Tags: @blkmxrvel @blackxwidowsxwife @marvelwomen-simp @phoenixofash @marvels-bitch-boy @when-wolves-howl @bitterlime13 @hallecarey1 @orangewheein @unexpected-character

AN: I apologize if some tags don’t work! Tumblr can’t find some of your usernames.

After listening to Steve’s plan, all four of you—technically five, since Bucky had to tag along—take the Quinjet to Siberia. The goal was to break out the five soldiers in Bucky’s former task force and bring them back to the Avengers Tower, where there was the technology to free their minds from HYDRA. 

Each of you were armed with a mask which would spray a powerful sedative into the face it was applied to, keeping the victim unconscious until it was removed. It was the simplest solution to taking down the super soldiers—when Bucky had been skeptical, Natasha had slapped a mask on him and he was out before he hit the floor. You were pretty sure you pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.

Now, you and Natasha sat in the cockpit while the others sat behind you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky says suddenly.

“Yeah?” You don’t even look over your shoulder.

“I’m…sorry for shooting you.”

“Twice,” you clarify. “I didn’t forget the count.”

“Sorry,” he repeats.

“Well, as long as you don’t mistake me for Steve again, I’ll be okay,” you say with a chuckle.

“So, just to reiterate our plan, Bucky will be with me and Clint, and Nat, you’ll be with Y/N,” Steve says.

“Even Captain America knows better than to break up the power couple.” You grin and reach over to put your hand on her thigh. Without taking her eyes off the controls, she takes your hand and interlocks your fingers.

“Yeah, so you two just do your thing—” Steve catches himself. “Wait, not that kind of thing.”

Clint explodes into wheezy laughter and Natasha shakes her head, her cheeks reddening. You’re not embarrassed like she is, but you’re still quick to defend yourselves.

“It was one time!” you protest. It had been a mission where everything that could’ve gone wrong did, and you and Natasha were convinced it would be your last. You two decided to end it wrapped around each other, but then the rest of the Avengers had barged in and said there had been a miscommunication and it wasn’t the end of the world after all. It was the one mission you would never live down.

“Just keep it professional, please,” Steve begs. “No matter what happens, we’re all going home alive, okay?”

Bucky looks completely lost.

Natasha lands the Quinjet in a flurry of snow and all of you exit the warmth of the plane.

“I should’ve brought one of your hoodies,” she mumbles, walking as close to you as she can without tripping you. 

“It would’ve clashed with your uniform,” you say, putting your arm around her waist. The super soldier serum in your veins causes you to run a higher-than-average body temperature. You feel as comfortable as if you stepped out of hot shower.

The facility is the only building for miles. It looks big enough to fit a space rocket and has a dull, concrete exterior. The only security is a chain-link fence with a frozen padlock that Steve breaks open with his shield. You file through the gate, and Bucky inputs a code into the door to grant everyone entry. The interior is just as disappointing as the outside. Nothing but a maze of concrete halls with metal doors. The ceiling has dripping water stains and an uncomfortably musty, moldy smell hangs in the air.

“I bet you’re really glad you escaped this rust bucket,” you say to Bucky. He only shakes his head.

“Stay alert,” Steve advises. “We’ll split here. Keep us updated on your position and if you find anyone.”

“Copy that.” You and Natasha turn right while the others turn left. She finds a flight of stairs and you follow behind her. You unholster your gun, holding it at the ready by your side. Natasha makes random turns and ignores every room you walk by. You listen intently for any sort of noise that would indicate a person lurking in the shadows, but so far, there’s nothing.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” you ask.

“Do you?” she snaps.

“Hey, I’m just following you.” You back off. Even though you know this is no time to be making jokes, you still can’t help yourself. High-stress situations make you nervous, especially when you’re with Natasha, because anything that could happen to you could happen to her.

When you pass by a room with its door open, you see a large glass tank big enough to fit a human and filled with murky green water. For a reason you can’t explain, you feel yourself drawn towards it and you step into the room, a chill raising goosebumps on your skin. You reach out to touch the tank’s wall and close your eyes.

You’re floating in a tank of your own, tubes running out of your nose, mouth, and down every limb. You jerk around wildly in the water tinged pink with your blood. Your lungs seize for air, but every breath you inhale is wet and salty.

“Shall we go another round?” you hear someone on the other side say.

“Might as well. No pain, no gain, right?” someone replies.

You want to bash your hands against the glass, but you’re too weak to have any control over your movements. You feel a sharp pain in your lower back, at the base of your spine, and your body arches as more drugs are pumped into you. You have no breath to scream with as your body twists in agony. It feels like a fire eating you from the inside out, burning through your bones, and you want nothing more than to wither away to ash...

“Hey.” You jump when you feel Natasha’s hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing in here?”

“Um, I…I thought I heard something,” you lie. Natasha frowns. Like Steve and Bucky, you had been a lab rat yourself, although not to SHIELD or HYDRA. You had been passed around other government agencies—at least, that’s what you think. Most of your memories of that time were fuzzy, which you were fine with. The ones you did remember weren’t worth reliving anyway.

“Y/N.” Natasha looks concerned.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” You don’t want to interrupt the mission with your personal problems.

She knows better than to push you, especially at a time like this. “Okay,” she says, leaving the room. You take a minute to collect yourself. When you finally turn around, you see a black-haired woman, shorter than Natasha even, standing in the doorway in the same vest Bucky had worn the first time you met him.

“Hello,” you say, holstering your gun. You’re not going to shoot someone who looks like she’s barely of age. “You must be one of the super soldiers Bucky told me about. Who was your target supposed to be? Romanoff?” you tease.

“Thor.” The woman’s voice is dainty. Her body is literally the size of one of Thor’s arms. There’s no way she’s telling the truth.

You laugh. “That’s cute. But this is no place for a kid,” you say, walking towards her. But she sees that you’re too casual, your guard let down too low, and takes advantage of that. “Now all I need is for you to put this mask on and—”

The woman launches at you with a speed you don’t even process. She swipes your legs out from under you, causing you to crash on your back. Then she’s on top of you, hands around your throat. You reach into your pocket for your knife, all jokes lost with her attempt to take your life.

You flip the blade out and swing at her face, but she’s quick to dodge and rolls to the side. You jump to your feet, wondering where Natasha is. But you’re too embarrassed to call for her help, even if this soldier claims she was given the task of taking out the god of thunder.

The woman is impossibly fast and she lands blow after blow on you while you stagger back and slash out helplessly with your knife. When she kicks you in the stomach and your back collides into the water tank, you’ve had enough. 

You switch your knife to your left hand and aim for the woman’s neck. She grabs your wrist and twists it around so the knife turns towards you. Your eyes widen as she puts her entire body weight behind the knife. The blade sinks into your shoulder.

“What the—” You don’t even register the pain, more upset that you’ve been harmed with your own weapon. The woman grins, distracted, and you punch her in the throat as hard as you can. Her eyes bulge and she coughs, her hands flying to her neck. 

You take the mask out of your pocket and shove it onto her face, hearing the hiss as the sedative is instantly released. The woman immediately goes limp and you have no problem letting her drop to the floor.

“Y/N!” You look up and see Natasha staring at you, arms crossed over her chest.

“I got one.” You puff out your chest proudly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Natasha comes over and inspects the soldier’s limp body.

“I didn’t need to. I handled her all by myself,” you say, a little annoyed by her doubt in your abilities.

“Is that a knife in your shoulder?” she asks.

“I…Oh, yeah—” 

“Is that your knife?” Being called out hurts more than the actual pain of having the knife in your shoulder.

“Uh…maybe…” You can’t even look her in the eye.

“Y/N,” Natasha growls. “Here, let me take it out.”

You back up until you hit the tank again. “Wait, shouldn’t we—ow!” you yelp as Natasha jerks the knife out.

“You’ve been through worse.” She tries to hand you the knife, but you shake your head, too embarrassed to continue carrying it with you since you obviously can’t be trusted with it. She shrugs and pockets your knife, taking out some gauze and tape to patch up your wound. You rotate your left arm in circles; besides an uncomfortable twinge, it works fine. 

“So, what do we do with her body?” you ask.

“We’ll come back. We need to find the other three first.”

“Three? I thought there were four.” You try to do the math in your head. Bucky had said there five super soldiers, and you had just defeated one, meaning there were four left—

“Three,” Natasha repeats and you look at her in confusion. “Mine’s outside.” Unlike you, there wasn’t a single scratch on her. Together, you leave the room and find a man slumped on the floor, a mask on his face.

“When did this happen?” you ask.

Natasha shrugs, but you can tell she’s extremely proud of herself. “When you were busy dealing with that little girl.”

“Excuse me. According to her, her target was Thor,” you say. “So, I just took out the soldier who was supposed to take down the god of thunder.”

“Yeah, you can keep telling yourself that.” Natasha nudges you playfully.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, are you two okay?” Steve asks in your earpiece.

“We disabled two soldiers on the second floor,” Natasha responds.

“Perfect. We got two down here as well.”

“Who did you take out?” Clint asks.

“This tiny woman and a guy,” you answer.

“How big was the guy?” Bucky asks.

“Maybe around your size?” you estimate, staring down at the soldier Natasha subdued.

“Okay, because the two we took out were also average-sized dudes. The last one—I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this—he’s an absolute beast. I think he’s almost seven-feet tall and could bench press a plane with one hand,” Bucky says.

“So whoever takes him out wins,” you say. Between you and Natasha, you were certain you could win any fight.

“You’re on,” Clint says.

Natasha and you leave the soldiers where they lay and search the rest of the floor. This time, you take the lead, a little more cautious since you know what to expect. You head up to the third floor, expecting the last soldier to jump out at any moment. The tension of waiting to find him is almost unbearable and your muscles ache from being coiled so tightly.

“You guys find him yet?” Natasha asks through the earpieces.

“Negative.”

Suddenly, a moving shadow catches your eye and you throw out your arm to stop Natasha. A man steps out from around the corner and Bucky wasn’t lying about his size. He’s so tall the top of his head disappears behind the ceiling beams and he looks like he would sweep any bodybuilding competition he entered.

“Never mind, we found him. Third floor,” Natasha mumbles.

“Don’t engage him alone.” That’s Steve’s voice. “Try to stall—”

“Too late” you want to say as the man charges towards you. There is no way you two are taking him down without the use of any weapons; plus, you don’t have any more masks to use. But if you punched or kicked him, you wouldn’t be able to reach his face without catching airtime. You run backwards, fumbling with your options. An idea pops into your head.

“Maybe he has a safe word, too,” you say, crashing into Natasha and shoving her back. “Lizzie! Karen!” you scream the first names that come to you. “It could be a guy’s name—can’t assume anything, right? Chris! Tom! Mark!” The names have no effect other than making you look like an idiot.

“Shut up, Y/N—” Natasha hisses.

The man roars and reaches out, grabbing a fistful of your shirt. He throws you like a javelin and you can’t believe how far you fly, landing on your stomach and skidding another 30 feet.

Natasha tries engaging him, and although she’s faster than him, any punch or kick she lands goes completely unnoticed by him. The man flings her aside like a sack of flour and comes towards you.

You reach for your gun, but before you can bring it up, he kicks it out of your hand and stomps on it. The barrel literally flattens before your eyes, and you roll onto your back to face him. He lifts his foot, which is easily as big as your calf, and brings it down on your right knee.

CRUNCH.

The pain of your leg snapping in half is so blinding and nauseating you don’t even scream. It feels like someone is holding a blow torch to your bones and your entire body starts trembling in shock. The man scoops you up with an arm leveraged underneath your chin, and once you’re upright, you feel the lower half of your right leg dangling like a broken branch.

He lifts you high enough so your feet don’t touch the floor, leaving you scrabbling at his arm and choking on your saliva. Your vision flashes white and you feel the overwhelming urge to vomit as he spins you around to face Natasha.

She has her gun out, pointed at his head. “Put Y/N down,” she orders.

“And what if I don’t?” the man says in a voice that sounds like it came from the depths of the ocean. “You think you can shoot me before I can break a neck?” He squeezes you harder and you whimper.

Natasha pauses to think, and her eyes dart to the side before looking back at the man. “Okay, okay.” She sets her gun on the floor and raises her hands. “Just please don’t—”

“Kick it towards me.” The man crushes your windpipe like a straw and your eyes water.

Natasha reaches out with her foot and sends the gun spinning towards you and your captor. Suddenly, the man tosses you away and when you crumple on your broken leg, you swear you see purgatory. 

“Get on your knees,” the man tells Natasha. She doesn’t obey. “I said, get on your knees!” Very slowly, with a defiant look on her face, she drops to her knees one at a time. The man picks up her gun and holds it in front of her face. “I’ve been waiting years to finally meet you, Agent Romanoff.”

“Well, sorry for not coming around sooner.”

“My comrades may not have been successful in eliminating their targets, but I don’t fail,” the man says.

Natasha looks away from him to you. “I love you,” she calls, as casually as if you two were lounging on the couch watching a movie together.

You blink away tears to make eye contact with her. You can’t move, you have no weapons, and he has a gun pointed at her head. The complete helplessness you feel hurts more than your broken leg, more than Bucky’s gunshots had, more than any pain you’ve ever felt before. There’s a thousand things you want to tell her, but you only have time to say one.

“I love you t—”

But there isn’t even enough time for you to finish your sentence, because suddenly Natasha’s face is covered in blood.

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

Click here for Part 5!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #black widow fanfiction #black widow #marvel

[jamiewintons]

The Right Decision (Helmut Zemo/F!Reader)

Summary: You're Bucky's great-niece, the only family he has left. Of course you could never tell him that you've fallen head over heels for Zemo, but no secret can last forever...

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Soft!Zemo, secret relationship being revealed, swearing, angry Bucky, post TFATWS, Bucky calls you ‘kid’ but that’s just because he’s elderly and everyone is a kid to him.

A/N: This fic is based on a request I received from an anon!

(I changed a few things, though)

I ended up making the reader Bucky’s great-niece who sees him as a big brother, simply because of the timeframe. I hope that’s alright! Also, it’s set in a post TFATWS scenario where Zemo is living with Sam and Bucky on house arrest, on the condition that he behaves and assists them with missions. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1596

Follow the link on my blog to find this fic on AO3. See the pinned post on my blog if you want to be added to the tag list!

Taglist: @zemosimp420, @whhothehellisbucky, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @call-me-a-fool, @sabinemorans​, @sapphiredreamer26, @joyandpride, @zombiedixon89, @chokemebuckydaddy, @enby-zemo-simp, @i-neverasktwice, @neoarchipelago, @marvel-imagines-yes-please, @baronesszemoo, @saturdaynightzemo​, @aisling1985

(If your url is crossed out, that meant the tag wouldn’t work, sorry! Please make sure you have “allow this blog to appear in search results” in your settings turned on!!)

***

It may have sounded completely crazy, but you felt safer than you ever had wrapped in Zemo’s arms.

You knew it was wrong to feel this way about someone who’d done so many awful things, some of them to your own flesh and blood, but you hadn’t been able to help yourself from falling for him. Ever since you’d come to visit that first time he had been nothing but a gentleman to you.

Of course you couldn’t let anyone know what was going on between you and Zemo, especially Bucky. He was the only family you had left, and visa-versa. Though he was technically your great-uncle, the brother of your grandmother, due to his physical youth you’d come to see him as the big brother you’d never had. He’d never said anything of the sort, but you knew that he saw a lot of his beloved little sister in you. And like any good big brother, he wouldn’t want his sister dating a criminal.

Regardless, it had happened. You had fallen for Zemo, hard. So the two of you had to make the most of the rare moments you had alone, when Sam and Bucky weren’t around to see you together. Zemo was an early riser and so were you, so you would often find yourself snuggled up together on the couch while Sam and Bucky still slept soundly in their beds. 

“Are you comfortable, liebling?” Zemo asked in a whisper, looking down at you with a fond smile on his lips. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he had an arm around your waist to keep you close to him. 

“Very,” you replied, just as quietly, as you closed your eyes and appreciated the warmth that always seemed to radiate from him, along with the wonderful scent of his surely expensive cologne. You sighed. “It’s a shame we’ll have to go back to pretending once Sam and Bucky wake up…”

Zemo sighed as well, dipping down briefly to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yes. But every moment we spend together is more than worth it, meine Schatzi.”

That was true, but it still hurt. You’d never loved anyone as much as you loved Zemo, not by a long shot. All you wanted was to be able to just say screw it, tell Sam and Bucky what was going on, damn the consequences, but that just wasn't something you could do. You could imagine the expression that would be on Bucky’s face if he found out, the anger and the disappointment. But keeping things secret also meant there wasn’t any real way for the relationship to progress much further, and you knew that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with this man.

What was there to do?

Before you could stop them, there were tears running down your face. Zemo looked at you with soft eyes, pulling you onto his lap so he could hold you to his chest. “Shh, Schatzi, everything will be okay…”

You sobbed against him for who knows how long, your tears leaving marks on his sweater, though Zemo didn’t seem to care. He stroked your hair softly, every so often whispering little reassurances in your ear.

Even Zemo had been so distracted that he hadn’t heard the footsteps of someone descending the stairs and entering the living room. Like you, he only realised that the two of you were no longer alone when a familiar voice shouted.

In your already vulnerable state, your tears only began to flow faster when you noticed who exactly it was who had caught you.

“What the hell did you do to her?!” Bucky snapped, pointing at Zemo threateningly with a vibranium finger.

“James, please, I have done nothing to harm her,” Zemo said, his tone as cool and calm as ever. He didn’t want this to turn into a screaming match, knowing how much that would pain you.

Bucky scoffed, looking at you, being held in the lap of a known criminal mastermind while you sobbed your heart out. “You’re going back to prison.”

Only a few moments later, a new presence made itself known in the living room. “Hey, some of us were still trying to sleep, could you maybe keep it down?” Sam said, walking through the door, still clad in pyjamas. His tired demeanour seemed to completely change when he noticed the position you and Zemo were in, his eyes widening. “Okay, what the hell?”

Your sobs became louder, unable to be muffled by the fabric of Zemo’s sweater. He continued to caress your hair in an effort to calm you, but it didn’t seem to be working this time. “Can you not see that your shouting is only upsetting her? Perhaps it would be wise for you to stop.”

Bucky’s jaw was clenched, and he glared at Zemo like he could kill him with a single look. He took a few steps towards the couch. “Just when I was starting to trust you, you go and pull this shit. You’re going back to The Raft.”

You finally spoke up, for the first time since Bucky had stepped into the room. Your voice was shaky and weak, owing to all the crying. “Bucky, n-no…”

“What?”

“H-he didn’t hurt me, please don’t send him away…” you choked out, and you felt Zemo’s hands cup your face, gently lifting your head up from where it was pressing into his chest. He wiped away some of the tears that had fallen, not willing to neglect you even in these circumstances. “I love him…”

“Holy shit,” Sam whispered.

Bucky’s eyebrows were furrowed as he shook his head, unable – or unwilling – to comprehend what you were talking about. “No. No way.”

“I-it’s true, Bucky… I really do love him…” You stood up from where you’d been sitting on Zemo’s lap, turning to face Bucky. Your lip quivered as you looked at him, with a tear-stained face and red eyes. “Please… we didn’t mean for this to happen, but—”

“This,” Bucky gestured between you and Zemo, ignoring your pleas, “isn’t going to continue. If Y/N can’t make the right choices, I’ll just have to make them for her. Zemo’s going back to jail. That’s final.”

Zemo stood up from his spot on the couch, moving to stand between you and Bucky. “Y/N is a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but this is no longer the 1940’s, James. She doesn’t require your permission to live her life the way she chooses.”

Bucky stepped closer to Zemo again, looking just about ready to rip his throat out. “You know what, Zemo—”

“I hate to say it, Buck, but Zemo’s right.” Sam’s words stopped Bucky before he was able to make a move against Zemo. He turned around, staring at his partner harshly. “Y/N is an adult, and she has the right to make her own choices, even if we don’t understand them.”

“Thank y—” Zemo started to say, but he also found himself cut off by Sam.

“Don’t start, Zemo. I’m not a fan of whatever it is that you two have going on, but it’s not our place to tell Y/N who she can and can’t date.” Sam turned his attention to Bucky. “And you can’t just send Zemo to prison for kissing your niece, especially when he’s been a big asset on our missions.”

Bucky was silent, though his suspicious eyes still lingered on Zemo. You took this moment to approach him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Bucky, please…” You pleaded, Bucky still hadn’t responded to or reciprocated your hug. You took it as a good sign that he hadn’t pushed you away, however. “I know you don’t like Helmut, but he treats me really well and he makes me so happy… please, I couldn’t bear it if you hate me…”

“Of course I don’t hate you, Y/N,” Bucky told you, and you felt his arms gently wrap around you. You sighed in relief, tears welling up in your eyes once more. “You’re all I’ve got left. I just want to keep you from getting hurt.”

“I really appreciate that, but I know I’ve made the right decision.” You lifted your head to look him in the eyes, giving him a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Uncle Bucky.”

“No problem, kid,” he replied, patting you on the head rather awkwardly. He then looked over to Zemo. “I’m not gonna send you back to prison. Yet.” You knew that Bucky was probably never going to be happy with you dating Zemo, but it meant a lot to you that he was going to respect your decision to be with him.

“Much appreciated, James.”

You walked back towards Zemo, and as soon as he could reach you, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss. Your face burned in embarrassment at doing this when Sam and Bucky could see, buy you certainly didn’t push him away.

“Hey! Don’t push it!” Bucky said loudly.

“Apologies,” Zemo replied once you’d pulled away, but if the smirk on his face was any indication, he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. He looked to you, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Now that everything is sorted, I think I will go and prepare breakfast.”

“Sounds good.”

Before Zemo could get to close to the kitchen, Bucky grabbed him by the arm and whispered to him harshly. “You break her heart; I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.”

“I would expect nothing less, James.”

#helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo imagine #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo fluff #baron zemo imagine #baron zemo fanfiction #baron zemo fluff #zemo imagine #zemo fanfiction #tfatws imagine #mcu imagine #helmut zemo angst #zemo angst #baron zemo angst #i don't think i like this ahaha #but i'm posting it before i hate it #mari's stuff

[ev-pierce-writes]

Quantum Entanglement

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 6.4k (oops)

Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)

Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.

Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.

AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.

---

There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.

As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.

So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.

He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.

And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.

"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.

You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."

"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.

"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."

Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."

"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.

"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.

Steve nodded. "Just moved here."

"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."

You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.

So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.

The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.

Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.

Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.

"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."

You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.

"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."

"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."

"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."

You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.

"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.

But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.

When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.

As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.

Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.

"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."

"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."

You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.

"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."

He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.

"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."

Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"

Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."

He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.

"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."

Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.

Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.

"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.

You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"

Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.

"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."

You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"

The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?

But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.

It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.

And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.

But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.

It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.

At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.

"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"

"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"

The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.

You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?

"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"

Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.

You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.

"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"

Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.

"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.

"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.

"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.

You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.

He waited for your instruction.

"Undress me."

He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.

Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.

"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.

"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"

There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."

You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.

You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."

Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.

"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."

Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.

"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.

"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.

Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.

Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.

"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."

"No, definitely not."

"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."

"Where?" he teased.

"Everywhere, big man."

Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.

Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.

Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.

"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.

He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.

And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.

Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.

"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"

"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."

"Kiss me, Steve."

"Yes, ma'am."

He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.

You gasped. "Oh, God."

Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.

"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.

"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.

You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."

"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.

"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"

"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."

Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."

"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.

"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."

The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.

But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.

"Tell me what you need, darling."

"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."

Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.

"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."

You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.

When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.

He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.

#steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers smut #captain america smut #steve rogers smut #simping for steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction

[loserholland]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 | 𝐁.𝐁

Pairing ➺ Modern!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warning ➺ Nothing but fluff

Word Count ➺ 2.9k

Summary ➺ In which you discover Bucky’s love language.

A/N ➺ Based off a dream I had a couple nights ago, I’ve been trying to shift for the past ten months but I’m pretty sure that dream could’ve been me lucid dreaming? This is the full version- the previous version I posted was only half because I was afraid it wouldn’t do so well- BUT here we are! Enjoy! Comments and feedback appreciated <3

✿ 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ✿ - @loveyathreethousand @killerqueen-gunpowdergelatine @spideyyypeter @lou-la-lou​@babebenhardy @rivervixenbaby @acklesholland @zabdisamor @keepingupwiththehollands @sweet666pea @sspider-parker @jackiehollanderr @caro0512 @thewinchesterchronicles @cporter003 @kisses-holland @spideysnugget @cryszus @sunflowerharrystyles @peterunderoos @ohbabycal @laucontrerasv​ @spider-mendes​ @jessybellsworld​ @quaksonhehe​

☞  Masterlist  ☜

There are five different types of love languages:

Words of affirmation; Encourage, affirm, appreciate, empathize. Listen Actively.

Physical Touch; Non-verbal- use body language and touch to express love.

Receiving Gifts; Thoughtfulness, make your spouse a priority, speak purposefully.

Quality time; Uninterrupted and focused conversations. One-on-one time is critical.

Acts of Service; Use action phrases like “I’ll help..”. They want to know you’re with them, partnered with them.

Bucky’s love language was physical touch. Any chance he got, he’d have his hands on you, tracing random patterns on your arm, his face nuzzled into your neck, tracing the lines on your palm. Dragging you back to bed when you’re about to get your day started peppering kisses all over your face in protest.

Some people may see it as clingy but (Y/N) never saw it as that, she loved when Bucky showered her with love- he didn’t need to say anything when he’d come into her room from a long day at work, his eyes focused on his feet.

The sound of their bedroom door slowly creaking open caught her attention, she knew who it was. Slowly moved over to the other side of the bed, pulling back the duvet covers allowing the man to join her. Once he slipped under the covers he engulfed her into a hug, burying his face in her neck.

She ran her hand up and down his back soothingly the other tangled in his damp hair, he began to relax his shoulders more as she continued to massage his scalp.

They would lay like this till tell fell asleep, the next morning however Bucky wouldn’t want to let her go claiming she was too warm and huggable.

“Bucky honey? Ready to go?”

They were currently in California for her younger brother’s wedding. The last time they were in California it was for Christmas and, that’s when you had first introduced your family to Bucky.

“Do I look okay?” Bucky asked for what felt like the hundredth time, smoothing his hands over his pants.

(Y/N) cupped his cheeks pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, “You look handsome, as always Bucky. They’re gonna love you as much as I love you.” the door to your childhood home swung open revealing your mother. Bucky’s right hand immediately intwined with your left giving his a small squeeze.

“(Y/N/N)! Come in, come in! And oh! You must be James, she talks nonstop about you!”

“Mom!” (Y/N) whispered causing Bucky to chuckle loudly lifting his left hand for her mother to shake, “All good things I hope.” her mother laughed in return, “Oh none of that let me give you a hug!” You stifled back a laugh at your mother’s sudden action,

Bucky leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom raising his brows slightly, “Doll, I’ve been ready. You’re the one that’s still in the bathroom.” She lifted her gaze to the mirror a playful smirk painting her lips.

“Well, I wanted to get the day started but you pulled me back to bed.” Bucky pushed himself off the doorframe walking over to wrap his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Fine fine, we’re both at fault.” Bucky murmured kissing the base of your neck all the way up to your cheek, he spun you around moving his hands from your waist the the counter top caging you in.

He dipped his head down capturing your cherry stained lips it was easy to get lost in the moment when he had you like this, “Bucky.” he hummed against your lips moving his hands from the counter to cup her cheeks.

(Y/N) placed her hands onto his chest pushing him back slightly “If you keep kissing me-” he hummed again not budging from his spot “we won’t leave this bathroom.” she pulled away admiring his red stained lips.

“C’mon loverboy, I want to beat to the crowd.”

Loverboy

A nickname Sam one of Bucky’s friends from college had given him.

Sam watched as Bucky walked into the kitchen heading straight for the medicine cabinet taking out some painkillers and a warm compress. They were suppose to be heading out for a boys night but your cramps were killing you and even if you assured Bucky you’d be fine he didn’t budge.

He snickered to himself knowing exactly who they were for, he had told Steve many times that you had him wrapped around your finger and that anytime you enter the room he turned into a lovesick puppy.

“What do you have to say Sam?”

His back was still faced away watching as the keurig filled the mug up with hot water, he reached for the tea packets besides the k-pods tearing the packet open.

“Oh loverboy, you’re down bad there’s a word that Peter uses- pimp? No that’s not right, something imp-”

Bucky snorted as he placed the teabag into the mug, “An imp is a mischievous person.” Sam snapped his fingers, “Simp! That’s what they’re using now days.” Bucky glared tossing the teabag that sat in the mug long enough, “I don’t care what vocabulary Peter uses. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to tend to loving girlfriend. See yourself out!”

Sam chuckled loudly before shouting, “Whatever you say loverboy!”

He entered back into your shared bedroom placing all the items onto the night stand, slipping under the covers so he can hold you in his arms. He sat up right against the headboard allowing (Y/N) to rest against his chest, “Bucky, you can go if you want I’ll be fine.” you mumbled a slight pang of guilt filled your chest.

“Doll, I’d rather be here with you. I see them at work everyday- now let me take care of you okay?”

“I love you.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead, “I love you too.”

The two wandered the women’s section dresses catching (Y/N) eyes as she tugged her boyfriend to follow, he didn’t mind shopping with her all too much because he’d encourage her to get literally everything she laid eyes on. She pushed off buying a dress for the wedding and of course waited till the day before.

“What about this one?”

She picked up the beautiful blue midi dress, perfect for the spring weather. She turned around lifting the dress next to Bucky’s cheeks, he raised his brow in confusion “Hm, I’m getting this one- reminds me of your beautiful eyes.” tugging his hands once again she looked for one more dress, Bucky’s cheeks were tinted a bright red.

(Y/N) loved seeing him flustered and left well speechless, “Doll you’re such a tease sometimes.” she stopped in her tracks turning around on her standing on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“And you love it.”

She was rushing yet again to get ready due to Bucky not wanting her to leave mumbling five more minutes which turned into thirty. When they were in the shower Bucky wouldn’t let her leave, holding the two under the running water ignoring her protest before the sound of her mother knocking on the bathroom door caused them to get out.

“(Y/N)! Where’s James! Oh there he is-” Bucky sat on the bathroom counter top giving her mother a warm smile “(Y/N/N) hurry it up! We need to beat traffic, we need to be there first!”

Bucky chuckled, “It’s also like this in New York, we’re always the last to arrive any gathering.” she glared at her boyfriend playfully setting her curler down to slap his thigh.

“Five minutes!” her mother turned on her heels exiting her daughter’s old bedroom, she stuck her tongue out at her boyfriend “You were suppose to disagree.” he grabbed your forearm tugging you between his legs, “Not when it’s true.” she stuck her tongue out again trying to move away from his legs. Placing both hands on her cheeks he squished it lightly pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” he moved his hands to her waist capturing her lips, she placed her hand on his chest pushing back slightly to break the kiss. She waved her pointer finger from side to side, “Hm, now we both know you’re the reason why we’re always late.” He smirked lightly hoping on the counter slapping her ass with his metal arm playfully, watching as her mouth fell into an “O”.

“C’mon (Y/N/N) we don’t wanna be late.”

On their way to the ceremony (Y/N) and Bucky took the backseat while her mother and father took the front, every so often her mother would look into the review mirror noticing the two were fast asleep. Bucky had reclined the seat a little to allow her to rest her head on his chest, their entwined hands resting on his lap.

She smiled remembering the first time (Y/N) had called and told her about Bucky at first everything she said she thought it was too good to be true. Yet when she finally met him last Christmas, she saw how good he was to her and how much he loved her.

Bucky felt too nervous not wanting to leave your side even though your family welcomed him with open arms- many open arms to the point where you had to pull him away from your aunt Irene.

“I-Okay Aunt Irene, what about me where’s my hug?” you freed Bucky from the hug, awkwardly hugging your aunt who instead wanted to hug your boyfriend “Oh he’s a keeper (Y/N/N), look at that hunk of meat.” you chuckled awkwardly pulling away from the hug to stand next to your “hunk of meat” again.

Bucky slowly began to mingle, talking to your cousins, uncles, your brother and father, and even attempted to play with your niece and nephew. But from time to time he’d go back to your side holding your hand or wrapping his arms around your waist.

That’s when she saw it, usually most of (Y/N)’s cousins husbands/boyfriends would rather talk with the other men about sports and wouldn’t check up on their wives/girlfriends yet- here was Bucky coming back to your side any chance he got.

“Hey sleepyhead, we’re here.”

Your hand reached up to rub your eyes, Bucky caught it before you could ruin your mascara “Your makeup.” he mumbled causing you to blink a few times adjusting to the bright light shining through the window. Bucky opened the car door stepping out first then helping you out allowing you to stretch your muscles.

He lifted his hand to your hair fixing the pieces that looked out of place smoothing it down slightly, it’s the little things like this that made her think you’re for sure gonna marry this man.

“As beautiful as ever.”

(Y/N) smiled tugging at his tie to meet her halfway placing a sweet kiss on his lips, “Thank you, and I must say you look quite handsome as always. I should get you to wear more suits.” intwining your left hand with his right you two walked onto the beach seating next to your parents in the front row on the grooms side.

“Uncle Bucky!”  

The four year old jumped onto Bucky’s lap, “Hey there’s the little princess!” (Y/N) smiled leaning her head onto Bucky’s shoulder, “No hi for your favorite aunt?” the four year old grinned from ear to ear “Hi Aunty (Y/N/N), do you like my dress?” her tiny fingers tugged at the hem of the dress almost the same colors as yours.

“Oh it’s lovely Arya, I must say we have the same taste.” she watched her niece nod moving her attention to play with Bucky, the two whispering and giggling. “He’s gonna be a great dad someday.” your mother whispered loud enough only for you two to hear.

The first time Arya had met Bucky she didn’t want to let you leave with him claiming that Bucky was now her boyfriend, it always made (Y/N) smile anytime Bucky interacted with her niece and nephew. 

Your older brother and his family had recently visited you two last month, an Arya had already planned on spending the day with her Uncle Bucky saying that they had a date but (Y/N) was welcome to join the two. You always knew that Bucky would be a great dad, but that day confirmed you were willing to have a whole football team. 

“Yeah, he’s gonna be the best.”

Arya hopped off his lap moving to go meet her mother so she could toss the flowers down the aisle.

Entwining her left hand with his right she gave it a little squeeze, Bucky lifted their hands kissing the back of her hand “Something wrong?” (Y/N) shook her head placing their hands onto her lap. 

“No-” she brushed her thumb against the back of his hand “I love you.” Bucky leaned forward kissing his beautiful girlfriend.

“I love you too.”

Moments like this.

After the ceremony came the reception, your feet were killing you in these heels Natasha and Wanda basically pressured you into purchasing. You were eager to sit after standing for many photos, you sighed in relief wanting to undo the straps and go barefoot for the rest of the night.

Bucky too his seat next to you moving his chair a few inches away from you, “Why are you so f-” he lifted both your legs placing your feet onto his lap unstrapping the buckle of your heels before slipping it off.

Slumping against the door she let out a loud sigh, dropping her bag and kicking her heels off. It was another long day at work an all she wanted was to be in the arms of her boyfriend. “Hey doll! In the kitchen!” she padded over to the kitchen smiling at the sight in front of her, she sat on one of their bar stools.

“Hm- I can get use to this.” 

Bucky turned around pointing his index finger at the apron, “Kiss the cook.” you snickered you had gotten that for him as a joke at first after he had complained about the oil splashing and staining his shirts.

“My feet are in too much pain to walk.”

He walked over seating in the free seat next to you grabbing your legs to place onto his thighs, you leaned forward kissing his plump pink lips the taste of red wine lingered on his lips causing you to hum. A low groan left your lips the moment he began to massage your feet.

“Oh I love you so much I hope you know that.” he gave her a cheeky smile both his hands massaging your slightly swollen ankles, no more heels for a long while.

Before dinner was served Bucky excused himself to the bathroom, that was nearly fifteen minutes ago. Excusing herself she wandered the halls searching for her boyfriend, “Aunty (Y/N/N)! Can you help me? I think I dropped Shanna!” Shanna was the name of her plush doll Bucky had given her before she had gone back to California, your brother would send pictures of Arya with the doll. She brought it everywhere. 

The sun was beginning to set which would make it quite easy to find her doll, the four year old dragged her aunt towards the exit ushering her to pick up the pace. 

“Arya- bub can we slow down? Let me remo-” 

“I got it!” she waved the plush in the air, dusting the sand off before giving it a big hug. (Y/N) sighed, “That was easier than I thought.” Arya skipped towards her aunt stopping right in front of her “Last one back is a rotten egg.” turning on her heels she nearly ran into Bucky.

“Hi.” 

The golden sun kissed his skin, he truly looked like a god standing there. (Y/N) walked towards him wrapping her arms around his neck, “I’ve been looking for you.” A cool sea breeze kissed their skin, she fluttered her eyes shut enjoying the moment “We need to visit more often.” she looked up at Bucky resting her chin against his chest. They stood there for a few more minutes savoring the moment, the only sound of the waves washing ashore echoing through the quiet beach.

“C’mon lets head in.” 

She pulled away from Bucky tilting her head to the side noticing her family was standing at the entrance, “Oh- they must be wai-” her eyes widened as she watched her boyfriend get down on knee. 

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), it has been an amazing four years knowing you. You’re not only my girlfriend but my best friend. I can’t believe it took me nearly three years to ask you out, three years! I owe thanks to Sam everyday for introducing me to you, don’t let him know I said that-”

(Y/N) giggled ignoring the tears staining her cheeks, she could care less if her makeup was running.

“I’ve been planning this for the last four months, I want to thank your parents for giving me their blessing to do this. Four months into our relationship, I knew I was going to ask you to marry me one day and well now here we are. Also- your brother doesn’t mind that we’re kinda stealing his spotlight.”

“There better be an open bar at the wedding!” your brother shouted lifting his glass of champagne.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you creating beautiful unforgettable memories. With that being said-”

Arya rushed over holding out a red velvet box, “Will you-” before he could even open the box she tackled him into a hug. “Yes! A million times left!” she cupped his cheeks kissing her fiancé. He pulled away briefly opening the box to reveal a beautiful emerald cut ring, slipping it onto her ring finger.

“I love you.” 

She kissed him once more pressing her forehead against his.

“I love you too.”

#james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut

[thranduilsperkybutt]

Killer

Gif sources:  1  |  2  |  3

Pairings:  Baron Helmut Zemo/Reader

Warnings:  TFATWS Spoilers! Hurt/comfort, slight angst but hopeful ending, a little bit of spice 🤏 but it’s still solidly SFW and mostly near the end; insignificant character death; canon violence; Zemo being a menace not only to my heart but my mental health

Word Count:  11,932 words

Reader Gender:  Female

Author: Meg

Summary:  While tracking the Flag Smashers across Europe alongside Sam and Bucky, you suddenly find yourself in need of a hero. The man who comes to your rescue, however, is the villain of too many people’s stories to ever be mistaken for one. The lines between what is and what should be become blurrier, making it too easy to forget that you aren’t supposed to like Baron Helmut Zemo at all.

A/N:  Based on a simple sentence my friend said in the middle of us both simping over Zemo together, which inspired a novel lolol 😂 Whoops! Sorry I’m so long-winded, but I hope you guys like this anyway!

Oh, this was not good.

So very, very not good.

A twisting grip on your arm, pain shooting up your shoulder and from the side where the knee of the supersoldier atop you digs into the flesh of your hip, pinning you down. Cement bites into your cheek like a taunt of the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into when he slams you into the ground. Wind knocked out of you, you feel the painful strain in your joints, and know that if your arm is pushed too much further at this sharp angle, it’s likely your shoulder will come out of socket.

A whimpered yelp that you can’t bite down escapes just as the supersoldier’s grip tightens when you struggle beneath him, desperate panic lacing your blood as you realize you can’t escape his grip. You remember the sight of the back of Sam and Bucky’s heads when they went off towards the east side of this warehouse, and for a brief moment you wonder if that’s the last you’ll see of them. Splitting up had been the last thing you wanted to do, but the maze of this place made it a necessity if you were to do the thorough sweep of the area for the group of Flag Smashers rumored to be taking shelter here.

Well, you found them, alright.

Why did you have to be the one to get stuck searching the west side with Zemo?

The reluctance you’d displayed when Sam initially split you up with Zemo wasn’t exactly one-hundred percent truthful, though, was it? God, maybe it made you stupid and foolish, but a secret, cursed part of your stomach had flipped with nervous anticipation at the thought of being entirely alone with him. Something which had only been accomplished briefly over these past few days of tracking the Smashers all over Europe.

A subtle glance in Zemo’s direction had revealed no such similar reaction on his part, his stare meeting yours. Distant and unreadable, is what he was.

Except for when he wasn’t. Distant, that is.

Except for when he treated you with a modicum of civility. No, you couldn’t even fool yourself into believing it was simple civility, or even whatever traditional ingrained gentlemanliness that a Baron of Sokovia would have been taught in his youth.

Zemo had treated you with something more than that, especially when no one else was looking.

Sometimes, even if they were, and you still hadn’t decided if that dangerous toeing of the line between animosity and flirtation was a manufactured tactic to manipulate you or not. Uncertain if you should be offended that Zemo figured you the weakest link of your companions, or if, in the case that his interest was genuine… it wasn’t, so no use dwelling on what you would do in that case.

What you should do, when he set upon you with that look in his eye, like he knew something about you that you didn’t.

Like at the end of Sam’s introductory speech detailing the plan of the warehouse sweep, where that lingering glance in Zemo’s direction had ended with a slight curve of his lips upwards. Looking bizarrely satisfied with the announcement of Sam’s plan, and you couldn’t tell if it was at the thought of hunting supersoldiers, or the strange, treacherous feeling swimming in your own gut--- that Zemo’s pleasure was even minimally at the truth of another opportunity to have you, all to himself.

It had been enough to make you tear your eyes away, but not enough to get his lingering stare to stop itching the back of your neck. Enough to make Bucky raise a brow at you, a wary look in his eyes as he observed the one member of your party who seemed at all pleased with the fact that you were all likely heading into a fight, or worse, nothing at all, in mere moments. A warning simmered in blue, Bucky’s unspoken, “be careful,” resting on the solemn line of his frown.

You’d been told it enough in the past few days, to be careful of Zemo. Terrorist, criminal, killer--- a portion of the words they’d used to describe Zemo.

At first, you were acutely aware of the warnings you’d been given, of the story they’d told you. The same one you’d heard pieces of from different sources. What had happened in Bucharest was national news, but to think that the man who had sat across from you on his private plane, tension thick in the air while a smile rested on his own lips, had been responsible… it had churned your stomach at first. Sitting there in his finery, attended by a footman, he seemed a strange visual for the description that predated your formal introduction to him.

And you had excused yourself to the bathroom, if only to escape the feeling. The animosity of Bucky’s conversation and the tension in Sam’s shoulders, the weight of curious eyes, which always seemed to glance back towards you.

He was unnerving, if only because of how peculiarly normal he seemed in certain moments. Approachable. Amiable, even. A predator’s façade, meant for you to wonder if he had truly been the kind of man capable of terrorizing Bucharest and your friends the way he had.

Which was how he looked at you, just like a predator sizing up new prey.

The quaint jet washroom could not be your solace forever, and you were inevitably forced to emerge, or face the embarrassment of worrying your companions with an abnormally long bathroom break. When you emerged, however, you found the murmured conversation to be of a slightly lighter tone, and soon discovered the reason for it when you nearly walked straight into the chest of the man you’d gone to the restroom to escape.

“Apologies,” he had said, as if you were not the one who almost ran straight into him, amusement dancing in his eyes as his body easily blocked the narrow aisle towards where Sam and Bucky sat further in. They’d not yet noticed your emergence from the restroom, and your hoped your quick glance towards them had not looked too desperate. Torn back to Zemo with the startling shock that he would even offer, “Would you enjoy a drink? I was just on my way to get a refill, you see,” he raised the short glass in his hand, ice clinking, empty otherwise. Your pause was pregnant enough that he eventually teased, “I promise not to poison you, if that is your concern, my dear.”

“No, thank you,” had been your curt answer, pushing down the heat that threatened to burn your cheeks at his familiarity with you when you attempted to move around him, forced by the narrow aisle to graze his chest with yours in order to return to the attention of your companions, ignoring the additional attention which had followed you from the aisle.

The outfit you discovered he had chosen for you upon landing on the outskirts of Madripoor was… just another reason to dislike him. The one relief was that it was comfortable enough to fight or run in, if need be, but nothing about it was sensible in the least. What the outfit lacked in cleavage, it made up for in its form-fitting style, leaving little to the imagination otherwise. You felt as if every inch was on display for the perusal of whoever simply cast their eyes upon you, regardless of how you would tug and pull at the fabric in an attempt to make certain areas less focal.

And then there was what he’d said about it, humming appreciatively when you emerged from the jet just after Bucky and Sam to be offered a hand by Zemo at the last step, if only to scrutinize you in this ridiculous outfit as you equally scrutinized him, donned in a fur-trimmed jacket that you reluctantly had to admit made him look… handsome, “Good. In that, you shall make a believable lover.”

You’d almost tripped that last step at his words, despite the firm grip keeping you upright, eyes wide as you heard Bucky choke on his own spit before collecting himself.

Zemo paused long enough that you think he simply enjoyed watching whatever conclusions you were jumping to flash upon your face until he clarified, just as you opened your mouth to demand an explanation, wishing there was some way to wipe the smirk from his lips, “Not my lover, of course,” a gesture towards Sam, “but that of our friend, the Smiling Tiger.” His smirk broke out into a proper grin as you snatched your hand from his, realizing your form complimented Sam’s own ridiculous outfit, as Zemo addressed him, “The source of your alias is known for philandering various women. Seeing the Smiling Tiger with another woman has become somewhat expected.”

“He takes different women with him, even to do business?” Sam raised a brow.

Zemo chuckled slightly, “Certainly not.”

“What am I supposed to be doing tonight if I’m not going to meet the contact with the rest of you?” jutting your chin out, you cross your arms over your chest, if only to attempt to appear as if Zemo didn’t utterly disarm you with the slip of his attention back to you, “I’m not here to stand around and look pretty, you know.”

“Although I’m certain you would excel at that,” Zemo had purred, your poker face almost breaking under the shock of his forwardness, wondering if he simply enjoyed toying with you--- if perhaps you were an easier read than you thought, “Madripoor is full of dangers, but no one would dare bother a woman who belonged to the Smiling Tiger. It is typically assumed that these women pose no threat in and of themselves, considering his habit of picking shallow, frivolous women who rarely realize they are not the only of their kind in his orbit. This assumption will offer you the perfect position to scout the outskirts of our interaction for anyone unsavory, who might try and interrupt us during our business tonight.” He reached out, pushing your hair from your shoulder, and you took effort not to flinch back at the ghost of a touch on your bare skin, “While you will undoubtedly draw the eyes of many, none who are searching for a potential threat will linger on you long.” Zemo’s teeth flashed with his smile, his hand returning to his side, delving into the pocket of his coat leisurely when he shrugged, “You are simply another beautiful woman on the arm of a dangerous man tonight. That is nothing new in Madripoor.”

“And just how loving is Smiling Tiger with his girlfriends?” Sam huffs, and you wondered if the apologetic look he cast your way was for Zemo’s behavior, or what would undoubtedly be his own tonight.

Striding forward towards the waiting car, Zemo glanced over his shoulder as he passed your companion, “Very. You might want to warm up to each other rather quickly, if that is to be an issue.”

But you’d done worse undercover before, and a night of flirting on the arm of Sam Wilson was the least of your worries, so you mimicked the shrug Zemo had given you, and fell into step beside Sam, “No problem.”

Sam nodded, “None for me, either.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bucky agreed with a clench of his jaw, marching after Zemo towards the car, and you remembered that whatever you had to endure tonight, would probably be only a fraction of the discomfort Bucky would feel at reliving his Winter Soldier days.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Part of you yearned for the weight of Sam’s hand in yours, his breath tickling your neck where he had kissed it for show, upon being left alone at the bar in this strange Babylon that was the Low Town of Madripoor. Not that you were incapable of defending yourself, but you were outnumbered--- really, you all were.

And you preferred for your only intel on the region to not have come from the single man in your company who you knew you couldn’t trust. Zemo’s word that no one would bother you, alone, in this ridiculous outfit, simply because they’d seen Sam--- or, the Smiling Tiger, as he was tonight--- all over you? Well, it wasn’t enough to put your mind at ease.

You tried to hide that unease behind the drink in your hand, thankful that you’d been given something fruitier and less daring than the drink Zemo had ordered for Sam, as your eyes scanned the bar, catching where the three of them had disappeared into the unknown of the one area you could not enter.

Technically, you could, but you’d have to take out the four--- no, five--- guards lingering in the main chamber of the bar, before doing so. You couldn’t do that without starting a scene, though, and there was no reason to do so until absolutely necessary.

Pushing away from the bar, your only indication of what was going on past those burly statues of guards flanking the way beyond was the sound of the earpiece in your ear, shaded from view by your hair. A whisper, compared to the throbbing music around you, but just loud enough with its closeness to make out the conversation you weren’t otherwise privy to. It was going well enough, as you moved throughout the bar, ensuring your counted five guards remained in their positions, with their relaxed posture, and counting a sixth one as he returned from the direction of the restrooms.

Some tried to stop you, to get you to dance with them, but a simple name of your alleged lover had sent them on their way easily enough. So perhaps Zemo had not been entirely untruthful, it seemed.

Then, the meeting had turned sour. Going south fast, and you watched as the two guards flanking your companion’s escape tilted towards their bulky earpieces, but you were on them before they could go further within, to where you now heard fighting in your own subtle earpiece.

Doing your best to sound like a bubbly drunk, you draped yourself between them, obstructing their path, “Oh, is this the way to the bathroom?” You were two steps into the hall, when one grabbed you by the arm, the other attempting to walk around you, but you easily blocked the way as you tumbled yourself into his arms, apparently losing your footing at the tug on your arm, “You don’t have to be so rough!”

“Get out the way, lady, this isn’t the bathroom,” the one whose arms you were haphazardly steadied with grunted, and you watched as the other slipped past you towards the beyond, his partner following close behind.

But by then you were halfway across the bar in a quick stride, hearing the hushed, “Meet us outside, we’re going out the back,” that Bucky murmured, just for you.

“No weapons,” Zemo added curtly. “We are not ready to cause a scene, my dear.”

The threatening chime of the phones around as you hit the front doors and pushed beyond, only to find that the clinging followed you even there, lifted up by the chill and stink of Madripoor’s Low Town air, had you growling out, “Looks like that scene’s already started, whether or not you want it to, Baron.”

You caught sight of them up ahead, walking just as briskly down the side-street, and nearly had to run to catch up to their pace. By the time you did fall into step beside Sam, the neon glow of the bar at your back went black with a heart-stopping shunt, right before the gunfire started.

Your only relief as Sam pushed you down with his ducking, was that whoever was firing the automatic weapon was not a good shot. Then, you ran.

But, from the corner of your eye, you saw the flap of a long coat, the swivel on firm calves, as Zemo turned to the side, and escaped beyond the adjacent alley, and, right then, you thought that would be the last you saw of him. Yet, you couldn’t be concerned with hunting him down, what with the gunfire coming from all directions, straight at you, Sam, and Bucky. Allowing the perfect moment for Zemo to slip away.

As you ran, heart pounding and barely registering the sound of your companion’s voices, you almost laughed bitterly with the hysteria of the chaos around you, and the thought that maybe Zemo had created it just to escape. Whether he did or not, it certainly worked to his advantage, and the rev of motorcycle engines biting at your heels reminded you that, like it or not, you couldn’t worry about where he had gone, down that side-street, at the current moment.

Blindly following Sam, who was blindly following Bucky, down the alleys of Low Town, you turned the next corner as a shot rang out. Not the same, quick bursts of an automatic, but rather, the loud, resounding hollowness of a sniper’s bullet.

Air brushing against your cheek, the deathly kiss of wind as the bullet moved past your head, and straight into the motorcyclist behind you. You barely breathed as the second, then third shot rang true, and your pursuers fell dead on the slick, black wetness that was Madripoor’s alley streets.

Just as Zemo emerged from the opposite end of the street, catching your bewildered stare as his own, matching confusion, accompanied a breathless, “You seem to have a guardian angel.”

Even by looking at her, you could tell Sharon Carter was anything but your guardian angel.

Madripoor had changed her. The events which had trapped her here had done even worse. Something bitter and estranged lingered under each word the former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. said as she presented her story for the four of you. Enough to make you wary of her intentions, regardless of how helpful she may have seemed.

Despite the fact you had known her, when you, too, once worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Well, this is just too perfect,” were her first words, when she’d come upon the four of you in that alleyway.

Too perfect, was right. Her High Town home, her art gallery full of stolen things, the undisclosed clientele she apparently kept, and expected, resulting in your hasty changing of clothes. It all was too perfect, even down to her tragic story of exile from the States. Something was off, but you had too much to worry about to concern yourself with picking apart the story of your host, your momentary refuge provided by her hand.

You wondered if Bucky could sense it, too, when he said, “She’s kind of awful now,” following her abrasive callousness in detailing the hypocrisy of heroism.

If not him, then perhaps the look Zemo sent your way could confirm your suspicions, but he buried it down behind the glass of whatever hard liquor he had acquired in her too perfect home. Nagel, Wilfred Nagel was who you should have been focusing on, rather than the question you nearly dared to ask Zemo right there, as Sam offered Sharon a pardon that you all knew relied on too many bureaucrats to ever be a certain promise.

The longer Zemo held your gaze, the less you concentrated on the conversation around you, until something of a party was mentioned, and the low promise of the, “Trouble,” that Sharon would find parted Zemo’s lips. You could believe that, more than whatever Sam had promised her.

The art gallery had taken on the atmosphere of a club, rather than some simple party. Music throbbed, louder than that of the bar earlier in the night, pulsing bodies to move in tandem with the beat of the sound. Veins, stretching out from the same, beating heart.

But further in, past the stage and the DJ, was a viewing of priceless art, which was certain to be priced and sold tonight. The business Sharon was conducting, the contacts she’d said she would work for information on Nagel’s location, were undoubtedly among the people gathered there.

Waiting around was rarely enjoyable.

Your group moved towards the open bar, but none of you looked to the bartender for a drink. Zemo’s eyes affixed along the dancefloor, surveying, as much as Sam or Bucky were. If someone were to look closely enough, in that moment, that simple glance would give away their training. Your eyes, however, traveled past them, catching the questioning glance Bucky sent your way as you moved to separate and disperse into the crowd of writhing bodies around you.

“I’m going to dance,” was your only explanation. If the three of them had not seen some potential threat in those few moments of surveying, then it likely wasn’t there.

Either way, Sharon had said, “Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party,” before sending you on your way.

That much, you could oblige her with.

Considering the dancefloor was a great percentage of the party, dancing also allowed you to survey the room without looking like you were gawking. Thankful to be back in your own clothes, the black on black and buckles of your light tactical wear fit in appropriately with the variety of party-goers around you. Tempo flaring, sweat and alcohol, adrenaline rushing your veins, for a moment you found you were enjoying yourself, after the initial sweep of the dancefloor had come up empty of threats. Or, well, anything that was immediately threatening to you.

Which is why you could have kicked yourself for letting what might have been the biggest threat in the room creep up on you, in that brief moment of thrumming ecstasy.

His hand caught in the buckled strap at your waist, pulling you into a firm back, not unlike other dancers around you had, but his breath smelled of bourbon as it ghosted your cheek, and the accented voice at his lips was enough to have you whirling in his arms, “Do you mind if I dance with you?”

In your defense, the last you’d seen of Zemo had been moments ago, across the bar as he perused the artwork with Sam and Bucky. You could hardly believe he’d crossed the room as quick as he had--- quick enough to catch you off-guard.

“What?” you question blandly, the mixture of unease and shock churning into something else that you wouldn’t dare admit as he offered a dazzling smile, and you suddenly realized you were still standing far too close, with the growing crowd around you.

He mistook your confusion for difficulty hearing over the blaring music, and leaned closer, to catch you by the ear, “Dance with me.” Not a question, this time.

He was close enough you could smell his cologne--- a rich scent, peppered with cinnamon, which had you wondering just how much he had paid for the bottle of whatever it was, or if it had been something Sokovian from before the fall. It was unlike anything you’d scented before. He even smelled expensive.

For a second time, you almost jumbled his question, though not from shock. The heat rising to your cheeks and the skip in your chest, you couldn’t convince yourself was entirely from the dancing or the light drink you’d had earlier in the evening.

His own cheeks were faintly pink, upon closer inspection, but otherwise there was no evidence in his smooth posture of the multiple glasses of liquor he’d had tonight, yet it’s enough to make him look warm--- perhaps not as cold as he once had appeared.

Human.

“We are to enjoy ourselves, are we not?” he suggested, as if that would push you toward one answer over another, and it worked.

“Yes,” your lips said it before your mind caught up with them, and his smile widened into a grin, as brief as it was.

“Then, dance, my dear.”

His own dancing was rigid, but he kept beat. Small movements which would not draw attention from anyone, yet were somehow the barest ability required to be considered dancing. As if he had little experience dancing to club music like this, though you couldn’t be sure. It was almost comical, yet no-one could laugh at him, since he miraculously managed to pull it off.

Well, you, at least, were able to bite back a chuckle at the sight of him. Something about it, about him, in that moment, dancing so awkwardly yet with so much confidence, brought a genuine smile to your face, as you danced alongside him.

And when he gestured in a round motion with his hand for you to spin, you did that, too, without a second thought. It was easy to forget, for only a second, when your eyes caught his in the strobing light and the smile upon his face, his hands coming together to clap for you in time with the pulsing beat between you, just who he was, and what he’d done.

Far too easy to forget.

But one glance towards the edges of the dance floor has you remembering, as you caught the movement of Bucky and Sam following after the slip of Sharon’s form. Bucky’s eyes bored into you, his jaw clenched. Displeasure written on his face, and you don’t think the sake of blending in would be enough to excuse your dancing with Zemo, or the enjoyment with which you’d done it.

“Perhaps, she has found our missing Doctor Nagel,” Zemo’s form was too close, all over again, and this time you do step away from him, if only a single step. It’s enough to breathe, to clear your head of whatever had overcome you moments before. He’s too busy looking after their three retreating forms to notice the guilt catching at the back of your throat, suffocating you for barely a second.

You ensure any proof of the feeling settling in your gut was gone by the time he cast his eyes towards you, the brown of his irises nearly black in the lowlight of a High Town party, but you didn’t keep his stare long, “Let’s find out.”

The sun was dawning when you emerged onto the street, and reached over your heads by the time you made your way to the water-side lot filled with shipping containers. Sharon’s intel had led you to it, and container four-two-six-one had come to your knowledge with little questioning on Sam and Bucky’s part, if only because she was an old friend.

You still wondered who would give her the location of such a prize as this, and what it had cost her, since you were slowly learning that nothing in Madripoor came free. Regardless of where she had received the information, it had been where Nagel was hidden, along with the remainder of his serum research.

It had also been where the bounty hunters of Madripoor descended upon you.

Dr. Nagel was a young, lanky man who had barely finished his exposition of where to possibly find the Flag Smashers who had stolen his serum when the very man you had danced so happily with not two hours before shot a bullet right through his heart. All you could think, in the stunning moment of realization that Nagel had been dead before he even hit the ground, was how stupid you were to ever let your guard down around this man--- this killer.

“What did you do?” Sharon’s cry rang in your ears as the gun clattered to the ground from Zemo’s hand, jolting you into action from staring at Nagel’s body to turn on them. Catching Zemo’s cold eyes--- no remorse within them--- as Sam and Sharon struggled to pin him to the grated shelves of Nagel’s lab. You think you might hate him, just in time for the blast of an explosion to push you face first into the metal slatted floor of Nagel’s bunker.

That hate was all you had left to fuel you from getting up off the floor, bones creaking as flames danced in your peripheral, a hole blown through the side of the crate. That anger, and the grasp of Sam’s hands on your forearm, pulling you up after he got his own footing.

Zemo had been gone by the time you had enough sense to scan the area, but there would be no searching for him this time, either, as the bounty hunters descended upon your location with the ease of wolves circling their prey. Shooting out from cover, you knew the bullets of your pistol weren’t enough to last you for all of them, and they had you pinned.

Part of you still hated him, even when he saved your asses. Another part wondered why he even bothered.

You hoped you radiated that hatred when you got into the back of that getaway car he’d found, too sullen to even wish Sharon a farewell, let alone offer a smile at the cheeky attitude Zemo had pulled up in it with. After everything, it only made you stew more--- his nonchalance. If you were being truly honest, you were angrier still at yourself, and the thought that he’d played you like a fiddle. If you had kept your guard up and kept an eye on him, perhaps Nagel would still be alive. Perhaps you wouldn’t feel like Zemo was playing this two steps ahead of the rest of you.

Even on the plane out of Madripoor, you had sat in sullen silence, refusing so much as to look at Zemo, even when he offered you food.

You hoped your sharp, “I’m not hungry, thanks,” cut deep, as childish as it may sound. You didn’t bother to look long enough in his direction to see if it had. Speaking exclusively to Sam and Bucky, even when Zemo changed your course to Latvia, you had not spoken a word to him until you landed in Riga, and his conversation turned towards Sokovia.

“Erased from the map,” he clicked his tongue, but his pace didn’t slow, when he spoke in what was as much an accusation as a question, “I don’t suppose any of you bothered to visit the memorial?” Met with silence when he looked upon Sam, he turned his eyes toward Bucky, then you, and it was the longest you’d dared hold his gaze since he killed Nagel, when he scathingly said, “Of course not. Why would you?” Nodding towards an old set of double doors, he drops the subject as suddenly as he’d brought it up, “We are here.”

Your traitorous heart clenched as you watched him disappear beyond them, Bucky remaining by your side while you lingered at the bottom of the steps leading into the residence.

“I’ll be back,” Bucky murmured, glancing your way, to which you silently nodded, too troubled by the fact that you felt anything at all akin to pity for that horrible man to worry where your friend might have to wander to in the middle of Latvia. Zemo was, undeniably, horrible, wasn’t he?

A huff of annoyance blew past your lips as you marched the steps towards where Sam and that man had disappeared beyond. Maybe you were just getting soft in your old age, or something.

Yeah, that had to be it.

What you hadn’t expected was for Sam to meet you at the doorway to Zemo’s… loft? Loft.

“I’m gonna’ hit the corner store, if you’re alright to watch you-know-who,” Sam murmured low, and you scrambled for words to say aside from the hell no which threatened to spill from your lips. “He’s in the shower, so maybe he’ll be a while anyway.” Glancing over your shoulder, Sam’s brow furrowed, “Where’s Bucky?”

“Said he’d be back,” you looked behind yourself, as if expecting to find him there. “Don’t know where he ran off to, though.”

A questioning breath was sucked through Sam’s teeth, before he let it out in a sigh, affixing you with a, “You good?”

With babysitting Zemo?

No.

“Yeah, go,” you had ushered him out the door despite your current feeling towards the subject, and by the time you shut the door behind him and rummaged into the kitchen area to ransack the refrigerator, you realized why Sam was going to the corner store. This place was positively barren of the necessities. Groaning in disappointment, you lean your head back in a silent cry to the heavens. Why was nothing going right on this mission? You were starving, and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the plane over.

Standing there for a moment, you let the cold air hit your skin, daring it to keep you awake.

The door to the washroom pushing open grasps your reluctant attention, head lulling to the side slightly as you shut the empty refrigerator. There he was, the bastard, clad only in a robe and lounge pants, pushing a folded towel along his neck, catching the water there which dripped from his semi-dry hair.

Footsteps softened by the slippers at his feet, he asks upon taking a look around the room to find only your presence there, “And where have your soldiers run off to?”

You grit your teeth, forced to answer him, “Sam went to the store, because you don’t keep your safe houses stocked with food.”

“This is not a safe house,” he murmurs, coming close enough that the sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches along something gold glinting at his throat. Large hands lower the towel and fold it neatly, as your gaze lingers, observing the necklace where it delves into his chest, a view allowed by the robe’s relaxed fit, just open enough to reveal the soft hairs there. You snap your eyes back up before you can stay there for too long, and Zemo is smiling slightly. Bastard caught you.

“What is it then?”

“A vacation home.” For a pitiful instant, your mind sent you images of the family he’d lost in Sokovia. The last thing you needed was to feel sorry for him, so you clear your throat, shaking off the thought of what was missing. What had led to who he’d become. Your pity thankfully didn’t show as he moved ever closer into the kitchen, feet stopping just before your own so that he could look you down. You couldn’t help but grasp the counter you leant yourself upon until your knuckles blanched under his scrutiny, nearly on the verge of demanding he explain what his problem was, until he nodded to the cabinet beside your head, “Excuse me.”

You almost jumped out of his way.

Watching, desperately clawing for the anger that had been so comfortingly oppressive in your chest earlier in the morning, because anything was better than lingering on the cut of his jawline, or the way his robe dipped as he reached for that very cabinet you had been standing in the way of a moment before. Anything else, focus on anything else.

When he opened it, your eyes snapped to the few jars within. Olives and fruit lined the shelves in twistable jars, flanked by large bottles of that same dark liquor he seemed to favor, and a tin of coffee beans. In the back, nestled away for a rainy day, was a box of Turkish delight.

“Ah,” he breathed pleasantly, shooting you a cheshire grin, “so it is not entirely as empty as you thought.”

Bastard, bastard, bastard---

The word rings in your head like a mantra as you feel the anger crumbling, fading away with each second he looked at you like that. What was wrong with you, to be this easy? Something had to be.

His eyes were thankfully torn away when he looked into the cabinet once more, plucking the fruit--- peaches, looked like--- from the shelf, along with the coffee and candy, “I doubt you would like to eat pickled olives alone.” He says it, right before he closes the cabinet, and reaches out with the jar of peaches towards you.

Blinking up at him, you don’t dare take them, genuinely curious, “They’re not for you?”

“You did not eat on the plane, and it has been hours, now; you must be starving.”

You’re surprised he even cared, or made the appearance of caring, but that shrivel of spiteful anger you clutched onto with all your might refused to take them from his hand, despite the growl in your stomach, “Sam will be back soon enough with food.” Turning on your heel to keep yourself from going back and snatching them away like a starving animal, you move to the other side of the kitchen.

His jaw is set when you look back at him at the sharp tap of glass and metal along the countertop. Zemo’s fingers clutched the jar and coffee tin with a fury that was only revealed in the depths of his dark eyes, watching you move across the living room without so much as a word.

Until you sat down, and he breathed calmly, so calmly, that you knew it was the calm before the storm, “Am I to expect you to act as a petulant child for the remainder of the mission, or shall I ready myself for you to come to your senses?”

You scoffed at him, “Excuse me?”

“Please do not make me repeat myself, my dear.”

“I’m sorry, Baron,” you grit with as little remorse as possible, that once-simmering anger nearly boiling again, “that I don’t want to trade peaches with a man who murdered someone not two feet from where I stood.”

“Try again.”

“What?”

“Try, again,” he breathed slowly, as if he had to do so to keep himself from breaking into some fit of rage. You’d never seen him enraged, even when he fought and killed, he was always a deathly calm, and some sick, twisted part of you wanted to see him truly, frightfully angry, “You don’t treat Wilson and Barnes with this childish disdain, despite them killing countless people in your presence.”

“Don’t even compare yourself to them. You killed an unarmed man!”

“I do not wish to litigate the details of what may or may not have happened---”

“‘Litigate?’” you rose to your feet from the couch, not even realizing that he had half-way crossed the room by the time you did, “Do you even hear yourself? You put a bullet in his heart! What is there to litigate?”

“He was a threat.”

“He could have been arrested, or---”

“Criminals can escape prisons,” he bit, nearly in each other’s faces by the time you laughed at your own bitter answer.

“What? Like you?”

“Precisely,” he agreed, and you met his glare with one just as heated, until something shifted in his gaze. A sort of dawning understanding that muddled his glare, until a raise of his brow accompanied the easing tension in his shoulders, and you already knew you weren’t going to like what he was going to say before he’d even said it, “Is that what bothers you?”

“What?” you ask warily.

“That I am considered a criminal.”

“You’re a killer.”

“My question stands, regardless.”

“I’ve worked with criminals before,” you shook your head, making to turn back to the couch, but a fast grip at your upper arm stopped you in your tracks, and he was far too close all over again. Suffocating you with his closeness, with the oppressive cleanliness and water his scent still carried from his recent shower. Ungloved, his fingers were warm, radiating through the sleeve of your shirt, digging firmly into the pliant flesh of your bicep.

His breath carried the faint smell of mint that comes after a fresh brushing as it wafted past your skin alongside his demanding amusement, and your stomach dropped dreadfully when he teased, “Ah, but you danced with me.”

Have you ever let someone you didn’t trust get too close?

The question seemed to dance in the black endlessness of his dilated pupils, rimmed with the deceptive warm brown of his irises. You were so close that you could notice the gold flecks in them which caught in the sunlight streaming from the window, something you otherwise would have missed. A dare in the dangerous flick of his lashes, he glanced to your lips and back; was he all too aware of your closeness, too?

The reflexive dart of your tongue to wet your lips gave you away, face burning hot with anger and embarrassment, and you ripped yourself from his grip, “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“I’m sure you’re clever enough to figure it out,” is his sarcastic counter, a satisfied smirk which said he had all the answer he needed already left you wishing there were some way to rip it from his face, because were you really that obvious? Or was he just that good at reading people?

This time, when you headed to sit back on the couch, he simply stood there, allowing you to be unobstructed. You plopped down upon the couch with all the defeat you felt at his satisfaction, lying down in the hope that if you ignored him, he’d simply go away.

When you hear the sound of his slippers along the floor, signaling his departure from your side, the distant shuffle paused in their tracks when you couldn’t help yourself from asking, “Why did you come back?”

“Hmm?”

“When we were in Madripoor,” you breathed slowly, curiosity overcoming your anger, “you had escaped us twice. It was the perfect chance to run for your freedom. Why come back?”

You don’t dare open your eyes, even with the length of his pause, before he answers, a solemn honesty in his voice, “This is not a mission which I can abandon. I must see it through.”

You almost asked him why, once again, but thought better of it. Something told you he wouldn’t have given you a straight answer, either way.

Just when you think he’d gone on his way, the shuffling sound of his slippers closed in once more. Tempted to look, your curiosity at his approach was answered with the sharp sound of glass clicking against the wooden coffee table.

“Feel for me as you will, but eat,” his voice is low, soft. You don’t know if it was the straining of your ears to make up for what you would not see, but you could have sworn you heard an apologetic tone when he added, “You’re no use if you lack the strength to fight your enemies. As you are now, anyone could overpower you if they wished.”

That earns him a peek of a glare from out of the corner of your eye, and you earn a stern look in return as he nods towards the canned peaches on the table.

You couldn’t help yourself from asking sarcastically, before cracking a small smile, “So, are the Flag Smashers about to propel from the ceilings to catch us unaware, or is it you I should be worried about overpowering me?”

No apologies, from either party, but his dark chuckle is enough to set your soul aflame when he teases, sounding too much like a promise, “I would only overpower you, should you to ask me to.”

And that was when you realized how your question had come across. The burning in your face only increases as you sat up sharply at his words, about to protest that it had not been what you meant by them, but the doors to the loft opened, saving you the embarrassment of that conversation.

“Where’s Sam?” Bucky asks, and Zemo leans away from the coffee table, freeing you from the sweltering scrutiny of his gaze.

“I’m afraid we are running low on groceries, and he was so kind as to do the shopping for us,” Zemo explained innocently enough, but Bucky’s eyes narrowed at him regardless.

“Speaking of going out,” you reached for the jar of peaches, feeling Zemo’s glance upon you as you popped the top open, “where’ve you been?”

“I saw an old friend,” Bucky grumbled, shrugging off your question as he moved towards the washroom, “I’ll tell you when Sam gets back.”

The door closed behind him with a certain finality on the subject, at least until Sam returned. By the time you looked back towards Zemo, he was fiddling with the box of candy.

“I shall put the coffee on,” he announced, glancing to catch your eye with the flick of a candy wrapper glinting between his fingertips, offering, “Turkish delight?”

Upon Sam’s return, the news that Bucky’s old friend had been a warrior of Wakanda was a bad one, at least for Zemo. But with bad news came good news, and soon enough you were following the trail of the Flag Smashers once again, even if that meant the Wakandans were following your trail.

Hours turned to days, and by the end of a weeklong trek across Europe filled with close-quarters and even closer encounters with your Sokovian prisoner, you were standing in front of the dingy warehouse which had found you in this final, terrifying predicament.

Wondering if it had all been pointless, to be snuffed out at the hand of the supersoldier above you, pushing you into the dirty concrete. He wouldn’t need a gun to end you, and you both knew it. So you might have been panicking, with how savagely you pulled in his grasp. A trapped animal, fighting to get free.

Blood rushing to your head fills your ears, catching the first sight of the man pushing you into the ground just barely out of the corner of your eye, and the dark mask covering his face with a handprint. You could make out that he was light-skinned, dark hair pushing down past his chin, young enough to make you wonder just how old he was, and if yours would be the first life he’d take.

His voice is softer than you expected, for someone who sounded so terrifying when he began his order of, “Stop struggli---”

The bullet that rips through his neck tears his grip away from your body, ringing off the hollow echo of the room for just the moment it took the eyes beyond the frame of his mask to widen and dilate as they looked into your own. Green.

His eyes were green.

Silence far too sudden for the adrenaline of the close gunshot not to shake you to your core.

The supersoldier is dead before he hits the ground, and you’re pushing yourself up on aching joints to get on your feet as quickly as possible, until the familiar voice of your companion meets your ears in a thick, Sokovian accent, “He did not hurt you.” It’s flat, not hitching into a recognizable question at the end, but the dark eyes of your savior seem to question you despite the cracking disinterest of his tone.

There was no denying you were happy to see him.

“Zemo,” it’s breathless, and sounds too much like a hoarse relief for your own liking, so you focus instead on rolling your bruised shoulder and avoiding the searing gaze upon you, trying not to appear as shaken as you truly were, “Not anything I can’t walk off.” The sound of something muttered in Sokovian under his breath brings you to look upon him again, finding that his gun lingers along his hip, locked in the tight, leather-gloved grip. He looks displeased, lips set into a tight line that suggests he’s angry, even, but not in the same way he had been in Latvia. This was worse, a colder, solemn anger that threatened the fire behind his eyes, threatening to burn this whole place to the ground, and you can only question, “What is it?”

“Undoubtedly any others remaining here have been alerted by the noise,” Zemo says curtly, turning towards the hallway from whence you came. He is angry, you manage to confirm, when he bites across his shoulder, “Mind your surroundings this time, so that you don’t find yourself pathetically helpless again.”

His words were scathing, but they’re meant to be. Even worse, you know he’s right. This dead one, whose blood was splattered over the top half of your tactical gear, had crept up on you too softly, and was too strong to shake off once he’d gotten hold of you.

Constructed to kill, thanks to the serum.

Even going into a fully aware fight, you were at a disadvantage, especially in close quarters. It was something he understood. Something he used repeatedly in his own strategy against opponents which were physically stronger in every way.

Your only hope of an upper hand had to come from either distance, or subterfuge. At least, if you weren’t accompanied by Bucky or Sam.

You’re lucky, despite the burning ache in your side and back, that it hadn’t been worse than it was, and that Zemo had come upon you as he did.

“Remain close,” he murmurs, as you emerge out into the hall, and you don’t dare to argue with him on it, even if you might have had the situation which just transpired not done so. Clearing the upper west floors were methodical, swift, and it became apparent by the third that whoever had been here was gone, either before or after Zemo’s gunshot had rung true.

Bucky and Sam appeared winded when you regrouped at the designated meeting point, and you didn’t have to wait for Bucky’s explanation to guess what had occurred, “We tangled with a few of them. They got away, but we got another lead from what they left behind…” Bucky trailed off, swapping a glance with Sam at the sight of your disheveled state.

“What happened to you two?” Sam’s eyes dart between your torn clothes and the scrapes along your skin towards Zemo’s tense, rigid frame.

“I was jumped by one,” you grit, embarrassed enough that he’d caught you off-guard without even verbalizing it, “he had me on my stomach, but Zemo, he---” you clear your throat, remembering the vacant green stare and splash of deep, vibrant red that had accompanied your rescue.

“It has been handled,” Zemo supplies for you, and before Sam could question him further, he adds, “the man is dead.”

The blood along your black tactical gear has dried by now, but it’s black stickiness must be ever apparent for them now, as Bucky sighs a weary, “Well, shit.”

“Are you okay?”

You open your mouth to answer Sam, but Zemo gruffly responds, “She’ll live,” before brushing past the two of them towards where the car which would take you back into the heart of the city was waiting.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam wonders, when Zemo is far enough ahead that he can’t hear the question.

“You want a list?” Bucky grumbles dismissively, stretching his metal arm in a wide circle that suggested it had set peculiarly after his last fight.

Your throat tightens, and you try your best to keep from remembering that helpless, desperate feeling which had drenched your soul as the supersoldier pinned you to the concrete.

Forcing a humorless laugh, you offer up a half-hearted explanation, daring it to sound as unbothered as you wished you truly were, “Maybe he regrets the bullet he spent saving me.”

Bucky’s exhale is somewhere between a bitter laugh and sigh, “Who knows, with him.”

As much as you wished for it, you couldn’t be sure if those words you’d spoken didn’t ring true.

“Whatever,” Sam agrees, dismissively rubbing the back of his neck. Redirecting back on the target of chasing the Flag Smashers, you hoped you’d get a step ahead of them soon when Sam instigates your following of Zemo to the car, “We’d better get back to the motel and regroup. Got an early day ahead of us tomorrow.”

The, “yeah,” you supply the back of their heads with, finding yourself following after them, is almost as distant as you felt. Internalized, and thrumming with the melting adrenaline which made way for exhaustion to settle into your bones and take hold.

Yet, you can’t get that deathly, dilating green out of your mind, or the ghost clinging to the ache in your back, where murderous weight had been.

Zemo did not meet your eye the whole ride to the motel--- and it was nothing like the dazzling vacation home Zemo had introduced you all to in Riga. Complete with plain walls and shuttered windows, the view of Prague you received from the window set in the dead center of the narrow bedroom was that of the wall of the building opposite. Utility, over luxury, but privacy had been key, as well.

He had retired to his own room just as soon as you’d set foot before it, bizarrely silent in that same way that you had come to realize could never be a good thing, because it meant Zemo was lost in his own head. Neither Sam nor Bucky made note of it, at least aloud, and so you held your tongue as well, rather than acknowledge the dark cloud which seemed to follow the man as he disappeared beyond the click of the motel room door.

“We can trade,” breaks you from your intense scrutiny of that door, key card clutched firmly in hand as you glance towards where Bucky stiffly supplies, “I don’t blame you if you’re not okay with it. You can stay with Sam instead.”

Your heart clenches, and for a moment you’re brought out of your remembrance of the Flag Smasher’s body atop your own by the offer, somewhat touched that he would take your place as Zemo’s keeper tonight at the sacrifice of his own comfort. Even after all that Zemo had done to him, he would take the bed which you had agreed to sleep in earlier, when the motel owner had explained the issue of limited capacity.

You can see the apprehension behind his eyes, despite his generous offer. He was still unsettled by Zemo, and, if you were being honest, so were you. You won’t make him do that for you, all so that you can avoid whatever tension lingering between you and Zemo.

Instead, you pat Bucky in the chest gently with the palm of your hand and swallow down the nauseous churn of your stomach, forcing a light tone, “I’m a big girl, Bucky, but if he gives me any trouble, I’ll shout for you guys. How’s that sound?”

“If he gives you a chance to shout,” Bucky frowns.

“Well, if he suffocates me in my sleep, I’ll haunt him forever,” it’s meant to be teasing, but it comes out dry.

“Our side will be unlocked, just in case,” Sam mentions, lingering in the open doorway of the adjoining room, “might wanna’ unlock yours, too.”

“Or else I’ll just have to break through it if anything happens,” Bucky’s tone is just as dry. Tired. This chase was wearing on you all, and you could only hope that tomorrow would be different than today.

Slipping the key card along the door, it whirs to life with a click. The acceptance of your entry indicated by the green glow of the lock’s internal light. Slipping into the room, you rest your back against the shut door, willing the green remembrance of your attacker’s eyes to shake from your head.

Your death-grip on the key card doesn’t ease as the bathroom door opens, and you catch sight of Zemo. He’s shed his jacket, left in that dark turtleneck and slacks. His hair had fallen, ever so slightly, from its perfected part against his forehead. The tips of a few strands there are dark with a dampness which evidenced the water he must have splashed his face with before emerging from the restroom.

His hands are free of his gloves as he flexes them at his sides, pausing for but a moment of acknowledgement at your presence before he goes further into the room, towards the full bed near the window which he must claim as his own. The jacket lies there, until he retrieves it to hang in the closet on one of the wooden hangers provided within.

Not a word. You don’t know if it should make you relieved or concerned, but truthfully, it makes you feel nothing. Because you’re still standing at the door by the time he turns from the closet, staring unfocused at the floor before you and screaming internally to pull yourself together when he does it for you.

“Are you going to stand there for the remainder of the night?” Curtly, “If my presence has you so paralyzed with fear, you may as well take up your soldier’s offer to switch rooms.”

His voice holds an edge, despite the deceptively smooth calmness to it. A taunting, instigating bait hung there. As if he were still angry at you.

And for what? For getting attacked?

The thought sends white-hot, simmering rage swelling in your own chest. Did he think you a nuisance, after having to save you from that brute of a supersoldier this evening? It had been a sneak-attack! You doubt even having your wits about you would have helped catch the silence with which you’d been crept up on in that warehouse, now that you’d had time to replay every second of it in your mind twofold.

Glaring at him with that fire in your eyes, was better than that frightfully distant look you’d held a moment before, he thought.

“What do you want from me?” comes biting from your teeth, bared at him as you bristled under the cold anger of his own stare.

“There is nothing you could possibly offer me that I would want,” he strikes back.

Snake, meet wolf.

“As if I would offer you anything at all after the way you’ve acted,” it’s an effort to keep your voice from rising. You want to fight; to feel something other than the crippling terror that had nearly killed you this evening--- that panic, which had gripped your heart until it felt like it bled.

“The way I’ve acted?” Zemo’s demeanor changes, flaring rage in his eyes as he stalks across the room. It takes everything you have not to wilt in his approach, but to instead glare right back at him, even when he crowds you up against the door, palm coming flat against where your head resides. His voice doesn’t rise with his seething fury, but rather, lowers into a tone that turns your blood cold as it rushes through the heat his closeness spreads through you, “I am not the one who almost got myself killed.”

“Well,” you struggle to remain even, as you breathe all the disdain you can muster into your words, “I’m not going to apologize for you having to save me.”

His head tilts to the side, snarling through his thick accent at the thought, “I do not want an apology for that.”

Standing straight from your leaning on the door, if only to feel as if you were invading his space rather than the other way around, you find that he leans away ever so slightly when you snap, “I’m not going to thank you for it, either.”

“Thank me for---?” he stops himself with a clench of his jaw, breathing slowly through his nose, as if to calm the crackling fire behind his eyes as his glare burns into your own. Too close; he’s still standing much too close.

And he moves so quickly you have zero chance of escaping his path. The hand he didn’t have laid flat on the door pushes you roughly by the shoulder, into it. By the time your mouth is open to even yelp in surprise, it’s suffocated by the hasty press of his lips against yours. Searing, pressing the length of his body firm against your own as he kisses you with all the wild fury his eyes betrayed. Nothing was left of the collected calmness of his posture or voice from before, as his hand on your shoulder digs into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging you into him.

Not that you needed to be coaxed, with the way your fingers dig and scrape into the fabric along his chest, his shoulders, his throat, his hair. Digging in, his part is destroyed as you nip at his lips, teeth and tongue distracting you from any fragment of sense that was left screaming at you to remember it. To remember who he was, and how things are supposed to be between you.

Which was definitively the opposite of this. His hands were never supposed to find themselves fistfuls of your hair, your hip, your flesh, as they did now. You were never supposed to know that he tasted like something sweet, or felt soft beneath the hard lines of his turtleneck.

He was dragging, pulling, tumbling with you away from the door, as anger and fury melted into a complex, sweltering mixture of something else entirely, heat burning through your core when he tugged at the buckles of your tactical gear.

The world turns sideways, and then you’re falling upon something soft--- the mattress creaking beneath your weight and the weight of him kneeling atop you as you dragged him down to your lips once again. Rough, not gentle, as you arched into him and tugged at his hair, a breathy groan escaping into your mouth from his own.

He inhales sharply, as if suddenly realizing the position you were both in, as his fingertips grazed the bare skin of your waist, where your shirt had become untucked from your pants.

Breaking, parting, breathless, he stares down at you. Brown eyes blown wide and dilated, staring at you like a deer in the headlights--- perhaps the most honest expression you’d ever seen on Zemo’s face.

You were no better, sprawled along the comforter and trying to catch your breath. A single question ringing around your brain in search of an answer, any answer.

What are you doing? What are you doing?

“I,” he breathes softly, in a lilting apologetical tone, and you realize he’s between your legs, hooked along his hips precariously. Your anger dissipates, evaporating like it had been burned away with the roaring flames he’d ignited within you, and he clears his throat slightly. Troubled is how he looks, when his eyes become incapable of holding your own, “I can’t do this.”

No apology, though it may as well be there, in the way he said it.

Though you know he’s keeping you from a terrible mistake, part of you is lying when you murmur, “It’s okay,” back up to him.

“Yane mogu etogo sdelat,” he leans down, as if collapsing under the pressure of whatever he was feeling, right into the curve of your stomach. Sokovian, you register faintly, as another reverent, “I can’t do this,” falls from his lips to be muffled in the fabric between you.

Your hand finds his head, fingers carding through his hair reflexively, and you don’t know if it’s from the shock of your situation or a genuine desire to comfort him, when you repeat, even softer, “It’s okay, Helmut.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name, you realize.

Maybe it’s the fact that he was still tangled up in you, or the fact that you’d been mere moments away from letting him have his way with you, but you don’t dare move from this spot. From pushing your fingertips against the crown of his scalp, or the weight of him against you. Neither does he, as he breathes raggedly for a moment against your stomach, face buried there.

Breaking the silence almost feels wrong, but you do it anyway. A compulsive, desperate need to do so crawls up your throat, until you can’t contain the words any longer.

Reaching down, finding the curve of his jaw, you pull, until he lifts his head enough to peer over the curve of your chest to meet your eye, questioning after a moment of peering into the lingering want, and tragic grief of his stare, “Are you okay, Helmut?” But you already know the answer; you finally understand that this man is far more broken than you’d ever realized.

“Is anyone ever just, ‘okay?’” is his evasive answer.

You say it before you can think better of it, offering him another piece of you with which you probably shouldn’t have, but you were already neck deep in possible regrets, so what was one more?

“People’ve said I’m a good listener before, if you need to talk about whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

You liked to think he owed you some kind of explanation for all this, but if he’d asked you for the same, you don’t know if you could give him one, either. It had just… happened. No rhyme or reason, but some bizarre, broken part of your own soul had called out to whatever was cracked and frayed in his own. It was all the answer you could think of, for why you were flat on your back beneath him still.

“I would not bother you with my troubles,” Zemo starts, attempting to piece back that calm, collected mask which kept this fragment of him that you had bore witness to hidden.

“If not me, then you should bother someone with them.”

And maybe it’s the soft, bittersweet smile with which you look up at him, or a deep craving to be understood by just one other human being in this world, but his chin remains firmly planted against your chest as he says quietly, sadly, “I have no one left. They are all gone.” He doesn’t flinch away when you brush the hair from his forehead, out of his eyes, catching sight of the confusion, the trouble in his soul.

Trouble, indeed.

Stormy, dark, he stares a hole into your soul, and you ache with the hollow tragedy of it, when he murmurs as firmly as he can, almost worse than if his voice had cracked with emotion, “I have lost them all.”

You want to tell him the reflexive compassions that come at times like these, but sorry feels cheap, and you could never understand the pain he must feel. You hope you never do.

So you breathe out slowly, one word at your lips, “Sokovia?” as if you didn’t already know. As if you had not read his file, years before he joined you for this mission. Back when he had terrorized the Avengers and murdered diplomats at the United Nations hearing. You tried not to think of it, now, when he looked so vulnerable, and sad, as the slight nudge of his chin into the flesh of your skin is all that’s required to acknowledge your question.

“You already bother me enough, Zemo,” you try to add a joking hum to your voice, as you sigh beneath him, but even that sounds bittersweet, “so feel free to bother me more with your troubles, if you like.”

There’s quiet for what feels like a long time after that. Your words permeating the space between you, and you don’t know if he watches you like he does to gauge your sincerity, or because he simply likes looking at you like this.

He gives you a fragment, when his body shifts, and his weight moves up just enough to catch your eye from where you were left staring at the ceiling in this thrumming silence, your fingers slipping from his hair to his shoulder, “I…” he clears his throat softly, “saw you underneath that supersoldier, and I just… could not lose one more.” Zemo doesn’t say he cares about you, not explicitly, “He was going to kill you.”

“I know,” it tastes hollow in your mouth, as you do your best not to go back there, to how he’d found you.

“It,” he breathes, searching for the right word, “frightened me, and so I was furious. Not entirely at you, but because…”

He trails off, and you supply instead, the similar feeling which had buried itself in your own chest, “Because of how it made you feel?”

Zemo nods, his hands smoothing down your back, catching at your waist, “I did not like the way it made me feel,” his gaze flicks along the planes of your face, before returning to your own, that want-mixed-grief once again swirling within them. “The way you make me feel. It is like… a betrayal.” His voice does shake this time, when he breathes, “It is too soon since… I lost my whole world.”

A betrayal, he had called the feeling.

It felt like that for you, too. This swirling, guilty want in your bones for him, when you know it’s the last thing you should want. That he should be the last thing you want. If Bucky or Sam saw you like this--- you think they might hate you for it.

For wanting him.

Your hand rests at the curve of his neck and shoulder, thumb close enough to feel the short stubble which threatened to peek through at his jaw with the late hour of the day, and you agree, “I was angry, too, because of this feeling.”

“The feeling of wanting something you cannot have,” he chuckles, a truce, offered from his body to yours in the vibrations of it which resound in your chest.

“You could say that.”

Perhaps, in a different world, things could be different.

Maybe, if you’d met him at a different time.

But as things were, you were just two broken people, seeking solace in one another when every fiber of your being told you not to. That it was wrong--- despite how comfortably right he felt against you here and now, lingering between your thighs and against your body for as long as he possibly could, despite the guilt that you’d shared, without even knowing it.

It’s not your place, but when he sits up finally, his weight lifting off of you and somehow leaving you feeling more suffocated than when it had been there, you catch his attention with the sound of his name, “Helmut?”

“Hmm?” he wonders, knees pressing into the mattress as he’s halfway detangled from between your legs.

Catching his eye, you hope you look as sincere as it felt within you, the ache in your chest for him, “Anyone who could have loved you, would have wanted you to be happy.” It sounds cliche and generic, but you don’t dare mention his wife specifically, or the terrible emptiness that comes with the loss of a child. Still, you see it in his eyes, in the way he observes you with increased curiosity, that he knows it to be true, despite that desperate, clawing pain you know he must feel within his chest.

Zemo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “That is a sweet sentiment.” And he’s gone, leaving you spread there to watch after him as he crosses the room, towards the restroom, probably for a moment of privacy. Stopping in his path, he glances at you, hand resting on the doorframe, “But they do not have to go on living without them.”

The bathroom door shuts behind him with a definitive click, and you’re left reeling as you piece together the facts of the night. The pieces of his grief, and want, which you’d witnessed. The fragments of yours which only seemed to swell with his own.

A miserable, self-pitying groan slips past your lips.

You were truly in trouble, now.

#baron helmut zemo fanfic #zemo fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel female reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic by me #author meg #female reader insert #newstuff female reader insert

[urimaginespimp]

Untouchable (This Love pt 8)

Bucky x reader (elemental witch)

Set during TFATWS mainly episodes 4-5

Note: Little references on You All Over Me

Previous Part: Happiness

--------

“I’m letting you go, Bucky.”

It felt like he watched a part of himself die as soon as those words left your lips. How could he have been so late to realize that he’s in love with you? And in the worst possible time ever; When you finally look like you’re in peace and ready to open yourself once more to the world.

“I’d really like to be friends with you again someday. Maybe as you’ve said before, I will thank you.” You genuinely smiled at him and he almost wanted to yell at you to take it back. To say that you still want to be together.

But that would be so cruel of him. So he merely returned a smile, hoping that it came off genuine.

“You go alert Sam. I’m gonna try my best to stall Ayo and the other women. Though I doubt I could buy you more than a few seconds once the eighth hour rolls around.” you grinned and turned to go find where the Dora Milaje were waiting.

--------

Eight hours have passed and you were now taking the Dora Milaje to where Sam, Bucky, and Zemo would be.

Only when you were outside the door, you could hear an unfamiliar man’s voice almost threatening Sam into a fight.

“He’d die before he thinks he can hurt a friend to the throne.” Ayo commented, and before you knew it, one of them have thrown their spear before the man who you now can assume as discount Captain America could even raise a fist to Sam.

You walked in beside Ayo and based on Bucky’s expression, their business with Zemo wasn’t even close to done yet.

“Even if he is a means to your end, time’s up.” Ayo declared out loud in the room. “Release him to us now.”

“Hi. John Walker. Captain America.” The man interrupted. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. This didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky however, who was mentally kicking himself because now was not the time to be reminded that he knows how those felt against his. The little taste of heaven he got.

“You were like a little sister to Steve Rogers, right?” He turned his attention to you with a cheery voice. “Happy to finally meet your new big brother?” He jested.

“Sorry. That positions been long taken over ever since the potty mouth racoon started exchanging memes with me.” you retort with a shrug, which made Sam cough to hide his chuckles, and Zemo to look at you as if that was the craziest thing he’s ever heard.

“Well, let’s uh, put down the pointy sticks and we can walk this through, huh?” Walker tried to gain control over the room’s atmosphere.

“Hey, John. Take it easy.” Sam butted in. “You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje. Or even worse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I think I can take some water or rocks being thrown at me.” He smirked at you, making the side of your lip twitch.

“Careful, Walker, I’m almost twitching to blend that bloodstream of yours. I can control you like a puppet and I wouldn’t even have to move an inch from where I’m standing.” You smiled at him almost eerily, and Bucky was sporting a proud look on his face.

But of course, you weren’t gonna do it. You’ve long vowed to put puppeting the living off the table unless it was a life and death situation.

Walker gulped before turning once again to Ayo. “The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” You could almost see steam coming out of Ayo’s ears as she spoke. She could also feel that something didn’t feel right with this man.

Looking at his companion, you could see that unlike Walker, he was getting nervous.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Walker played it off, before he layed his hand on Ayo.

Then all hell broke loose.

--------

Ayo literally disarmed Bucky. Both of you shared the same shocked expression.

Walker was catching his breath after they handed his ass to him, and was failing miserably to remove the spear that held the shield up on the table.

Ayo opened the doors to where Zemo had last gone into, only to find it empty.

One of the women took the spear off effortlessly and picked up the shield as Walker was now on the ground looking defeated.

“He is gone. Leave it.” Ayo told her.

Picking his Vibranium arm off the ground, Bucky was still trying to wrap his head around what just happened.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam asked, just getting up from the floor.

“Guessing from his reaction, no.” You commented as he attached it back and tested it. “Are you alright?” you approached him. His arm worked just fine. Relief flooded him.

“Yeah. How about you? You still got cuts and bruises from Madripoor.” He reaches out and holds a side of your jaw to turn your head as if to assess the minor damages on your face, causing your breath to hitch.

This was the first time he got to touch you again after all the distancing and avoiding you’ve been doing before. He smiled at you sweetly, making you confused. Sam was also giving Bucky a questioning look.

“I think I’m gonna help them look for Zemo. You guys gonna be alright?” you stepped back away from him and turned to Sam, and he nodded before giving you a hug and told you to be safe.

You gave Bucky a smile before leaving to catch up with the Dora Milaje. As soon as you were out of earshot, Sam turned to him with a smug expression.

“Have something to share, Bucky?” He asked playfully, already having a hunch why Bucky was acting all weird.

“Sam, I’m in love with her.” He replied, still staring at the direction where you just exited.

“Yeah, I figured.” he snorted in reply. It was about damn time.

“But just when it hit me, she then says she’s letting me go. Now I’m the one caught up in her.”

“Well that’s some angsty shit right there, man. Let’s grab something to eat first and talk about how your cyborg brain finally named the feelings you’ve had all this time.” Sam pats his shoulder before muttering that he was gonna need food for this discussion.

--------

You had an inkling that Zemo was heading to Sokovia. And it seemed that Bucky had the same though as he caught up on you and the Dora Milaje on your way there.

The moment you saw him, the dried blood on his face raised your concerns, and he was trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying your attention when you insisted on patching him up, and you were oblivious to the Dora Milaje’s teasing glances thrown his way, and even when one of them mouthed the word simps to him.

He made a mental note to look up what that means later.

I thought you’d be here sooner.” Zemo spoke as he got nearer. “Don’t worry, I’ve decided I’m not going to kill you.”

“Imagine my relief.” Bucky replied, clicking the gun on his side.

“The girl has been radicalized beyond salvation. I warned Sam, but he didn’t listen to me. He’s as stubborn as Steve Rogers before him. But you... they literally programmed you to kill. James, do what needs to be done. Karli has people everywhere, and there’s only one way to make sure she cannot continue her mission.” Zemo rationalized.

“I appreciate the advice. But we’re gonna do it our own way.”

Zemo chuckled softly. “Yeah. I was afraid you would say that.”

Raising the gun to his head, there was no once of fear in Zemo’s eyes, rather it looked like he was ready to be reunited with his family. This was further shown when he actually nodded at Bucky.

Only that nothing happened as he pulled the trigger. Instead, he raised his left fist, and as he opened it, the bullets fell off, clanking on the ground.

Just then, three of the Dora Milajes marched up behind him, ready to take him away this time.

“Ladies...” he acknowledged them before turning back to him. “I took the liberty of crossing my name in your book. I hold no grudges for what you thought you had to do.” Bucky nodded, appreciating the gesture.

“Parting words of advice...” Zemo spoke again, this time lower as he knew you might be somewhere nearer and might hear what he’s about to say next.

“Like every other dollar in our pockets, you can’t change where it’s been, James. Much the same goes for you. But Y/N... She loves you nonetheless. And if my eyes don’t deceive me, I’d say you feel the same but she’s doesn’t know that.” he smiles at him

“I’d only realized it myself recently.” He confesses, only then realizing that the three women were listening and now had their brows raised in surprise.

“Don’t be too late.” Zemo grinned in satisfaction of his confession.

“I’m gonna work on that, thank you.” He returned the smile.

“Goodbye, James.”

As you saw them lead Zemo to the ship, you took that as your cue to finally approach them. You’d witness the entire thing, except that it was all inaudible from where you’ve been standing.

“It would be prudent to make yourself scare in Wakanda for the time being, White Wolf.” You heard Ayo advise him as you were finally in earshot’s way.

“Fair enough.” he replies in understanding.

Ayo nodded at you as you came closer to where they were, and she shot you a teasing wink, confusing you while Bucky cleared his throat in embarrassment.

“We’ll wait for you in the ship.” she told you.

“I didn’t know you could be so theatrical, Bucky.” You grinned teasingly at him.

“Had to give you a little inkling to what was happening since you were so far away.” He gave you a boyish smile.

“You’re gonna pick those up later, right?” you gestured at the bullets still on the ground.

“Yeah, just after all of you are gone. Don’t wanna ruin the magic of that scene.” He replied scratching the back of his head, making you laugh.

"You’re going back to Wakanda with them?” Because if you are, then the universe was definitely punishing him since he can’t really go there right now as he pleases.

“Yeah, I’m long overdue for a visit.” You answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything to them. You’d be in their good graces again in no time.” you assured.

As you spoke, the sun was just starting to set behind you, creating a golden outline of you. The sight was making his heart pound. To him you were burning brighter than the sun.

Yep, the universe is definitely fucking me. He thought to himself.

And as you stepped closer, he felt like he was coming undone when you hesitantly pulled him in for a small hug.

“Take care of yourself, James.” you whispered.

James. She called me James. Heat was rising up in him.

Breaking off from the hug, you were blushing. “It’s alright if I call you that too, right? I mean I know I said that’s what I called 1940s you when we were testing the time portal, but it’s still you, you know, and-”

“You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart.” He cut off your rambling, smiling at you. “Just not Barnes again.” He added.

“Why?”

“Well, you were mad at me the whole time you did so.”

“Okay, dipshit.”

“Y/N.” he feigned offense.

You laughed at his expense. “I’ll let either one of you know if I’m back in New Asgard.”

“We’ll have a lot of catching up to do by then.” He smiled, and you turned to head to the ship where unbeknownst to you, the women and Zemo have been watching the two of you interacting.

“Hey Y/N?” Bucky called out to you at the last second.

“Yeah?”

He was contemplating whether he’d just tell you right then and there about his feelings. It was starting to eat him up, but then he shook it off, knowing that he and Sam still had a mission to finish first.

“I... I may have another favor to ask Wakanda.”

--------

When he got to Sam’s hometown, he saw that there was a community of people helping repair a boat. It reminded him of his time working with in the docs.

He’s now offered his services to help Sam repair their family boat. He’s also met his sister Sara, nad he was surprised that when he made an attempt to be charming, it actually kind of worked.

They were now enjoying a drink together after a day’s worth of fixing.

“Talked to Y/N, yet?” Sam asked him, taking a swing of the bottle.

“She’s a lot more friendly to me now which is both a good and bad sign for me. But I haven’t told her yet. Not really a good time.” he answered in dep thought.

“You know before we got ourselves tangled into this mess, like way before Walker happened and you decided to show up, we were in constant communication.” Sam shared.

“Yeah?” he failed to hide the jealousy in his voice, causing Sam to crack up.

“Don’t get your metal panties in a twist, man. We were mostly talking about you." he clarified. “She knew you didn’t want to see her - which I beg to differ by the way – but she was somehow hoping you would at least be talking to me.”

“I’m sorry for ignoring your calls and text.” He says to Sam, which the man assured him was fine. “There were instances at night where I couldn’t sleep and my thoughts would be plagued with her. That I wish I hadn’t been so rash with making the decision to be alone and leave her the way I did.” this was the first time he talked about it to someone. His own therapist didn’t know a thing about it.

“Let me ask you something. Where do you want to stand in her life after all of this is over?” Sam knew this wasn’t what co-workers would be talking about but he knew that this was for the good of you both.

“I want to spend the rest of my years making it up to her. To let her know that while it took me long to realize it, we were actually always in the same page.” He found himself replying with no hesitation. Sam was satisfied with this answer.

“And how are you gonna convince her to give you a chance?”

He shrugged. He didn’t know just yet.

“Tell you what. The younger people around here know their stuff when it comes to matters of the heart. I’ll have them make a manuscript you could read, or a video tutorial.” He chuckles. He had no idea Sam was being serious.

“Well...” Bucky got up and clinked their bottles together. “Gotta catch my flight tomorrow. Get a hotel for the night. Crash, you know?”

“You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?” Sam grinned, shaking his head.

“Well I don’t wanna make it weird for your family.” He shrugged.

“Just stay here. The people in this town are the most welcoming people in the world. They don’t care if you wear small T-shirts, or if you have six toes, or if your mom’s your aunt, or that I work with a reformed cyborg that’s in love with a witch that’s practically an avatar, who apparently single-handedly secured her adoptive father’s kingdom’s economy-” Bucky chuckled at Sam’s ramblings.

“Okay, I get it. I mean, you know, the people are nice.” he concedes.

“But don’t displace your feelings for Y/n by flirting with my sister.” Sam pointed at him. “Cause if you do, I’ll have Carlos cut you up, feed half of you to the fish, and send the other half to New Asgard so they could to feed you to their fish.”

“Okay.”

--------

He was gazing up at the stars, feeling the soft grass underneath his lying figure. The comfort and peace it gave him was almost nostalgic.

“How is it possible that this place also has the best set of stars for us to look at?”  A voice spoke next to him. Turning his head to where it came from, his heart fluttered as he welcomed the sight of you lying next to him, looking up the sky with such wander in your eyes.

He recognizes this scenario. He had just woken up once again from a nightmare, and couldn’t fall back asleep despite your presence. So, you proposed you’d both get some fresh air and just lay out on the field while the rest of Wakanda was fast asleep.

At first he was hesitant, not wanting to keep you up any longer, but you insisted that you haven’t been able to sleep a wink before he woke up from his nightmare. That’s how he groggily got up and took the hand you offered up to him as you lead him out of your shared hut, and into the wide field before you.

“Ayo said you’re having progress.” you turned your head to look at him. This time, he was the one stuck looking up the sky. He merely let out a small grunt as a response.

“I’m proud of you, Buck.” He could almost hear the smile from your tone. The genuineness of it all made the side of his lip twitch.

Getting up halfway to face him, you were supporting yourself up with your elbow. “We could celebrate if you want.” you suggested.

“I’m not even fully recovered yet.” he replied.

“So? Every milestone to recovery should be celebrated.” you shrugged. “C’mon old man, it doesn’t have to be grand. Any piece of treat you have in mind?”

“I’ve been meaning to try sushi.” He muttered shyly.

“Consider it done.” you beamed at him, laying back down.

There it was again. The tingly feeling he had in his stomach, which only ever occurred every time you were near. Maybe this was the feeling of gratitude. You’ve never been less than nice to him.

Yeah, that explains it. He thinks to himself.

“Why are you so fine with spending your days here anyway? Don’t you have someone waiting on you out of Wakanda? Steve said you’re more social than him.” He found himself asking.

Still looking up, you were sporting a gentle smile on your face. “I spent a great deal reading up classic romance novels when I was just learning the Midgardian ways. And I’m still in love with the whole chivalry, slow-burn romance thing. Imagine my disappointment when the first civilian man I found inherently cute outright asked me if he could have some in the bathroom.” you pursed your lips, making Bucky crack a soft laugh.

“My ma would’ve had my head if I ever said that to a lady.” he replied smiling, his eye crinkling at the thought. “...is that why you said you find me incredibly attractive?” he found himself asking, surprising both of you.

Even underneath the stars, he could see the heat rising up your cheeks. “Oh, you remember that?” you chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s not every day a girl would say that to the world’s deadliest assassin whose just been accused of a bombing incident.”  he was mentally kicking himself for even opening up the topic.

“It’s Steve’s fault. He wouldn’t shut up about how charming and a gentleman you are. And it didn’t help that you’re annoyingly handsome.”

He shifted in his position. “Bet you’re disappointed now.” he said in a low voice.

“Not really.” you argued. “If anything, you’ve added the words hot and strong to the list.” you teased, poking him on the arm. He shook his head at how casual you were being.

“Sooner or later Buck, it won’t be just me crushing on you. Maybe you’d even find yourself falling for a civilian.” There was a hint of sadness behind your smiling eyes. Everybody in the kingdom knew of her allegedly having a crush on you, curtesy of Steve’s blabbering mouth, but this was the first time she actually admitted it.

He didn’t say it, but the thought of what you just said didn’t appeal to him. It felt almost wrong to imagine himself casually being open and carefree with someone else.

Carefree. This was what your conversation now felt like. You managed to somehow make him talk, far from his usual quiet and grunting self during daytime.

He opened his mouth trying to think if a reply when you cut him off.

“Don’t respond to that. You’ve already managed to make my drowsy self, confess having a crush on you.” he turned his head to look your way again, only to find that you now had your eyes closed, a small smile playing on your lips.

Letting you finally get some sleep; he turned his attention back to the sky.

And it's like the million little stars above him were spelling out your name.

Just then he wakes up from the dream, as the little whispers by the doorway caught his attention. Sam’s nephews were playing with the shield.

“Hey!” he raised his hand to greet them while still lying down on the couch.

“Put it back.” one of them said to the other. “Hurry, hurry.” and they both took off.

Alone once more, his thought went back to the dream of a memory he had with you.

He found himself smiling.

--------

Y/N: Thanks for all the love! We're one chapter away. I'm just waiting for the last episode (brb crying) to decided where we go from here.

@eternalharry @iheartsebandchris @lizzarooni @the-ayo-lit @tanyaherondale @eliwinchester-barnes @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @ebxny27 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @fadingdreamersportsmaker

#bucky #bucky angst #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes masterlist #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #bucky fic recs #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier fic #sam wilson #sebastian stan #avengers au #avengers #mcu

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Men who I think would be soft for their baby for no other reasons than because I want them to be, in no particular order but still numbered ten to one because I like countdowns...

———————————————————

I really do be out here exposing myself for a few of these men but I don’t care I don’t need “proof” or “common sense” or “just plain survival instincts” I just need men who are uncharacteristically soft for their babies

———————————————————

Don’t come at me this is for FUN

———————————————————

Part two

———————————————————

10. Gally

Did some bad things, some were his fault and some weren’t, who is rough around the edges, has superiority issues, and needs a therapist more than a girl

STILL SOFT FOR HIS BABY

Higher up in a revolutionary movement and still goes to bed early to cuddle his baby

She sits on his lap during meals and he fights everyone who says anything

Fights anyone who even looks at her wrong 

Tells her he loves her at least three times before he leaves on missions without her

When she goes with him he’s literally next to her the entire time

Does not let her go for hours when they finally get back to base  

So fucking soft for her and only her

——————————————————————————

9. Finnick Odair

Good guy who feels like he has to be bad in order to stay alive but falls a little bit in love with it for a little too long

Begged her to move in with him after his games

Let her decorate the entire house however she wanted 

Writes her love notes before every time he goes to the capital 

Cries to her when he comes home every single time 

When she has to go into the games he volunteers immediately even though he technically isn’t allowed and pulls strings with President Snow to be able to fight 

So he literally kills for her 

And makes sure she never has to fight 

Marries her and tells Coin he won’t fight, stays alive for his baby

10/10 soft as fuck

——————————————————————————

8. Stephen Strange

Narcissistic doctor Avenger who uses the phone while driving

This is the one I have the least proof for but I’m 110% sure when he isn’t wearing the cape he has his baby wrapped around him like a backpack

Crumbles for his baby, I’m talking to his knees, overwhelmed by how pretty and beautiful and wonderful she is, hugging her around the waist

Loves the feeling of her fingers through his hair 

Brings her to every Avengers Gala and practically begs her to leave early so they can go cuddle and eat pizza

Gets so scared whenever he has to do something dangerous

Drops what he’s doing when she calls him, has told off Steve and Tony (don’t start with me) and everyone else 

Peter called him a simp once and after he googled it he looked him dead in the eyes and agreed and then packaged one of the donuts Bucky brought in for his baby and then took it and left

Man is SOFT

——————————————————————————

7. Vincent Griffith

Reformed witch who frequently gets addicted to dark sacrificial magic and makes choices that are just this side of morally corrupt

Has skipped so many meetings as regent that he probably shouldn’t even be regent anymore 

The king of date night, dancing, fine dining, jazz music, picnics, midnight rituals

Plans every little detail and gets Josh and Davina to help him 

Uses magic to close down entire restaurants for the perfect night

Always holds her hand and sits her in the front row of his coven meetings and pauses the meetings accidentally when he glances over to her and she gives him a thumbs up and he has to literally stop and smile 

Holds her purse without her having to ask, will go to seven different restaurants when she changes her mind on where to eat, hexes people who harm her

Big softie

——————————————————————————

6. Indiana Jones

Literally a womanizing grave robber with very few morals 

Has filled museums with all the things he has STOLEN 

Would still protect his baby from booby traps though

Dresses her up and takes her out everywhere

Cancels class whenever she asks and more often than not when she doesn’t

Would be closer to the snakes so that she won’t have to be

Wouldn’t even think about yelling even when in mortal danger, even when it’s her fault for putting them in that situation 

Answers every question even though she’s asked the same question a thousand times 

Can’t sleep without her at all 

I’m not sorry, he’s soft

——————————————————————————

5. Will Turner

Most feared and ruthless pirate on the sea

Torched a town once because his baby was treated a little too cold by a few too many people

Literally would and has fought a life altering curse for her and won

Kills so many people and still goes to bed early to cuddle in the captain’s quarters

Lets her walk all over the ship in his shirt and watches from behind the wheel, has thrown a man or two overboard when they stare too long

She didn’t even notice

Plays with her on the beach whenever she wants even if it hinders the plans of the crew

Softie alert

——————————————————————————

4. Elijah Mikaelson

A one thousand year old+ elitist vampire with slight anger issues who has zero reason to fall in love with a plain mortal woman 

But there is no way that is going to stop me

Would rip literal hearts out for his baby until he is soaked with blood

Oh, she stubbed her toe at the bar? 

The bar is now torched to the ground along with everyone inside

It’s for his baby

Rebuilds the bar for her, puts it in her name, now it’s her bar and she’s making a shit ton of money

Buys her so many things, even when she says no, especially when she says no

All she has to do is pout and it’s game over 

Has left so many business meetings for her that it is insane

Once bought her a chair seat at Disney because she said she liked Tangled one time and now she makes important decisions she is not qualified to make 

He’s soft, soft, soft

——————————————————————————

3. Eric Coulter

A leader of a terrorist radical government who has outright anger issues and hates people who are different from him

BUUUUUT wouldn’t yell at his baby who is probably from Amity and probably got tricked into being in Dauntless

Lets her sleep in his room because fuck the training quarters that’s sus as hell (even though he’s the one who arranged the training quarters)

Lets her skip all the fighting and does not give a fuck when he gets called out for it, will literally abuse all special privileges 

Would probably do the training simulation for her and tell her how to beat it 

Trails behind her wherever she goes, holds her hand in the cafeteria, has her on his lap when he gets tattoos

Lets her visit home whenever she wants and threatens anyone who says other wise 

HE’S SOFT I JUST KNOW IT OKAY

——————————————————————————

2. Kylo Ren

Kinda evil Supreme leader of the galaxy who has killed many people, including his dad, some who deserved it and some who did not

But wouldn’t even yell at his baby-- would cry if she cried

She sleeps in his bed and when Hux calls him out on it he breaks a desk and then almost kills him

She walks around the ship and he follows her like a puppy and chokes people out when he hears them call him a puppy in their heads

Gives her everything she wants and more, surprises her all the time

Surprise trips to beach planets and fancy events 

Once he gave her a whole ass planet

Always hugging her no matter who is around and what is going on, 

The softest supreme leader in the galaxy

——————————————————————————

1. Thomas Shelby

A literal deadly mob boss who shoots first and asks questions never

Would 110% kill for his lady (and has killed for his lady)

Sexy as fuck, looks good covered head to toe in blood 

Yes, that deserved a point

Soft as fuck for his baby, would shoot a gun and then turn around and listen to her talk about what she wants to knit for their baby

Has paused important mob meetings because his baby wanted to gossip about what Dolly said to her at church four Sundays ago that she forgot to tell him

Keeps her as far removed from the lifestyle as possible even when that means he has to remove himself from it at points to be with her

Has skipped so many poker games without being asked purely because he wants to go home and hug his wife

He is the MOST SOFT

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#thomas shelby #elijah mikaelson #kylo ren #stephen strange #indiana jones #gally tmr #gally #eric coulter #will turner #vincent griffith #finnick odair #The Hunger Games #the vampire diaries #the originals #star wars #the avengers #divergent #the maze runner #the pirates of the caribbean

[marvelbbyx]

Can I Be Him? (Carol Danvers x Fem! Reader) Part two!

Summary: You and Carol have been the best of friends for years and years, to you it’s simply platonic. Whereas for Carol, she tortures herself constantly pining after you. The situation only gets worse when you get engaged to your boyfriend of three years and Carol has to leave for a mission (that could more or less take her six years to get back from).

The day before Carol has to leave, she admits her feelings for you, giving you two choices: to leave him and go with her or stay with him and get married.

Who will you choose and what will be your outcome?

Author’s Note: Second part to Can I be Him? You guys seemed to really like it as much as I did, so thank you all! And enjoy!!

Warnings! ANGST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Kevin,” Carol greeted bitterly.

“Carol? Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” Kevin comes into sight, a puzzled expression on his face when he sees both of you with tearful eyes.

“I was just leaving,” She replies dryly, moving towards the door and pausing near Kevin. “Congrats on your engagement, I’m sure you’re both very happy.” She stole a passing at you before walking out the door.

“Hold on,” You say to Kevin as you followed Carol out the door, closing it securely once you were in the hallway. Carol had made it down two flights before you shouted her name. “Carol! Carol, wait!” She stops mid-step and looks up at you as you descend the two flights. “Don’t walk away from me, not like this...”

“What’d you expect me to do, stay? Stay and watch you move on with your life?” Carol bit harshly. “I’m sorry, but that’s not happening.”

“I don’t want—“

“You don’t want what? Me to leave?” She prodded. “Well, you know what I wanted? I wanted to be the one you’d tell stories about—to be the reason why your eyes would light up—I wanted to be the person everyone would hate hearing about, because you’d talk about me so much. I wanted it to be me.”

You were silent for a few minutes before you finally opened your mouth to say, “...it is you.”

Carol had a wild urge to throw her arms around your waist and kiss the sorrow from every square inch of your face, but she couldn’t.

On second thought...

Screw it.

She moved in close, moving her hands to your cheeks, cradling your face gently. And you let it happen, anticipating the thing that would now seal your bond forever, you closed your eyes as did she and awaited the warmth from each other’s lips. You nuzzle into each other, the tips of your noses bumping against each other as you both went in close. Behind you, though vaguely, you heard a door open followed by approaching footsteps, before your lips were able to touch you gasped and pulled away, turning to run, but she reached out and grabbed your hand.

“Don’t go...please, don’t go.” She whispered.

“I’m sorry...” You cried, tears filling your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

With that, you pull yourself out of her grip and run up the stars. You stopped by your apartment door, now too sick to go inside and face Kevin. Your heart sank when you heard her footsteps stride away from her spot, it sank deeper once you finally regained the courage to go back inside. As you opened the door, you heard Kevin on the phone, he sounded excited about something judging by the lilt in his tone. You stood by the doorway fiddling with your ring until you heard him hang up the phone.

“Oh, Y/N! Good, you’re back! I’ve made us reservations at the restaurant on 5th—“ He comes into your vision, taking notice of your eyes and the way that your lip quivered. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swear that every word you sing, you wrote them for me.

Like it was a private show, but I know you never saw me.

When the lights come on and I'm on my own

Will you be there to sing it again?

Could I be the one you talk about in all your stories?

Can I be the one?

Can I be the one?

Can I be the one?

Oh, can I, can I be him?

Won't you sing it again?

Oh, when you sing it again,

Can I be him?

Oh, sing it again, yeah,

Oh, when you sing it again,

Can I be him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3:30 a.m.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You ran as far as your legs could carry you, feeling sorry for any disturbances that you could’ve—did cause. Your talk with Kevin ended on a note that you didn’t expect for a long shot. You told him the truth and gave him the ring back, you’d thought that he’d be offended, proposing to you the day before and the day after receiving the ring back. But Kevin—sweet Kevin—took it with class.

“In a way—I’m sorry too. I made things worse for you and Carol,” He said to you. “I was so determined to be that person for you...even though it was her the whole time.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“I’m mad at myself. You two belonged together and I ripped you apart, you still belong together.”

“Kevin—“

“No, Y/N, go to her. And tell her I’m sorry.”

Now you were at the Avengers compound running like someone lit a fire under your ass, you had to find Carol, who most likely was asleep in her room. Resting up for the mission. You ascended the stairs with a quickness, the elevators took too long and you weren’t about to wait another second to be apart from Carol. Exhaustion be damned.

You made it to her floor, your legs warm and tense from the workout of the stairs. You knocked on her door with haste, no answer. You knocked again, still no answer. Now you assumed that she was ignoring you, which you felt you deserved after today.

You spoke up, now, “Carol? It’s me...Y/N, I know that you probably don’t wanna talk to me. If I were you I wouldn’t wanna talk to me either. But it’s over now—me and him—I wanted you to know that. I just had to let you know...even if—“ You twisted the doorknob to find that it was unlocked, making your way into the room.

Carol was always a neat person, drilled into her from the Air Force. Her bed was made, the small kitchenette spotless, and the floor looked like it had just been vacuumed. Disbelief spread across your face. No, she couldn’t have left. Not yet.

You walked around the room, scanning for any evidence that Carol was still here. You opened the closet searching for clothes, boots, ripped jeans, her super suit, anything of hers. But the only thing that was there...was an old Aerosmith t-shirt of yours hanging by itself.

Your mouth dropped open, and sadness crossed your features. You take the t-shirt holding it close to you. “No...”

You heard someone knock on the door quietly, you poked your head out to see Sam and Bucky standing there at the door. They’re tired, it showed in their eyes, they probably came over to tell you to shut up and stop making so much noise. But judging by the regrettable glance they shot you, it was nothing like that.

“Hey,” You breathe out, giving a half-smile.

“What are you doing here?” Sam inquired. “It’s three am, you okay?”

“We heard a noise,” Bucky says, his voice deep from his slumber.

“Where’s Carol?” You ask, clutching the t-shirt tighter.

They sigh in unison, looking to you with pity. Bucky was the first to speak up,

“She left, doll.” He says quietly.

“As soon as she got here...” Sam added.

You shake your head. “No...no—no, she said tomorrow morning—so she should still be here. Right? Carol wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. She wouldn’t.” You were telling yourself more that you were telling them, and the more you said it, the more heart broken you became. “Please...tell me that you’re joking and she’s still here.”

They were quiet. Watching the two of them, it was all you could do, you could hardly contain your own tears, falling to your knees and sobbing hysterically...the realization that this was partly your fault, filled you with immeasurable guilt.

Knowing that now, you wouldn’t be able to see her until next time...whenever that was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swear that every word you sang, you wrote 'em for me.

Like it was a private show, but I know you never saw me.

When the lights come on and I'm on my own,

Will you be there, will you be there?

Can I be the one you talk about in all your stories,

Can I be him?

Can I be him?

Can I be him?

Can I be him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Tag list: @captains-simp @blackluthxr @your-my-mission @wolfyalice-x @natblidaclexa @an-evergreen-rose @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

Read Part One Here!

#brie larson #captain marvel #carol danvers #carol danvers imagine #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers angst #carol danvers imagines #captain marvel imagines #captain marvel imagine

[athicfa]

Marvel tier list (according to Felicia).

Here’s the link to the one I used, though I did edit the tiers to better reflect Fe’s opinions rather than just having S-F tier.

Some reasoning below the cut if you’re curious.

The Best of Us

Spider-Man: AS IF he would go anywhere else.

Steve Rogers: Fe’s a Simp.

Black Widow: Fe’s a Simp 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Sue Storm: She terrifies Felicia. Genuinely. Do not fuck with Sue Storm.

Hawkeye: He’s just a great dude. Brainwashing incident aside. Sorry Clint.

Storm: Name one person that’s cooler than Ororo. You CAN’T.

The Cool Ones

Felicia Hardy: The only reason she didn’t put herself in the top tier is because she didn’t want to indirectly insult Sue Storm by insinuating that they are by any means on equal ground lmfao

Wolverine: Claw buddy.

Daredevil: Picking on Matt Murdock is her favorite hobby.

Gambit: Remy is one sly guy.

Bucky Barnes: Fe thinks he’s just really, really cool.

Sam Wilson: He's a good guy but like, not an asshole about it.

Johnny Storm: Precious himbo.

Loki: CHAOS

Quicksilver: She’s jealous she wants super speed :(

Peter Quill: She digs his humor.

Ant-Man: He could be so useful to steal things. Think of the possibilities.

Gamora: She’s a badass.

Nebula: Also a badass.

Shuri: A badass, but like, with her brain.

Powerful

Everyone in this tier is someone she thinks is super strong but personal conflicts or a lack of knowing them / knowing about them stops them from being higher.

Goody Two-Shoes

Like the previous tier except less emphasis on the power more emphasis on the moral differences.

RUDE

Bunch of meanies :’(

Why do you keep ruining my day?

Deadpool: Every time this dude shows up he does something to fuck up Felicia’s plans. You could be friends Wade but nooooo you have to take out bounties on her friends and allies all the time :\

Dr. Strange: He cursed her so bad (by accident) that she tried to fist fight him, an actual wizard. She tried to fist fight a wizard. Let that sink in.

Fury: Please just fuck off you ruin everything.

Mysterio: It was fun beating him half to death with a bat. It’s what you get for repetitively attacking Peter. Not sorry at all.

Venom: Eddie. She doesn’t hate you. Not at all. You just have horrible timing. And she still hasn’t forgiven you for breaking her nose.

Eat shit and die, trash.

She hates them :)))))

#[etc] #[about]